The Old Cabin's Mysteries...

 

 

Random Blogger wrote in to say:

"The old cabin has to be a wealth of material for anyone with a vivid imagination. Have you gone in? Is there anything left? You mentioned a cave once, right? Perfect place to keep all the things you don't want the law to find, or perhaps a place to shelter while the troops pass through. And I will never forget the iron. This would be the perfect place to give it a wild and rational use."

I have to tell you, it got me thinking.  This is a dangerous- to get me thinking while I'm drinking my morning coffee.  My fertile imagination's liable to go anywhere.  So, Random, thanks! I'm putting your spark to good use and maybe I'll have something to show for it.

In the meantime, to answer your questions-

Yes, I've been inside- most recently with the Unnamed Ones over Easter weekend.  That was when The Eldest and Lovey, his girlfriend, went on Intruder Alert after Mertis swore she saw someone watching her from the upstairs window of the old cabin.

 

I've been inside the cabin quite a few times, so much so that I've spent hours down at the courthouse, researching the cabin's previous owners. I've found bits and pieces of the cabin's past but I don't know enough...(like I ever could!)

I know there are true-to-life stories in this holler and I'm dying to learn them...but I also need to remember where I am.  Franklin County is the self-proclaimed "Moonshine Capital of the World," and the locals have been quick to point out "We don't like people who ask too many questions!"

Tell me about it. 

 

I grew up in a minister's household.  People came and went, secrets were told, catastrophes handled- all without us kids ever saying a word.  As Dad's children, we were duty-bound by the same laws of confidentiality he was held to.  It just came with the territory.

 
Maybe that's why I became a therapist.  We can't talk either.

So, the local moonshiners are safe with me- As if they'd  ever trust me...I'm an outsider.  I could live in this holler for a thousand years and it would still be the same.  Hell, the barber wouldn't even ride horses with me for the longest time because he thought I'd ask him a question. You'd better believe, when I finally met him, I kept my nosy mouth shut!

I wouldn't dime out a moonshiner- I'm a child of the '60s...okay, 70s...

 

And I've done my homework.  I know moonshining was/is the only way some people were able to keep their families alive.  It has always been considered, around these parts, to be an honorable profession.
So, I don't tell half of what I see or most of what I know...But still, I just have to know...

 

Why does Mertis feel a cold chill every time she goes by the cabin? What happened there? When did the third cabin burn? Who's missing? Why does one part of my cabin hum with an unexplained noise that never quite goes away, even when the power's off?

And, dadgum it, who snuck up and left a 10 gallon can of paint inside the old cabin?  It's full.  So, why hasn't it occured to us to take the lid off and see if there really is paint inside?

This weekend Mert grabbed me and told me she'd found some flat, gray rocks lying between two trees.  "They'd be great for your garden border," she said. "But I can't lift them by myself and I'm afraid there could be snakes in the weeds.  If you come with me, I'd feel better about trying to get them."

So we walked across the field and sure enough, the rocks were beauties.  They lay right around and beside a dogwood tree.  Once I'd brushed away a rotten tree stump, we pulled up the stones and carted them back across the lane to the garden.

Last night I was perusing some local blogs and found that dogwoods have a very slow growth habit.  I remember thinking as I pulled up the rocks, that the dogwood was one of the biggest I'd seen on the property.

Then I remembered a local historian telling me I'd find the Confederate soldier's grave by locating some "flat, gray stones."  The man who took down the walnut, and was also a Civil War buff told me, "Sometimes they'd plant a dogwood sapling to mark the grave if they didn't have no headstone."

When we were pulling up the stones, I told Mertis this, because I know how fond she is of ghosts.

"You don't think this is a grave, do you?" she'd asked in alarm.
"Nah," I said, dismissing the idea. "That dogwood's too skinny to be that old."

But now I wonder...

Technorati Tags: country life,cabin life,writing life

Bury-Me-Here! Bury-Me-Here!

 

Let's just cut right to the heart of things, okay?

I am not always a nice person and I have an active imagination.  I think we've established that in previous posts.  Still, when opportunity presents itself, as it did Friday evening, I am not one to walk away.  After all, "Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor."

So, when Mertis told me that ever since the big "Intruder" incident at the abandoned cabin, she can't mow over there without feeling "creepy...like somebody's watching me," I just couldn't let it go.

See, Mertis likes to think she's pretty brave but she freely admits "I don't do ghosts."

So when she said the old cabin "creeped" her out, what was I supposed to do- let it go? Puh-leeze!

I said "Hmm. Well, you know the old moonshiner did drop dead over there by the spring box.  That's not very far from the cabin."

Mertis shuddered.

We're out on the cabin back porch. It's growing darker by the minute and a cool front has just begun to blow through.

 

"Tell me," I said, appearing to mull it over.  "Do you feel like it's colder over there, say, maybe 10 degrees colder?"

Mert's eyes widen. "Don't!" she says.

A soft breeze gusts past the swing where I'm sitting, hitting me before it touches Mert sitting in the rocking chair a few feet away.

"Does it feel like someone's touching you, maybe running their cool fingers across your cheek?"

"Ewww!" she shivers, jumping up from her chair. "Don't do that!"

"Do what? I was just thinking, you know, they never did finish burying him.  Maybe that's what he wants...He wants to be buried. He's doomed to wander the grounds over there until someone..."

"I'll get a damned bulldozer and do it myself, if that's what it takes!" she cries.

"Yep," I say. "They probably got to filling in the grave and then said, 'Hell, it's been a long day, what with the funeral and toting his body all this way out to the buryin' grounds. Let's have a little nip!' And that was that!" I tell her.

A few feet away a whippoorwill begins to sing.  To me it sounds like he's saying "Step to the rear! Step to the rear!" But I say, "Sounds like he's saying 'Bury me here! Bury me here!' doesn't it?"

"I told you," Mertis says, her tone ominous. "I don't do ghosts!"

"Now, Mert, you know I'm just spinnin' you a tale," I say.

"Well, there's a Confederate soldier buried on your property," she says, trying to tweak me.

I look sadly down at the floor and shake my head.  "He probably never made it home. Just a boy.  A boy wanting to tell his mother goodbye...but he never gets the chance...He's looking for his Mama..."

"That does it!" Mert cries, grabbing the screen door.  "I'm getting a beer. You need to go write something!"

She leaves me out there with the whippoorwill crying "Bury me here! Bury me here!" And the Confederate boy looking for his Mama. And the half-buried moonshiner.

"You know," I call in through the screen door, "I believe I'll have a beer, too!"

 

 

 

Technorati Tags: country life,writing life

May Arrives at the Cabin

It's beginning to green up around here- almost as lush as it was the first time I came upon this place. In about 3 weeks it will have been a year.

I found narcissus blooming this trip- a late Spring surprise.


And wild Flame Azalea.



The garden is surviving. The tomatoes are still here, as are the peppers and the beans. The one artichoke I bought as a "wonder what this'll do" is doing better than all the others in the vegetable section. But over in the old fire-pit, one tiny plant is surpassing all his brothers in the "Big Ugly."

Last fall, after Halloween, I put the pumpkin in the pit in order to get ready for Christmas. One big seedling has survived and is making himself known. I discovered this when I went to amend the pit with potting soil and a gardenia. Looks like it'll be an eclectic garden season.



Maggie and I sat out on the porch swing this morning, talking over the options for the day and deciding where we'd go for her walk. It was a beautiful morning, followed by a lovely day.

Aliens May Have Landed but I've Still Got My Feet on the Ground

I am working on creating my own reality.

Because I have a short attention span, it is important that my world be filled with wondrous things...like, for example, the alien takeover of Franklin County, Virginia.

I was cruising along Republican Church Road when I crested the top of a small hill and saw this:

You can perhaps not see it exactly as clearly as I did because I was limited to using my cell phone camera to take the photograph, but there are huge swirling circles in that field.

A less creative soul might've seen this and thought "Ah, the farmer got drunk and drove his tractor through the field."

But I saw alien crop circles. I saw Mel Gibson clutching his wee small daughter, preparing to defend himself and his family against an onslaught of marauding alien invaders.

And while these crop circles were nowhere near as neatly placed as the ones in the movie "Signs," I still decided it could've been aliens instead of DWI farmers behind the event.

It just makes my day a bit more interesting if I take the less traveled neural pathways, you know?

Enter...my butt...

The other night my son installed this in his doorway:

Well, I walked back and forth, passing it I don't know how many times in the span of about 24 hours before mentioning it to a very fit, very athletic friend of mine.

"He can even do one-armed pull-ups!" I exclaimed. "Can you believe it?"

My friend is much younger than me. "How many pull-ups can you do?" she asked.

Little snot.

"Are you kidding me? Have you seen what I'm lugging around behind me? I can't lift that off the ground with both hands, let alone carry my chin along with it!"

But in my little world, where all things are possible, there was just that one small chance that maybe...just maybe...I could indeed do it.

So, once the boy was safely at school and the dogs otherwise occupied, once I was absolutely certain NO ONE was around to witness the event, I walked down the hallway. After looking over my shoulder one more time, to make sure no one was watching, I quickly reached up, gripped the bar with both hands and tugged- at first gently and then as hard as I could.

Nothing happened.

Well, okay, so my shoulder hurts, but the bottom line is, my chin never approached the bar.

A lesser woman might see this as failure. Not I. In my little world this only means I have achieved what some people spend entire lifetimes trying to accomplish...

I am one with the Universe. I am centered in my world.

Yes, dear reader, I am totally grounded.

Technorati Tags: creating your own reality,creating your own happiness

Dr. Phil Doesn't Live Here

 

I'm in my youngest son's beat-to-death 1998 Toyota, riding with him for the first time. 

It's early evening, just beginning to turn dark. This is my favorite time of day. The darkness is not yet complete, more blue-gray than  black. The lights in the homes along the way cast a cheery, golden glow over the rooms inside.

It's raining and a gentle patter of drops hit the car's roof, more whisper than storm.

Here we are- The almost-grown boy and his mom, enjoying the companionship of a non-essential errand. 

We talk about the news show we just watched and what we think of the cops seizing the children in the Texas compound.  We take the keys back to Ellen's house where the Youngest has been dog sitting. I think, but don't say, what a good driver he is and I feel a tiny bit better about him driving alone out in the world.

And then I blow it.

"What do you think makes a happy home?"

The question, coming out of nowhere, blind-sides him. His head whips to the right and he gives me a quick, disbelieving look.

"Dear God, Mom!" he says.  "What was that?"

I try to cover for myself.  "Well, I was reading this article about the qualities of a happy home and they interviewed these kids and..."

"Mom, God, is this one of your psychological issue questions? You sound like Dr. Phil. What is wrong with you?"

I slink down in the passenger-side seat.  "Well, I just thought it was interesting and..."

"Mom, relax. We are happy," he says, reading right through me. "We're fine."

"Yeah,you're right," I say.  "That wasn't one of my kinds of questions.  I should've just said, 'What band do you think is on the edge of making it big?' instead, because that's really a lot more interesting. Besides, if we don't have a happy home by now, it's too late.  It's just what it is, I guess." My voice trails off, uncertain.

"Wolf Mother," he says.

"What?" The kid thinks I should've been more of a Wolf? Is this some kind of metaphor? Is he trying to say I should've been stronger, more directive, more of a take-charge parent?  I mean, if so, he's right.  I should've been more pro-active, about a lot of things not just...

"Wolf Mother," the Youngest says again.  "They're going to make it big." He looks over at me, like he thinks I've lost my mind. "You know, you asked about the band?"

I laugh, sounding, I'm sure, hysterically relieved.  "I thought you meant you wanted a wolf, or you wanted a wolf mother...you know, as part of a happy home?"

He shakes his head slowly, then laughs. "A wolf? Mom, sometimes I just don't know how you come up with this stuff!"

"Me either," I say, sighing.  "So do you have any Wolf Mother we can listen to?"

We pull over. He gets out his I-pod, puts on the music and we start up again, slowly moving our heads in time to the driving bass, agreeing they are reminiscent of Led Zeppelin.

The Youngest Unnamed One is right about Wolf Mother.  They're a good band. And he's right about everything else, too.

We get out of the car and stop beneath the pin oak in the middle of the front yard. "Isn't this cool?" I say. "The tree's branches are so thick it's like peeking out at the rain from inside a tent."

He stops, not appearing to be humoring me but instead looking up and feeling it with me.  "Yeah," he says. "It is."

We stand there for a moment, listening to the sound of the rain hitting the leaves overhead. 

 

 

Note to self-

No more reading self-help/inspirational articles in an attempt to receive validation of my parental abilities. Dr. Phil doesn't live here- we do.

 

Technorati Tags: family life,parenting,teenagers

Staking Out the Big Ugly

It was planting time again. Time to put in more vegetables and check on the DIY Self-Watering Planter.

So far- so good!

As for the Ugly Spot...It's now dotted with little bits of green...wilting gourd, watermelon and cantaloupe seedlings that were just totally freaked out by the rock and clay pile. Despite watering and a good talking to, they just fell over in a slump. I marked them with rusted fence stakes and pounded-out metal rings we found lying at the bottom of the former blacksmith's hut...a.k.a The Ugly Spot.

We'll see.

Tomorrow, I've got to tell you about the half-buried moonshiner who used to live here.

Spring Comes to Town Like Pumpkins Cover Ugly

Lest you think the town house has suffered from lack of attention due to "cabin fever," let me assure you that is not the case!

The roses, lilacs, camellias and a host of others are bursting into bloom.  There are a bunch of new shrubs out front and a small gaggle of friendly hostas who've come to live in a previously uninhabitable bed in the backyard. 

   

 

 

 

 

The little seed pods we started almost two months ago are multiplying faster than we ever imagined, making it necessary to start a "townie" vegetable garden as well.

 

  

Mertis potted up a little gift basket of hollyhocks, foxgloves and assorted veggies and took the poor little orphans to our friend, Ellen- the greenest of green thumbs- in hopes they'd find a good home in her yard.

In the meantime, it's back up to the cabin tomorrow to do some serious vegetable planting.

When we had to take down the big tree, we were left with an ugly patch of roots and rocks.  We've tried to smooth it every way possible, but no joke, it's just a hard, immovable hunk of red clay and white quartz. (Which is strange as the rest of the soil isn't so thick with clay or rocks.)

 

 

So, in the spirit of "use what you have"- I'm thinking nothing covers ugly like a pumpkin vine.  Those suckers seem incapable of "failure to thrive."

In fact, the one and only experience I've had growing them was when the Unnamed Ones wouldn't let me pull out the seedlings that sprang up from the Halloween pumpkin I'd tossed into a raised bed right in front of our old house. That vine took over the entire front yard and grew all the way out to the street- a good 75' away.

Seeing as how I've got plenty of pumpkin, watermelon and gourd seeds, I figure I'll scatter those puppies out around the rock bed and see how well that works...It's the best I can do for now- at least until we get around to building a pole barn.

 

Technorati Tags: creating your own reality,country life

DIY Self-Watering Planters

You know, I can't stand to pay a lot of money for something I know I could probably make myself without having to spend near as much.  Take, for example, self-watering window boxes and planters.

Since I divide my time between the mountain and town, it's impractical to have pots of flowers or window boxes at the cabin.  Last summer was proof enough of that.  I filled planters with lovely summer blooms and one pot with a tomato plant only to have them about die of thirst.

This year I found self-watering window boxes and planters online.  What a great concept!  They have reservoirs that hold extra water and so you don't need to be around every single day to give your thirsty plants a drink.

And for that privilege, you pay way too much money.

I put them on my garden "wish list" and 2 window boxes and 2 tomato planters as presents. But I could use a lot more of them, as the cabin gets sun while the house in town doesn't get much.

When I opened the boxes and saw how the things were constructed, I thought, hey, even I could do that! Maybe.

My rule for such projects is simple- you have to use what's lying around.  No spending money on things that may not work out. (New rule set in place after the black landscape fabric fiasco.)

 

 

So, I had a pottery bowl that had been given to me as an intended future sink for one of my renovation projects that never happened, a broken fireplace grate left behind by the cabin's former owners, a plastic plant liner and an old dog pull toy made from braided rope that I found out in the field, abandoned.

 

 

The plastic liner becomes the reservoir.  The un-braided dog toy becomes the wick to fit through the hole in the planter and slowly provide water and the purple sink is the new planter.

 

I suppose we shall see what we shall see.

 

Technorati Tags: life in the country

Queen of the Garden

Remember this?

 

Remember how heavy those rocks were and how long it took to carefully place them around the perimeter of my black landscape fabric?

Neophyte that I am, I was so proud. I was totally sure an ounce of prevention would pay off in me not having to break my back pulling weeds in the sweltering, midsummer heat. 

Well, I am proud to report my little Weed Prevention Program is paying off royally! And so early in the year, too!

 

Yes, indeedy- When I arrived Friday afternoon there was not one weed to be found way up there in that tree.

Plenty of pricey black fabric, but not one weed.

The neighbor lady stopped as she drove by Sunday afternoon. She was on her way to a tea party but when she spotted me working in the yard, she made sure to pause long enough to congratulate me.

"Like your tree decorating," she said, smirking.

"Oh, you mean my Earth Day banner?" I asked, tossing my head and pretending I had arranged the artful masterpiece 70' high in the air on purpose.  "It's my way of commenting on the wretched state of our environment," I added. "You know, draping the tree in a shroud to symbolize man's destruction of all that is life-giving and nurturing."

Given that I was wearing shiny, new pink rubber rain boots, with their bright, white price tag dangling from the upper buckle, it was a bit of a hard sell.  But then, that's me.  I'm all about trying.

 

Technorati Tags: life in the country

Happy Earth Day from the Cabin

 

It was an off-again-on-again rainy weekend in southwest Virginia but lots of planting got done.  The lilacs are blooming and I have new neighbors.

 

In the pink birdhouse...a pair of bluebirds!

 

 

 

 

 

Technorati Tags: life in the country

Spring- Inside and Out

 

 

 

I drove up to the cabin to work today and found Spring well on its way.  Yes, the beans and corn seedlings are toast but the roses are greening out and the Lilliputian Echinacea is still happy. 

Hope is perhaps still alive.

 

 

 

 

Technorati Tags: life in the country,Spring