A Good Idea?

I visited home over the 4th of July weekend, and while there I was struck with an idea. That idea was to walk a little of the North Mountain Trail at the top of our mountain. I had been down the trail many, many times over the years, and I remembered it was really pretty, very quiet and a good walk. I asked my Mom and my brother to go with me, and they did.

We walked the trail for about 5 minutes and came to the first overlook, I knew it was a good overlook but I also knew a better view awaited just around the next bend. Still, I was caught off-guard with the remarkable view that lay before me.



As I walked closer to the cliff, this was the vista that greeted me.



There was a nice breeze that day, especially considering the wind coming off of Spruce Knob smashed against the cliffs, creating a great updraft. It was a nice contrast to the nearly oppressive humidity. I looked out over Germany Valley for a few minutes then continued on down the trail to my favorite overlook. Along the way, we picked the ripening huckleberries, they were so good.




Then we arrived at a truly breathtaking sight. The strong mountain breezes slapped me in the face as I looked out over beautiful Germany Valley. The cliffs of North Mountain Rocks were a stark contrast to the lush valley below. The huge oak trees under the rocks looked miniature, and there was at least 100 feet from the cliffs to the treetops. I knew of the view that awaited me, but never have I been able to prepare. To me, this is the most beautiful sight in West Virginia.



Of course, no trip to the North Mountain Rocks would be complete without some mention of Old Fon, the legendary goatman who lures small children up to the cliffs and shoves them off. And then there was the obligatory mention of Der Belsnickle, the mean (or perhaps just misunderstood) German version of Santa Claus who came to these cliffs with my ancestors back in the early 1700's.



We also remembered a little girl named Haddie Whitecotton, a friend of my great-grandmaw Mary, who while helping make hay one day, wandered off up into the mountains, and who was found dead over a month later. She was about 5 or 6 years old. The search party found her body up on top of the mountain near a massive mound of boulders. Nobody could figure out how she would have gotten up there through all the rough terrain. Some figured that a mountain lion had carried her up there since her body was covered with leaves when they found her. Others suspected a giant hawk had carried her up on the cliffs. A giant hawk had been seen in the vicinity carrying off a small calf only a week before Haddie turned up missing. Nobody ever knew for sure, and now a lonely little white cross marks the location where Haddie's body was found 100 years ago.

My family has been on this mountain for so long, it seems that everywhere I look I am reminded of a story about one of them. This mountain has sustained my family for so long, we are a part of it. My blood is a part of this mountain, and this mountain is part of my blood. The mountain seems to remember all of us, and it reminds us when we listen.



So what do you think? Was it a good idea to go for a walk out on the North Mountain Rocks? I think so.

Christmastime in the Land of the Belsnickel

Here is a story that I wrote about the Belsnickel. Please don't refer to him as Santa Claus, or else I'll have to go Belsnickel on you! This was originally written as a children's story, but as the story progressed I think it became apparent that it is a little much for most children. The Belsnickel story here is an amalgamation of Belsnickel tales that I have heard all of my life. My Grandmaw Mary always said that the Belsnickel lived up on North Mountain rocks, up the mountain from where we lived. I find this incredible since there are so many other creatures that inhabit these cliffs (i.e. Old Fon, The Snollygaster, Old Saul). Many of the tidbits that you will read in my story come from different tales told by my Grandmaw Mary.

People where I am from in Germany Valley, WV, still talk about the Belsnickel and belsnickling, which occured every year around Christmastime. People dressed up in costumes and went door to door, scaring people and it was all great fun. People tried to guess who you were in the costume, and if they didn't, they had to give you a cup of hot cider or some other form of treat. While this belsnickling still occurs in some parts of Pendleton County, it doesn't in my old neighborhood, the last time anyone can remember it was in the early 1980's. My Dad talks about going belsnickling when he was a kid and remembers it fondly, he said that if people expected belsnicklers to come by, they'd make up cakes, cookies and other goodies and pass them out. Dad also recalls that some homes they visited gave them fruit (Apples & Oranges), which to him were a real treat. You have to remember, this is the dead of winter in a very harsh area, so I'm sure these belsnicklers were a sight to see, carrying lanterns and singing and hollering at the top of their lungs, celebrating a centuries old tradition from a far-off land. Keeping with the traditions of my ancestors, I proudly display my belsnickel every Christmas, and even have a huge belsnickel that tops our Christmas tree.

The following is an old photo of belsnicklers in the Bland Hills of Pendleton County. The 3rd man from the left is Boss Bland, a friend of my grandpaw Alfred Kile (whom I talked about in the post "The Ballad of Alfred and Attie"). Notice the masks at the belsnicklers feet!



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Christmastime in the Land of the Belsnickel
by Matthew Burns, December 2008.

There is a land
Of wilderness glades, and craggy cliffs,
Of hidden coves and ancient forests.
Home of the Belsnickel.

Among this dark forest
Under the roots of a great oak tree
There is a limestone cavern
That is completely hidden from view.

In this dank cavern, Belsnickel makes his home,
He is hairy and covered in animal pelts,
With moss in his hair and lichens on his skin.
He lives in the cave, with his loyal servant Rupert.

Rupert is donned in the same manner as Belsnickel,
Only he is even dirtier,
Blackened from the soot of many fires
And smudged with the grease of many meals.

Every year, when it gets to be about this time of year.
When the leaves have been shed, the winter winds start to howl,
And the forest creatures prepare for winter in their own way.
Belsnickel and Rupert start plotting….

Plotting mischief and mayhem, of wreaking havoc
On the intruders who live in their valley.
They regale in events of seasons past, when they scared cattle,
Carried away children, and spread fear throughout the countryside.

A favorite pastime of Belsnickel and Rupert is tossing dried leaves and moss.
Down the chimneys of the valley homesteads,
Causing flue fires that sometimes engulf the home.
And laugh as the intruders frantically try to save their belongings.

Belsnickel has also been known to feed wild onions to the dairy cows,
So their milk will taste of onions and will be unfit for use by the intruders.
But most of all, Belsnickel and Rupert await Christmas Eve.
When everyone is indoors, reveling in the merriment of the season.

That is when Belsnickel becomes most embittered for being disturbed.
He loves the Winter Solstice, but can’t even bay at the moon,
Without the intruders hunting him with their ferocious hounds.
Belsnickel reckons that if he can’t celebrate, neither will they.

Late in the night, he and Rupert go from house to house,
Prying open the windows and breaking down doors.
Seeking vengeance they will yank children from their slumber,
And beat them with switches. Rupert hopes to toss a few in his sack, as well.

At these thoughts, pure joy shows on the face of Belsnickel and Rupert,
Primitive chuckles erupt from Ruperts snaggled mouth.
They are both anxious for night to fall,
And to begin their night of havoc.

Hours later, the forest is again quiet and Belsnickel and Rupert,
Having returned to their lair, await morning.
Fulfilled with their accomplishments, they celebrate.
They are the protectors of the forest, and without them, all would be lost.

In the valley, the bewildered & fearful intruders tell their children,
“Der Belsnickel punishes you for being bad. Next year you must be better.”
Through the giant roots of the oak tree, Belsnickel glances at the moon,
And breaks into a sorrowful and celebratory howl.