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Thanksgiving at The Ridge 2004
Postcards from The Ridge 7/2004: Ted
Postcards from The Ridge 7/2004: Papa and I go Camping
Postcards from The Ridge 7/2004: A Snake! A Snake!
Postcards from The Ridge 7/2004: It's the Journey AND the Destination that is Important
Got some cool photos of the tunnels this time. See the silhouette of the alien pushing the grocery cart?
Papa and I stopped briefly at the Hunt’s place on our way up to The Ridge. I gave them a couple loaves of the banana nut bread I had made and Mr. Hunt warned us of the bear tracks he’d seen down by our gate while Mrs. Hunt talked of the dry spell they’d been having. They had remodeled their kitchen which was a real relief. The last time we had visited was years ago and I had felt trapped in the room, surrounded by geese and ducks with blue ribbons around their necks.
There’s just something about big white birds with ribbons on their necks... they freak me out and make me very uncomfortable and the room was filled with the motif on pot holders, framed on the wall, depicted on covers for toaster and blender, painted on trivets and staring at me from dish cloths.
I don’t know… make your own captions for these. Papa brought up the box o’ stuff Alyse had mailed and the boys went through it. They were both amused at the short legs in the overalls, John really liked the hat, Papa said he could use the rain suit and they played with the duck call. John kept the chain for the chain saw.
Of course there was a tournament of Aggravation which the girls graciously allowed the boys to win…
On the clear nights I slept out by the fire. One night I had to get up and drag my stuff under the shelter. The sky was continuously lit by incredible strikes of lightening, making the dark night suddenly brighter than day. It lighteninged and thundered for quite a while before the air pressure dropped suddenly and huge drops of rain fell hard. Then it came slashing down, the wind blowing so hard that it came up under the shelter and I had to stack chairs around me to block most of it. Still got damp, but not too bad. It was quite a light and sound show!
The population on The Ridge has shifted somewhat. John lost a few of his dogs to lightening, but has acquired a hound dog. His black cat, called “Cat,” went feral and Papa sees him every once in a while down the road. So he’s got a new kitten, orange striped, who is called… “Cat.” Here he is playing hide and seek in the bushes—very friendly and all you have to do is look at him and he starts purring very loud. There was also a rooster and duck. The duck grew up around the dogs and believes he is a dog. He sleeps with them and hangs out in their dog houses…
And the rooster… well, I heard it the first morning welcoming the sun, but, well… my dog showed a deadly vicious side of herself that I didn’t even know she had. When I got up John told me he had seen Skye carry off the chicken into the woods. Now she has the nick name “chicken breath.”
“She’s tasted living flesh now,” he told me, “She’ll never be the same…”
Later that very day Ann’s tiny poodle, Daisy, came out with her little painted toenails and Skye attacked her. It wasn’t just a warning nip, either; there were puncture wounds and blood. John and Ann treated the small animal with hydrogen peroxide and triple acting antibiotic ointment. She finally stopped bleeding and shaking. I was kind of surprised how fast she bounced back. She didn’t want to go outside much after that and I kept Skye on her tie out, having no idea what she might go after next.
So, anyway, one night as we were sitting around the campfire talking about this and that, we heard a hunting pack off in the distance. John’s animals started up, answering them. There were the barks and howls I’ve gotten used to, but the hound added the new base line of baying and it really sounded harmonic… until the duck—remember I mentioned it thought of itself as a dog?—joined in. So there was barking, howling, the long bay of the hound, then this “quack, quack, quack, quack.”
Sort of like an orchestra of several different instruments played by musicians that really ought to have practiced a little more before performing in public.
The other pack came closer and we followed the sound. They were over the bluff on the Street’s property. We figured they were chasing a raccoon, possum or maybe a bear. John mentioned that a pack of hunting dogs had chased a bear right through the camp a few months back. It had mangled a couple of his dogs—Smoky almost lost an eye—before it ran on.
The pack turned and it seemed like they were headed for our own little camp. I ran over to try to take a photo, hoping I could get one of the bear (I have never in my life claimed to be particularly smart), but it was way too dark. They finally faded into the distance and the animals’ symphony came to an end with a last clear “quack.”
A few years ago Papa was putting in this culvert and while stacking rocks around one end carefully left a tiny cave. “Maybe a frog will move in,” he said.
That year I got him the first official “toad house.” Over the last few years I have been on a quest for different frog and toad houses. He has a small village now. I don’t really know if he likes them, but he puts them around in his flower garden and here and there in the woods around Base Camp. I got some photos of a few of the buildings in this growing town.
The last evening we had watermelon. I got a seedless one although John complained we didn’t have any seeds to spit at each other. As always, my visit ended sadly as I had to go back to civilization.
Thanksgiving at The Ridge
November, 2004
After we got our stuff in the bunk house and wandered on over to John’s place, we talked for a while. Then the Aggravation game was brought out and the vicious contest began. Alyse and I took on Papa and John. It lasted the entire weekend, a game being played now and then between chores, food and walks in the woods. The final score was Alyse and I with 3 games and Papa and John with 2. Ha!!!
I did have to resort to placing the dreaded “Curse of the Twos” on the guys to beat them, though. The next day Alyse and I went for a walk to some of the rock formations on The Ridge. There are many.
The most famous are The Maze and Gorilla Rock. To get to The Maze, you have to go around or through a jumble of rocks we call Gorilla Rock.
Then I stopped by the place Papa and I camped in the summer. It was hard to find it, things look very different in the winter than in the summer, but I think I found it…
We went past The Maze and onto some rocks we had not explored before.
Huge chunks of rocks had pulled away from the ridge and formed alleys, secret passages and chasms. During the summer it would have been dangerous to walk around in this area, as the growth would have covered these cracks and some were quite large and could easily have swallowed a person whole.
Many were deep enough that falling down, hitting the sides and landing at the bottom might have knocked a person unconscious, left them with a concussion or broken bones. We stopped to look at and listen to the Tygart River far, far below. We could hear its voice, murmuring of the ancient past, flowing now and distant future.
But sometimes, it’s the little things that seem big. Alyse noticed some beautiful lichens and fungus growing from downed trees. I almost missed one of the most magical finds, but Alyse wanted me to look over the cliff so I was carefully making my way to her when I saw this nest. It was very close to the ground, but, I think, fairly safe, since it was so hard to get up to the top of this rock. When I peaked inside, I saw snow that had partly melted, then frozen again, looking like ice eggs, inside…
While Alyse sat on a rock and looked off into the distance, I went inside The Maze briefly, then walked along the ridge above it and took a few photos looking down into it. We stopped briefly at The Fire Circle on the way back. The East altar stump has almost rotted away now, but the South altar stump is still there. There was a bag of copal or frankincense (couldn’t tell which) there, some of the offerings we had left through the years and some pretty orange mushroom growing from the side.
It was time to built up the fire in the bunk house when we got back. Very comfortable place to sleep in the winter. Usually so hot that I have to at least crack (if not open wide) the windows next to my bunk at night to let it cool down. Papa, John and Uncle Lewis built it several years ago, then pulled it up to The Ridge on a flat bed trailer—so it’s not a permanent structure.
Got to see some of the plants John is working with. The ones on the left were ones he brought back from our trip to the river during the summer. Most seemed to be doing well. The ones on the right were a vine that was growing naturally and he wanted to propagate more of it to plant near the stone wall he built. I took some of the groundcover back with me to see if I can propagate it as well. I’m pretty sure it’s a wild Euonymus.
Was the sunset so beautiful that night, or was it because I was up on The Ridge, relaxed, among family, safe, secure and happy, thankful for so many things? Was it my full heart that made it so special?
I was woken up the next morning by a hand coming in the window. “Come look at the moon,” Alyse said. She gets up regularly at 5 AM—I am NOT a morning person! The sun was not yet up, but dawn was beginning and the moon was setting, a brilliant red. I guess that’s worth getting up for…
And there were chores to do. Since we have no running water, we have to run get water. We have a couple of sources. Water to put on the wood stove to keep the humidity comfortable can be used from the garbage cans around that catch rain/snow water.
But for washing, food prep,we go fill the water buffalos with water from the spring fed stream at the bottom of the hill. At the BOTTOM of the hill… the hill that goes up to the gas well head—by far the worst part of the drive from Boone to The Ridge. Then we had a Jeff Foxworthy moment. And one I believe he has not thought of yet. “If your dog uses an old car battery for a pillow… you might be a redneck…”
I got this rabbit on a swing for Papa a couple of years ago. When I saw it I noticed first off the wild expression of pure excitement and joy on its face. I have felt that way; swinging high, feeling my stomach turn with the height. I can swing so high I can touch the sky now, but only because Papa was there, pushing my swing when I was too little for my own feet to touch the ground.
Thanks, Dad!
John’s pretty cool.
He’s down to only four dogs, now. Although kind of wild, they know me, so I am safe (mostly). They do raise a ruckus when anyone else shows up, though. And, being large dogs, they can be intimidating.
Here is Smokey—oldest and leader of the pack. Big, fluffy and loveable with a Chow tongue and Shepard personality. Next is Sambone, his son. Simon (next) has gained a lot of weight; John says it’s for winter insulation, but adds that he will be cutting back his food. Last is Sinbad. He looks the most different, but his personality is similar to the others.
So, after we loaded fire wood he had cut up and split, he told me about the cabinets he was planning on building in the kitchen. He wants to keep the small oven, even after installing a regular sized one.
“This one is perfect for bread baking,” he said, “especially rolls. Good size and it won’t tie up the other oven when its time for a bread baking day.”
Later, John and I went out to find the perfect tree for my table. I wanted one that had begun to hollow out on the inside. Instead of one large one, I got two rounds from the same hollow stump and plan to make an oval table. That’s my plan, anyway.
I figure it’s a sign that I had a great time when I have dirt caked in the wrinkles of my hands and I can’t get the stuff out from under my finger nails. Alyse, however, is a neat-nick. So, we let her clean up.
John wanted to hire her for a week for his place and maybe a month at Papa’s. He helped her with the dishes. She said she might need a little longer at Papa’s.
Of course, she couldn’t stop there. John told us of the tragedy with his cat, whose name is… Cat. Anyway, John left for a couple of days and left Cat inside to deal with a troublesome mouse. Cat got board and explored the place—including the top shelf of the kitchen where John stored his deep fryer (with grease in it). Evidently, Cat knocked the vat of fat off the shelf, but managed to fall underneath it. When John got back, Cat bolted out the door, but not before John could see he was covered in oil. Took a couple of hours for John to clean up the mess. This happened 3 or more days before we got there and Cat was still trying to get all the oil out of his fur. Alyse helped with that, too. We ended our visit as usual—breakfast at the Phillipi Inn. Then the long trip home (don’t ask about holiday traffic!!!).
#1: Ted
Postcards from The Ridge 7/04
It was Skye’s first trip to The Ridge, but she was soon running around with the puppies, mouth open and tongue hanging out in a doggie grin. Then she met John’s cat, who does not have a name. It is half feral and has whipped all the big dogs into shape—except for one, I think.
I met a very interesting man while up at The Ridge this summer; his name is Ted and he is one of the only non-family members who ever comes up. He is a friend of John’s.
The next day, Ted showed up on his 4-wheeeler (that’s he and his dog, Cosmo in the photo) with a skull.
“You can use golf balls for the eyes,” he said to me, “Just paint eyeballs on them.”
Ted had been bitten by a snake some time ago and his dog had attacked it, running the snake away. According to Ted, the dog then began eating a certain type of leaf, as he had gotten bitten as well. Ted ate leaves from the same plant and had no ill effects from the snake bite. He doesn’t remember the type of plant that he ate, however, and is sure that if he could remember it, he could take it in and get it tested, then make a lot of money.
#2: Papa and I go Camping
Base Camp has become a fairly comfortable spot over the years. Went from just a fire pit to a tarp covered firepit, then John built the out house (I actually have a photo of John building the john!), with a gas stove. Then came the wooden counters followed by shelves. Just two years ago Papa had a metal building put up, so we have very comfy digs now. But it wasn’t always so…
I woke up in the morning and heard something move. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a doe. I whispered very quietly to Papa and he woke, too, but did not move. Incredibly, the deer had a fawn still in spots by her side. Evidently the deer trail that we had camped at was one she used. She hesitated, then slowly walked to us, BETWEEN our cots—I could have literally reached out and touched her she was so close—then continued to the other side of the small clearing. She stood there a moment, looking back at our little campsite, then walked off.
This is such a vivid memory for me that I finally made up my mind to try to recreate it. I asked Papa if we could camp away from base camp this year one night and reminded him of our adventure. He was very interested in it.
So… got up there late Wednesday night and Papa and I went out Thursday night.
We had to find small trees that were already down—we did not want to kill any trees for our shelter—that were the right diameter and length. All we had was a big bowie knife Papa had sharpened before our trip.
Then I got a good, hands on lesson about how to build a temporary shelter. It was so cool! You think you know your own Dad, but then he does things to surprise you.
But—aha!! Finally caught him using the wrong tool for the job!! He used the bowie knife to pound in the stakes with. Actually got it on film, so I can harass him about it for years to come! Then we had to put on the tarp (no, we did not use deer skins or buffalo pelts!) and stake it down.
One of the hardest parts was starting the fire. It was damp, as it had rained recently very hard, so most of the stuff was wet. We huffed and we puffed, and we finally got it started.
When it had burned down to coals finally, they were some of the most beautiful red, glowing coals in the dark night I have seen in a long time. We talked about love and how to recognize it and what to do with it once you find it, travels, teaching, kids and other life matters. We talked through the red and orange of sun set, into the dark of night. Skye was with us and kept going out and ranging, then coming back in and laying down.
I stayed up after Papa went to sleep, just looking at the coals and letting my mind wander. At one point I heard an animal loping near by in the woods and thought it was Skye. But when I shown the flashlight where she had been laying, she was still there. I think it was one of Papa’s Animal Spirits, probably the Wolf because it just didn’t sound like the Tiger.
I slept deep and peacefully. Skye crawled into the shelter between us during the night. I guess our snoring didn’t bother her. I am renowned for the loudness and length of my snoring, but I am just a pale shadow compared to my Dad.
We packed up and went back to Base Camp the next day.
John rescued a snake from the puppies. It was not in a good mood, but had just a little wound. It was a very large, maybe around 5-6’, black snake. John wanted to wait until the puppies had forgotten about it to let it loose close by. He found its cast off skin soon after. So it had just shed its skin, then got attacked by a bunch of puppies. Look how long the shed skin is—almost as long as the snake. Alyse would not touch it at all.
While we waited, John helped me to do some tree bark rubbings. He loves me and although shakes his head and rolls his eyes, he still holds up the paper so I can do the rubbing. Surprisingly, the red oak had a “spiky” texture on the rubbing compared to the hickory. It was a difference I did not see by just looking at it.
We took a walk out to the orchard. For several years we bought fruit trees for the ridge at Yule, put lights and stuff on them, then planted them up on The Ridge with varying success. This year the peaches are coming on strong, but there were only two apples. I think I want some crab apples next year, or maybe some more pears.
Then it was time to loosen the snake. Although quite a handsome fellow, Alyse only got this close to it when it was in the pillow case. We let it loose near a trail back in the woods. Later on Alyse and I walked to the Maze. We found the snake right beside the trail, stretched all the way out. It left fairly quickly when it became aware of us watching it, though.
We stopped at the Maze on the way down, because I wanted to do a few rough sketches. John suggested that we stop on the way down because we certainly would not want to stop on the way back. He was absolutely right. Here we are at one of the many entrances to the Maze and the other one is inside this very sacred place. We are taking a rest and I am doing my sketching.
When taking time in making your way to your destination you can experience so many wonderful things! Inside the Maze was this beautiful moss covered stump. It was a perfect altar. And a stick nearby became a powerful wand. You don't need to take tools with you into nature for Ritual. What better West Water symbol could there be than this beautiful hollow stump filled with rain water?
But this day, our destination was just as magical and awesome as our trip. The Tygart river winds around one side of our property. It takes about an hour’s hike to get to it and an hour back. Going down the mountain is almost as grueling as coming back up. In both instances I find my legs shaking at the end. I am very careful to drink a lot, eat a banana and stretch my legs for a couple of days after to avoid leg cramps.
John found some plants he thought were pretty down by the river and dug a few up to take back to his place. I really like this photo of him with his backpack full of plants.
On the way back we met up with some neighbors on one of the old logging roads when I stopped to press some leaves and flowers. It is almost unheard of to meet others here; there has only been twice before this in all the years I have been there. They had stories about Ted. I think they liked him OK, but it was hard to tell. The woman had been married to an O’Brian (who we are kin to) but divorced him. Sounded like she didn’t think highly of her ex.
Then we were off, stopping for a little while at the Cave, then struggling up the mountain. Luckily, I got to hold Smokey, John’s Chow mix. He hauled me up some of the steeper inclines. Saw some outrageously colored mushrooms and intricate lichen on rocks—signs, I am sure, of ancient intelligence.
We passed lots of black berry bushes, but they were coming late this year, so there were only a few that were ready. They were juicy and sweet, though!
So, is it the Journey or the Destination? Both—sometimes. Going up to The Ridge, just after Big Walker Mountain Tunnel, I saw breath taking clouds. I was far enough up that I looked down at them and the setting sun turned the upper part of the clouds a magnificent golden. That’s what started me think that the Journey is more important.
Laying around on the rocks, sitting in the waterfall washing my hair, finding that special swimming hole where you could stand up and not touch the bottom of the river, walking the Trail to Atlantis (too much to explain here) and the whirl pool where the water took us around and around as we floated, made me think that the Destination can be just as important.
As we left the river to begin the trip back to Base Camp (why is it called “Base” when it is not at the base of the mountain at all, it is at the top??) John handed me a muddy golf ball he had found. “You can paint an eyeball on it and use it for the deer skull.” We all laughed, then began the climb home.
It is a standing joke among Thurstons that we normally arrive at our destination at a “typically Thurston hour.” This is between 1 and 4 in the morning. Since I got an early start, I got there around 11 PM. They met me with a shotgun, since they knew it couldn’t be me, it was way too early.
When he learned that I collected animal bones, he offered to bring me one of the deer skulls he had. He will give you the shirt off his back, but don’t cross him. Anytime anyone turns him in for breaking the law and he is fined, he goes to that person’s house and either takes equipment or destroys it to make up twice as much money as the fine. One of the things he does for a living is collect log moss, dry it and sell it for 80-90 cents a pound. I had never heard of this before…
After he left, we continued our Aggravation play (it can get brutal) and I talked to Papa about a project I was planning. I had met a man at a Pow Wow (Native American gathering) who did intricate bead work on skulls and other objects. Although a white man, he had been accepted into a tribe and shown how to make this sacred substance that was like glue that held the beads onto the bone. It was made of pine resin and other stuff he would not divulge. I bought a small wooden bowl from him (the only thing I could afford) with a mountain landscape done in seed beads on the inside. Not two weeks after I got it home the beads started to fall off.
So I wanted to do something similar to what I saw this guy doing, but the design would represent the Elements (which is my Path) and I decided I would use the glass pony beads, which are like the seed beads but larger, so I wouldn’t get frustrated. So we were talking about possible glues/cement I could use. Elmer’s can hold up to 250 lbs, but does not dry fast and the beads would slide around. Super glue would probably work, but Papa pointed out that I would have to make sure the bead was where I wanted it. Maybe tacky glue would work. Something that dries clear and will stick to both the smooth surface of the bead and the porous surface of the bone equally well.
Postcards from The Ridge 7/2004
The first time Papa and I went up there (I think I was 16 or 18) it was simply a deer trail. We pulled out our cots and sleeping bags, ate a couple of trout caught that day cooked with butter in aluminum foil stuck in the coals of the fire, and I think, sitting there with Papa, feeling the cool breeze, smelling the Earth and watching the smoke from the fire take different shapes that it was one of the most special times I have experienced up there. Never has trout been so juicy and delicious, never a day so perfect, the sky that shade of blue. 
“There is magic all around us,
There is magic all around us,
There is magic all around us,
Awaken, rejoice and sing.”
First we had to pack up everything we would need for that night. Papa is a master at packing, whereas I forgot to even bring my back pack (duh!!) and had to use a shoulder bag for my stuff. We camped just above the Maze. It took us just a little while to find the right spot, but it was beautiful!
The next day I told him about it and he said, “It was Bad Child Eater (Papa’s gargoyle that has resided on The Ridge since the early 1990’s, I think, when my cousin came up with his four kids, ages 2 through 9). He didn’t find any bad children, so he just kept on.” Who knows which, if either, of us is right?Postcards from The Ridge 7/2004
#3: A snake! A snake! 
Although I sent a copy of the current draft of my in progress novel to Papa more than a week before we visited, he still had not read it yet. I happened to bring my own copy, with additions and corrections and suggestions, up with me. Maybe I guilted him into it, I don’t know, but he did finish reading it. Then he said nothing about it. His silence was ominous and I don’t know if I want to ask him what he thinks of it. He might trash it completely, which would be devastating to me. I would have to hang up my writing career if he thought I am an untalented writer… 
We did come down from The Ridge briefly to get chocolate malts and visit a thrift store. I found some lovely silver serving dishes that I bargained hard for. John talked me into bargaining for them; I would have either bought them for the price on the sticker or left them. It was kind of fun. I like silver since I am not the most graceful person on the face of the earth and metal dishes and glasses stay with me much longer than elegant glass or pottery dishes. John found a guitar he really liked and I arranged with Papa to pay for part of it for his birthday. He plays well and has played for a long time. The first memory I have of him having a guitar was when I was quite young and my sister, Niki broke it over his back during one of our family discussions. I think that was around the time she put a bullet hole through the dining room and covered it over with toothpaste so Mom wouldn’t see. Ah… precious childhood memories.
Postcards from The Ridge 7/2004
#4: It’s the Journey AND the Destination that is Important
I am sure you have heard the phrase “It’s the journey that’s important, not the destination.” I tend to believe that most of the time, but once in a while the two are equally important. Alyse, John and I hiked down to the Tygart river and back. We usually do and it is surprising that each year Base Camp gets just a little further and a little more up hill from the river than it was the year before…
So anyway, I was getting into this discussion with Alyse, who is usually all about getting to the place we are headed then relaxing, then getting back efficiently, economically and with no wasted time. Well… wasted time is different for different folks. I like taking my time (having to take frequent breaks while climbing has nothing what so ever to do with it). 
It had been thundering and lightening sporadically all day, but about half way back it got very dark and very still. Then there were a few huge rain drops followed by a real storm. By the time we got back to Base Camp all of us were drenched. Then the sun came out, turning the big drops of rain into miniature suns, sparkling as they fell towards Earth. Here are a few.
1995: Dogs at The Ridge
One of my favorite places to go is "The Ridge." My family ownes land up in the West Virginia mountains. It includes part of a ridge and down to the Tygart River.
I have seen the River swollen with rain, moving fast enough to sweep you away in seconds. Other times it is low, slow, lazy and peaceful.
The photo on the right is of my k-9 companions I had in 1989. Othello is one in front, black and white. When he died several years later at 14, he was grey and deaf, but still able to get into the trash now and again. The German Shepard was Corey. He was only with me for 3 years, but he was a solid friend. A rescue animal, he came from an abusive home and it took him days to even come out from under the dining room table. By the time he moved on from this plane of existence, he was walking proudly, head held high and grinning, in the way dogs do. I still miss both of these friends.
Family and friends go up to The Ridge at least once in July and often for hunting season in the fall. Arriving is a time to slip out of the mundane world and into a magical place. Leaving is sadly emerging once again into the world of job, bills, irritating life details and crowded places.
