The Rock Piles of Appalachia

One of the more charming aspects of living in Appalachia are the stories. When I first heard John Denver sing that "...life is old there" (Country Roads, 1971) it was a truth I didn't have the means to appreciate. Yet. I'm learning that now through the sights and sounds and tastes and endless stories.

Everything has a story here... even the rock piles.

Most often the ones I see have a logical and evident explanation. They've been chiseled and then dry stacked as fences, retaining walls, foundations, stairs, road surfaces and structures. The early American settlers were surely not strangers to hard physical work. Think what it took to heft some of those stones into place even using cantalever!

A partially collapsed retaining wall. These are holding back terraces
which demarcate property lines on the downward side of a hill in
Mount Savage, MD.  If only it were mine... I would love to restore
this charming feature!

The old springhouse on the same property.  Time and neglect and [effective
though historically insensitive] rennovations have left it ravaged almost
beyond repair but how I would like to try...

You might be wondering what a "springhouse" is. I'm going to call it a necessity of both early American life and for those seeking a self-sufficient lifestyle not so tied to today's utility grid. The most basic purpose of a springhouse is to cover a spring with a simple, usually just one room, structure to keep the water clean and potable. It keeps out fallen leaves and animals that could introduce infectious bacteria to the water source. The cold water and stone construction keep a springhouse cool year round so it also provides refrigeration to store foods like cured meats, fruit, vegetables, and dairy products safely away from predators.

And then sometimes you randomly find a huge pile of stacked rocks out in the middle of the forest.  It's neat and ordered and shows intelligent design in its construction. It just doesn't make sense in context of its location. At least not with how the locale is used today. And since Appalachia has been continually populated by uncounted cultures for thousands of years we are left to speculate about the purpose these rocks served and any meanings attributed to them in the distant past. Couple that with a landscape that holds onto the secrets of what may hide deep within its volcanic ancient history...

This example is near Spruceton NY. I found it in this 2008 blogpost from
Rock Piles. They refer to them as cairns, which to me suggests
a burial site.  Perhaps?  It makes for a good story!

And there you have mystery and intrigue... essential ingredients to any good story!

Were these stones laid by some of America's first inhabitants? Perhaps they are altars of worship like The Book of Mormon describes... or trail markers, or defense structures in an ancient war, or hunting blinds maybe? Along with the equally mysterious stone circles (like Scotland's Stonehenge and the smaller less well known circles here in Appalachia) are they evidence of an ancient alien presence? Are they just stones cleared from the fields of a farm that has been reclaimed by nature? The answer, and the story, depends on who you ask!

I would say many of the less easily explained rock piles come from preparing a field for planting crops. Stones were removed to make it possible for the farmer to work his field and produce a crop. They were stacked somewhere out of the way. Most of us who grew up on or around farms or in families that gardened are familiar with the process and have likely spent some time "pickin' rock."  That familiarity tugs at the heartstrings... These rocks remind us that there's something both comforting and disturbing about the temporary nature of our time on Earth. This is work that's as important as it is fleeting... What once served as a family's livelihood is reduced to nothing more than a few tons of stone... and a mystery for future generations to wonder about.

A New Adventure

Toward the middle of July, I had an old friend pay a visit.  We had a great time together and decided I needed to venture north and visit him.  And then we decided that maybe my life could do with a real shakeup and I should just move.  So in the spirit of saying ‘yes’ to adventure, I said ok.  And that, folks, is how I ended up in West Virginia.

The hillside I see looking out the front
door of the cabin.  Makes me think of the
opening credits of Little House on the
Prarie!

Ellenboro is a tiny little town.  Their Wikipedia page says there are just over 360 residents, but I’m not so sure they didn’t count a few cats and dogs to get up to that number.  There’s a couple of little fast food restaurants, a convenience store/gas station, an insurance agent, a couple of other small businesses and a window factory.  The nearest grocery store is about 5 miles down the road and, while I’ve been getting by quite well, it does not have the selection of the big city grocers I am accustomed to shopping.  To find those kinds of stores, it’s 27 miles in one direction or 42 in the other.  Let’s just say those special purchases take some effort…

Part of the drive to the cabin after you
turn off Highway 50 and cross the creek.

I am staying in my friend’s hunting cabin on a burned out old farmstead that’s a couple of miles out of town.  The property, which is mostly leased out for natural gas wells, is primitive.  Power could be brought in fairly easily, but it hasn’t been done.  Right now anything electrical would require a generator.  And there isn’t one on site.  So, long story short:  there is no electricity.

Or indoor plumbing.

Or refrigeration.  Or a washer and dryer.  Or any of those other modern inventions we think we need to live.  

We don’t.  Think about camping.  There flashlights and lanterns to light your way.  And camp stoves to cook your food.  Or that nice big BBQ grill we moved with me.  Or the fire pit I’m currently assembling.

There’s a scary old outhouse. It’s functional, just frightening.  And next trip into a city, I am stopping at Home Depot or Lowes and getting the stuff to make a camping potty out of a 5-gallon bucket to shortcut some of those urgent and oh so inconvenient runs in the black of night.  Actually… I’m getting several buckets.  One for the potty, one for a clothes washer, 2-3 or whatever the plan says for a clothes wringer, and one to rig a shower.  You can go search Pinterest now or just stay tuned and I’ll post my misstep-by-misstep instructions, hints for using and a review of how well they work (or don’t) here over the next couple of weeks.

Ha!  I got all excited about 5-gallon buckets there and jumped ahead in the story.

Looking off one side of the submersible
bridge.  I'll do a whole post on it later.

There’s a creek.  The water is ice cold and pretty clear.  It's nowhere as muddy and brown as it looks in my photo... Not perfect but drinking it hasn’t hurt the dogs.  I’ve used some to rinse out a few clothes between laundromat visits.  And it’s been the site of more than one rather invigorating bath.  You have to cross the creek coming into the property by traversing a submersible bridge.  My friend calls it a submarine bridge… Which might be a good description after a storm or in the spring when there’s a lot of runoff.  A submersible bridge is made for water to flow across when it gets high enough.  Yes, you read that right.  Water flows over the top of the bridge.  On purpose.  And yes, the thought of driving across it when there’s water flowing over it kind of freaks me out. I think I could summon the bravery for it if there were only a few inches but from what I understand a few feet is not beyond the realm of possibility.  And that’s just plain scary!

The first few times down there, I saw minnows from ½ inch to 2 or so inches long.  I keep looking but so far nothing bigger for me to try catching for dinner.  Yesterday there was snake swimming for the far shore.  I didn’t scream.  Or cry.  Or jump and down.  I didn’t do much of anything but observe and try to get a good look at the shape of its head.  And then I dipped dog water as calm as you please.  And turned up an old brown glass medicine bottle.  I don’t have it cleaned up enough yet to make out more than “Vick’s” on the bottom but I think it’s a pretty cool find!

Cow Shoes and Booze

Photo courtesy of Homesteading Self Sufficiency Survival

"Cow shoes" were used by Moonshiners in the Prohibition days to disguise their footprints.  This picture dates from about 1922.  The attached pieces, shaped like a cow's hoof, would disguise the fact of human presence at a still site and drop off points in secluded areas where animal prints would not seem out of place.  These were either permanently affixed to the chosen shoes or a crampon of sorts was created bearing the specific animal print."

(Maybe I'm being more immature than usual tonight, but I just totally giggled at the word "crampon" in that last sentence!)

It may seem funny to us today, but these were real concerns for people who lived back in the day and depended on making 'shine for their livelihood.

My mom was born in this era and often told stories of her dad home-brewing beer in big ceramic crocks in the backyard.  I guess it was widely known in their small town and he had a steady stream of customers but every so often the Sheriff would show up, saying there'd been complaints from the neighbors, and make him dump it out.  But the law never took the crockery so within hours he had a new batch brewing.  It seems that a few times that story included something about the Sheriff admitting that it was painful to see it running down the hill and that always made me wonder if, in his off-duty hours, he was a customer.

I never really knew much about either of my grandfathers... One, my dad's father, I have a couple of faint hazy memories of meeting him when I was 7 or 8 and there's a prolific amount of genealogical information already collected, but this particular grandpa, my mother's father, I knew only from random facts picked up during visits with older relatives.  He died more than 20 years before I was born from a disease much like one I suffered.  I guess that gave me a unique connection to him...  And the stories of his life, even though not always grounded in truth, grew into grand adventures embellished even more by my imagination.

I also wondered about the things that he passed down like the beaded silk purse he brought home from his (underage) stint with the Army in France during WWI.  Even though it was burned in a house fire at my uncle's place many years ago, I was always curious about the French lady where he might have obtained it... but, since he came home and gave it to his wife he'd have to be a complete jerk if there was such a French lady.  I don't know.  Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't.  Maybe someday, if my views on our coming afterlife are correct, I'll get to meet him and decide that for myself.  But for now all I have are a few stories and the obscure facts about his life that are recorded in public documents like censuses and birth, marriage and death records.

He was already a bit of a history buff and looking through my mishmash collection of family history worksheets, old photographs and funeral programs with Derek has ignited a curiosity in him to find out more about his origins.  We've started collecting those random facts, family stories and old photographs for him, too.  And he's got a bootlegging heritage all his own... including some currently engaged in the avocation.  I'm kind of looking forward to the day I get to meet them!

I wonder if they have any cow shoes?

The Battle of Pickett's Mill

With my interest in history, I was excited to learn that the home we're buying if all the inspections go well this coming week is only about 2 miles from the Pickett's Mill Civil War battle site.  And even more excited when I found out they do re-enactments here.  What a great way to learn more about American history and the local culture!

Photo credit:  www.fieldtripswithsue.com

The Battle of Pickett's Mill, a Confederate victory, happened in May 1864 and delayed Federal troops advancing on Atlanta for a week.  Union Major General William Tecumseh Sherman attempted an attack on the right flank of Confederate General Joseph E. Johnston's army hoping to hit what he thought was an exposed right flank.  Instead he found the Confederates well prepared and his own supporting troops didn't show up for the battle.

Author Ambrose Bierce fought for the Union at Pickett's Mill as a topographical engineer. Bierce's condemning short story The Crime at Pickett's Mill is about this battle and was written to commemorate its 25th anniversary.  It's a story I'd never read before and while I was reading it now, I realized that, until very recently, I wouldn't have even understood it.  A few weeks ago a friend of ours (and fellow amateur historian) was home on leave from the Marines and attempting to explain to me some of the mechanics of weaponry and battle tactics from that time period.

Matt told me how the guns were not so dependable or accurate and, partly because you had to hand load a single bullet, it was slow and took a lot of effort to reload between each shot.  To compensate for these challenges, soldiers were taught to advance in long side-by-side columns.  The man in front would lay on the ground to shoot while the man directly behind him would go down on one knee and the third would take aim from a standing position.  Then they'd all fire at the same time.  This allowed for three shots at the enemy forces instead of just 1.  As soon as their shot was off, they'd immediately fall to the back of the column to reload and the next 3 men in line would take those positions.  By firing more shots at the same time, they had better odds of hitting their target.  This was especially advantageous if troops could be shooting from different directions so the trajectories overlapped but did not pose a threat as incoming friendly fire.

Obviously my understanding is still pretty rudimentary.  But, hopefully, as I explore my surroundings more and more it will get better.

Everything I can find says this reenactment happens in early November each year so I'm adding it to my list of things to go and see.  I'm learning a new appreciation for an important part of our country's history and all the stories and personal sacrifice that seemingly never made it to our history books.

Our realtor told us Pickett's Mill was one of the most well known battles of the Civil War.  Why did I not know anything about it?  Seriously, I don't remember ever even hearing the name before yesterday. Sometimes these kind of things make me kind of frown on the schooling of my childhood and feel like it failed me...  But, when I stop and think about it isn't the goal of education to instill a sense of curiosity and give you the skills to fulfill it?  That, I learned very well.  So well, in fact, that a lot of people call me hyper-observant.

Enough so, that under the brush and last fall's leaves in the backyard at the house, I noticed a couple of spots that looked like they'd been dug out just past the tree line and asked what they were.  The realtor didn't have a definitive answer, and I didn't really expect him to, but he lives in the area and told us they could, conceivably, be trenches dug in 1864 by soldiers advancing on the battle site.  He said that there were  confirmed period trenches in some of the yards nearby and that someone he knew had talked about people knocking on his door for permission to go poke around the trenches in their yard to look for Civil War artifacts.  I don't know how to verify if that's what we saw or not but it is intriguing to think about what we might find when we start cleaning up the yard.