The Road

When I first moved up on this hill, the farm was different; life was also different.  I was very young and from my present view point, knew very little. Not knowing was fine with me as I dove into the days spent at my new home, discovering a geography of hills, gullys, creeks and deer paths.  Our home at that time was much more secluded, being at the end of an almost impassable right-of-way road.

Years ago the road was used by horse and wagon or walkers, but in more recent history a tractor was the main mode of access.  When my husband bought the property where our home stands, he pretty much built the road from scratch, hiring a dozer to lay it out and grade it in an effort to stop the erosion process. The next step included paying to have many loads of gravel brought in for a base. If you live on a gravel/dirt road, then you, too, know that rock will continue to sink into dirt for infinite lifetimes. By the time I moved in, most of the road no longer resembled a bog and in dry weather, was pretty good. 

Can You Find the Road?  By-The-Way, that is the same spruce from the bottom of yesterday's blog with the fake presents


Rain changed everything as the steep hill became a muddy track accessible only with four-wheel drive.  Snow brought even more excitement. That's when our hill became an adventure!  After locking the tire's hubs into four-wheel drive, we would start in the lower part of the lane where it was flat, building as much speed as possible to hit the hill flying in our red, big-wheeled pickup truck.  If we had enough speed we could make it up over the ice and snow, bouncing over a rock ledge then, hopefully have enough momentum to slip and slide over the final hump, grinding the tires into the snow as we barely made it up over the lip of the hill to where we were once again level. At that point the road ahead was was only a vague memory as we drove across a field of snow, then through the woods until we arrived safely to our cabin, parking right at the front door.  A grassy yard and parking circle were still only vague ideas.

Many times it took three or four tries before we made it up the hill, spinning around part way or sliding backwards to the bottom only to try again. Guests would usually have to park at the bottom of the hill while we made trips in the truck to ferry them up to our home. A turning point came the day when a relative drove his jaguar all the way up to the house, parking it with the other guest's vehicles.

That was only the beginning.  The hill part is now blacktop and thousands of dollars of gravel have been sunk into the mud. We are no longer the only house on this hill.  There had always been a small farm down by the highway.  We let them use part of our road for access to their barn when they needed it. Two new homes have been built beside our road, using our driveway for access to their road. After years of road maintenance and thousands of dollars, we spend more time waving to neighbors than we do trying to keep the truck out of the ditch. 

The lane now has a pond on each side allowing a choice to the neighbors ducks and other fowel.  Rather than mud holes and ditches, we now watch out for guineas.  A guinea is one of those animals that appear to be a genetic mix-up.  the verdict is still out as to if they are oddly cute or merely hideous.  The guineas, themselves don't seem to care.  In their ignorant confidence they strut where they will, seeming oblivious to oncoming traffic unless it is to confront it.  A group of the misshapen birds will be politely picking bugs from the grass near the road seemingly content until one of them notices an approaching car and leads the pack into a panicked run into the middle of the road darting about in all directions.  Driving my car slowly, yet steadily forward  allows them to get out of the road in time to avoid the crushing tires. Usually one of the colorful birds makes a last second dart to the other side of the road as it struggles with indecision.

Unknown Territory

As I sit here inside my home, impatiently waiting out deer season, I long for the freedom of spring.  Here in West Virginia we have a long hunting season.  Right now we are in doe season, meaning that the bucks who were hiding last week are now relatively safe. Next we have muzzle loading season, pretty popular in the mid Ohio valley hills. 

Last spring was full of woods-walking.  I spent every daylight hour either driving or walking in rural woodsy, out-of-the-way places and - here is the best part- I was paid to do it! Working for the US Census, I discovered roads I never knew existed.  Be law I had to walk down roads that, as private driveways, were normally closed to me, despite my deep curiosity.  My faulty map was little help in telling me how far I was destined to travel and how much of it would be on foot. This road shown here, above was great fun.  I first drove about 3/4 mile through deeply rutted tracks across a stream three times, only to then need to park my four-wheel-drive car and proceed on foot.

After walking for about an hour, I could see the home where I needed to map.  It was across a large creek that was much too deep for me to walk across in what I was wearing.  It appeared that peole had driven through it but they must have been in high-wheeled vehicles for the sides were deeply eroded. At this point I was spotted by the family dog who had no issues with either water and mud.  The large collie came running at me, sliding down one muddy creek bank and up the other after splashing across the stream, all the while barking ferociously at me, the intruder. I tend to not be afraid of most dogs, but that does not mean that I am not cautious.  I understand the idea of defending one's own territory.  I understand the dogs job is to keep intruders away from its family and I understand that some dogs, like some people, are just mean.  Usually I trust in my judgement of a dog's character by listening to it's bark and watching its actions.  This dog seemed to be bent on just making alot of noise and pretending to be agressive though, frankly, there was not alot I could have done if that wasn't the case.  I know how to appear meak and non-threatening, but I do not know how to disappear altogether.  Luckily my assumption about this muddy long-haired, big-footed canine was correct.  I noticed the mud and the feet as the friendly male dog greeted me by jumping up and placing two muddy paws on my chest, distinctly marking my white knit shirt.  Oh well, it would wash.  Better than being eaten.  I then turned, faced the other direction and began walking back toward my car. My new friend, now temporarily named "Dog" decided to tag along for awhile. 

I've always enjoyed the company of dogs more than I enjoy most people, so it was fine with me.  As we walked, Dog often ran up the road bank into the surrounding woods or down to the creek running mostly parallel to the muddy track above it.  This is what dogs do and I was not surprised or alarmed when Dog kept disappearing and reappearing.  Nor was I worried about leading him astray, as collies, like most pointy-nosed dogs, have a well-bred homing instinct.  They do not follow smells as well as a hound, but that only serves to keep them less focused on one particular smell and more aware of the rest of the world and smells around them.  At one point, Dog decided he had traveled far enough, nuzzeled my hand and loped back down the road behind me.

I eventually returned to my car to find another way to the home I saw across the creek.  My job was to place a map spot on my hand held GPS so that future census takers could find the home again to count the occupants. 

I did find another way to the house  after driving about twenty minutes around the hill, then following  the creek from another direction.  Once I reached the house (easily driving right up by the front door) I was surprised as a  friend of my son's came out with her baby to greet me. She was aghast at the paw prints still on my shirt though she wondered how her pet had muddied me so quickly.  We both laughed when I described my long walk from the other direction.

This was just one of many trips on foot into unknown territory.  Some of the best views, though, were from my car.  I particularly enjoyed this one area where the houses were only accessable by fording a stream or by parking then walking across a swinging bridge.  On this particular day I was driving my husband's jeep and decided that the water was too high for me to drive across.  That left the swinging bridge suspended high above the water and rocks.  Being a huge sissy when it comes to heights, my crossing was done very slowly. The thing about swinging bridges is that the faster you walk, the more it gyrates up and down while swinging side to side.  My mind knew the bridge was very likely to be safe, but soul yearned for stability.

 I think something happens to women once we bear children that changes our vertigo. Perhaps it is the body.  Without being in good physical shape, the body core is not as strong.  That scary trainer on the Biggest Loser television show says that it is a strong core that is responsible for our sense of balance.  My core must be putty.

Of course I made it across mapped three houses then asked the owners permission to take this photograph.  I wanted to document the event so that Jeff would believe that I actually crossed the bridge. When talking to the homeowners, they let me know that they had enjoyed watching me make the crossing.