Mountain Man and City Girl

I’ve always been a person who is curious.  How, what, when, where, why?  My mind is usually in gear, whether I want it to be or not.  It can be a blessing, or occasionally a curse.

I left our log cabin in Green Bank, West Virginia around noon on Saturday.  I had expected to leave near dusk, but an impending rain/ice/snow storm hastened my departure.  This would be the first time since October I had made the 408 mile trip back to New Jersey in the daylight.  It would mean more traffic than night driving, but it would also mean I could be nosey.

Winter is the perfect time to scope out everything.  With no leaves on the trees, I could see far into the woods and farther into everyone’s property.  A combination of valley farms and mountain homes awaited me in West Virginia, then sprawling valleys with farms and suburbs would usher me through Virginia and Maryland.

I don’t usually make this trip on a Saturday.  Once on the road, I was immediately struck by what a social day it was.  With temperatures in the mid 40’s, mountain folks were outside talking to neighbors, fixing fences, cutting and splitting firewood, working on cars, and riding ATV’s in their yard.  These weren’t the kind of activities you’d find during the weekdays, and  they occurred to a much lesser degree on a Sunday.

In farm country, I started to check out every barn.  Now mid-February, how much hay did they have left?  How much corn silage did the dairy farms still have?  What kind of equipment did they have?  Are their tractors, combines, and wagons kept under cover or out in the elements?

Were the barns well maintained?  Freshly painted?  Did the farmhouse have Rockwellian appeal or was it neglected?  Was there a picket fence around the house?  Maybe a few fruit trees in the yard?  Are there dead cars parked out back?

I’m equally as interested in the livestock.  Are the cattle looking well fed?  Are the sheep looking fit?  Are these livestock kept in an area large enough that they have a clean place to lay down, or are they caked in dried mud?  I came across a flock of about 30 sheep outside Franklin, WV.  They had beautiful, immaculately clean white coats with black faces.  They looked like something out of a child’s book.  I was impressed.  It brought a smile to my face.

I also enjoy looking at general stores and the nostalgia they impart, churches and their varying steeples, bridges, and waterways.  After much rain of late, the creeks and rivers were rushing torrents compared to back in the autumn when they were trickles.

My six and a half hour trip back to New Jersey was full of interesting, thought-provoking, heart-warming sights.  I was rubber necking the whole way.  It makes me wonder – do other people get as much pleasure tripping in America as I do?

- Mountain Man

When I arrive in at our log cabin in Green Bank, West Virginia, the first thing I do is head for the basement to get a 50 pound bag of corn and a 20 pound bag of birdseed.  I want “our gang” to have food out and available the first time they pass through.

The corn feeder is built between two trees, and it’s located about 25 feet from our dining room window.  The feeder is six feet long, nine inches wide, and two and a half inches deep.  It has a shingled roof above to keep the feed dry.  Within about 10 minutes of my arrival it is brimming with dried corn, a favorite meal of many of our forest friends.

The bird feeder is next.  It is suspended from a pipe 14 feet in the air attached between two trees, which are wrapped in brown metal flashing to keep the bears, raccoons, and squirrels from raiding the feeder.  A pulley system is used to raise and lower the feeder.  I put a ladder against the tree, climb up and untie the rope, and let the bird feeder slowly descend to the ground.  Lifting the lid, the entire 20 pounds of seed fits into the homemade feeder.  Then it’s pulled back up, the rope is tied off, and the ladder goes back into the basement.

Now that the wildlife food is put out, I can go about emptying my truck of the clothes, groceries and other things I’ve brought from New Jersey.  The big question now is - who will arrive first to begin feeding?

When I arrived here in West Virginia the other day, a Wednesday, it took about five hours before I saw a black-capped chickadee in the bird feeder.  Once again, he led the way.  I can always count on him to get the word out, and he didn’t let me down.  Within a few hours, the feeder looked like a bus depot, with nuthatches, juncos, tufted titmice, finches, and sparrows dashing in and out for seed.

The corn feeder usually takes longer to attract attention.  The first day there was no action.  At first light on Thursday morning, I saw a red squirrel making his herky-jerky march to the feeder.  A minute later, another red squirrel joined him.  Wow, this was a first.  I’d never seen two red squirrels at once before, thinking there was only one. 

In another few minutes, their arch enemy arrived – a gray squirrel.  “Oh, this will be fun,” I thought.  The gray squirrel chased the reds up and down the two trees, but it was hard for him to keep two reds at bay.  He’d chase one and the other would quickly scamper to the feeder to grab a kernel of corn.  The battle for dominance of the feeder was on.

Not so fast, my friends!  Two white-tailed deer appeared, both born last spring and now about 10 months old, that we named Alfalfa and Darla.  They quickly asserted their authority and took over the feeder.  The squirrel battle was now a mute point.  They would have to wait until the deer were through eating.

Alfalfa and Darla were spotted fawns, only a month old or so, when we first spotted them last spring with their mothers.  They were so much fun to watch.  At that age, they can suddenly break into a run as if testing out their legs.  Just as suddenly, they’ll stop and act as if nothing just happened.

Alfalfa and Darla, perhaps since they grew up around us, are much more accepting of our presence than their mothers, whom we named Dolly and Ruthie after our own mothers.  Those two adults, probably now three years old, have an inherent distrust of us that was probably ingrained through surviving a couple hunting seasons.  Who can blame them?  They tolerate us, but that’s all.

Throughout the day, the four deer and 30 or so birds would pop in and out.  Eat a while, then leave.  They all seemed content knowing that while the human was around, a family-style buffet was being served.

- Mountain Man

The location of our log cabin here in Green Bank, West Virginia, lends itself to deep thought.  Located at 2,700 feet elevation, our valley is surrounded by mountain ranges that tower nearly a thousand feet higher.  These “hills” are much like Mother Nature’s drive-in movie screen.  They are a palette for great sunrises on the western hills and breathtaking sunsets on the eastern hills.  The colors they display, from red to pink to orange to purple, are almost surreal in their beauty.

With such a sparse population for at least 50 miles in every direction, there is no light intrusion at night.  No lights from cities, malls, car dealerships, and such mean that the night sky can display all its true depth and splendor without compromise.  Last night, in a cloudless sky, the stars shown radiant.  The stars seemed to be suspended from a large black dome, enveloping our planet like a bubble.

With all this raw magnificence displayed at our mountain locale, it takes my mind back to the pre-industrial era on our world, even before the human race subjucated the earth to our dominance.  For lack of a better word and to make it easier to comprehend, I’ll say the “caveman” era.

How did homo erectis and homo sapiens rationalize those very natural phenomenon that we can now explain through science?  How did a wandering, hunter-gatherer from 15,000 years ago deal with the earth’s daily displays?

Let’s take a clan from an era in the earthman’s evolution where language was rudimentary, but communication was possible.  Let’s assume that the clan had a leader, leaders, or at least a wise elder.

When a magnificent sunset threw glorious reds and oranges into the clouds, how did the leader explain that?  What about lightning and thunder, how could that fit into their lives?  Even the changing seasons – why did the earth flourish and nourish the plants and then in turn get bitterly cold?  What was the sun, the moon?  What was an eclipse?  What were the stars?  What was rain, what was snow, what was fog?  What is a rainbow?  The leader would have to calm the fears of his people.  He’d have to become a thinker, or at least a good salesman to alleviate their doubts.

And so … religion was born.  Without science, the answers would have to come from somewhere else.  Explain the unexplainable.  It must be the gods.  They are mad at us, they are pleased with us.  They sit above in some great kingdom, exerting their dominance and influence over us.  We must pray to them, offer sacrifice, appease their egos.  We were created in their image to be subservient to them. 

Okay, you get the picture.  Without science, religion was invented to calm the uneducated, unsophisticated masses.  The need to explain was met.

As I stood last night beneath the bright, inspiring stars, I pondered what those primitive ancestors must have thought.  Then I saw a shooting star and took it for exactly what is was – a beautiful thing!

- Mountain Man

It’s my next to last day at our log cabin in Green Bank, West Virginia.  Tomorrow evening I’ll be heading back to New Jersey, so after as full day today of cutting downed trees into firewood length pieces, I headed out about 3:45 to run some errands.

After a stop at the bank to refresh my funds, I headed north on Route 92.  Less than a mile beyond the bank, I spotted a bald eagle sitting in the very top of a 60-foot dead tree.  He had a panoramic view of the fields to his west and the river to his east.  No mouse or vole or squirrel would sneak past him.

I was struck by how regal he looked, and his posture took on a sense that he may just know how important he is.  Could it be?  Does a bald eagle know that he is revered by Americans?  Am I forcing my perception?

I slowed down and watched him as I passed by at 30 mph.  Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed as though he was watching me, too.  Staring, even.  Had my powerful feeling of awe been exposed to him?  He was looking down at me from top of that the big tree, but was he looking down at me, figuratively?  Did he know he was regarded as great?  I had no answers, just questions.

I proceeded to take care of the rest of my chores, my thoughts never too far from the image of his white head and brown body with pumped up chest.  It wasn’t the first bald eagle I’d ever seen, but the feeling that he was checking me out as much as I was him left me spellbound.

Near dusk, I headed back south on Route 92 toward Green Bank.  The deer were in almost every large field getting their last nibbles of brown, dormant grass before nightfall.  The 12 mile drive found me counting 77 deer.  They were unperturbed by passing cars.  Perhaps they knew that hunting season had passed, and they were safe until the following autumn.  Maybe it was safety in numbers.  Maybe hunger outweighed fear.

When I passed the field where the bald eagle had held court, I was transfixed on the top of that dead tree.  The bald eagle was gone, as I expected, but his ghostly aura remained in my mind.  I will never look at that tree the same way, again.  He’ll always be in it.

I turned off Route 92 for the final 2.5 miles up a small, winding, paved road to our cabin.  The cattle, often sharing their fields with the peaceful deer, were also getting their last mouthfuls of grass.  I spotted a young white calf suckling the nipples of its brown mother.  I flashed back to my days as a dairy farmer.  The calves had such a unique and pleasing aroma, maybe even the odor of innocence. 

I thought of their sweet milk breath.  It was much like a baby’s breath and smells.  It’s so sweet – that’s the only way to describe it.  When I smell that, I just want to hold the calf or baby and give them hugs and kisses.

The stately bald eagle, the aloof deer, and the sweet calf combined to leave me with one feeling – tranquility.  Feeling whole and wholesome and connected to the cycle of nature.  Isn’t life grand?!

- Mountain Man