A Look Back at Bee Tree Creek

Samuel Paris McKinney (1822-1898)


The following story is about my wife Shirley's great-great-great grandfather. This story has been handed down for several generations, and was shared with me. Now I am sharing it with you.

Samuel Paris McKinney was born in 1822, and he lived most of his life in the rugged, wild mountains of Wyoming County, West Virginia. He received a land grant on Barker's Ridge where he made his home, but more often than not, could be found near his favorite hunting spot on Bee Tree Creek (which borders present day Wyoming and Raleigh counties). In Samuel Paris' days, there weren't many people in the Bee Tree Creek area and the hunting was excellent, perhaps even the best in the region. It was also considered so wild of an area that many men avoided it. People told tales of ferocious animals, evil spirits and even wild Indian hold-outs when speaking of the area. The tales grew even more frightening when they spoke of the great laurel thicket, a defining feature of the area. Samuel Paris liked it when he heard these stories; to him as long as people were afraid of the area it would remain wild and free of settlement. Taking advantage of the situation, he was often alone when he hunted, trapped and spent a great deal of time along Bee Tree Creek even though his official home was on Barker's Ridge, several miles away.

When Samuel Paris hunted, he carried with him a pack bag typical of men of the time. By his side was a mountain rifle and a tomahawk. His rifle was so long that many men found it nearly impossible to hold because the barrel was so long. There were newer rifles available to him, but his daddy had given him his rifle and it was a good rifle so he saw no need to "upgrade". He was known to be quite fearless in his exploits, taking chances that many deemed unnecessary but to him they were just everyday actions of living. Samuel Paris was known throughout the region as one of the first to raise hunting dogs, and his dogs were considered to be among the best bred and most well-trained in the region. Men would come from miles around to trade or buy a pup off of him, and it soon came to pass that having a good hunting dog by your side was essential to every hunting man in the area.

One time over on Bee Tree Creek, Samuel Paris had his favorite dog with him, and it wasn't too long until the dog picked up the trail of a great bear. When the bear realized it was being trailed, it broke into a full run right into the great laurel thicket. He had trained his dogs never to go into a laurel thicket after a bear because more often than not that action was a death sentence on the dog and quite often the man, too. But this time and against all its training, his favorite dog found a low trail and went into the laurel thicket after the bear.

Since this was his favorite dog, Samuel Paris saw no other option besides to go in after the dog. If it hadn't been his favorite dog, he probably would have just made camp and hoped the dog returned out of the thicket, but he just couldn't wait and hope when it came to his favorite dog. So against his better judgement he entered the laurel thicket after the dog. He planned on just retrieving the dog and getting out as quickly as possible, and his decision was justified after he entered the thicket. The laurel grew so thick that he was forced to crawl in many places, and seldom was there an area where a man could even stand upright. He was about a hundred yards into the laurel thicket when he located the dog, but soon realized that simply retrieving it wasn't an option. You see, the great bear had the dog penned up in a corner between two vertical cliffs on Bee Tree Creek, and was slowly closing in on it.

At this point, Samuel Paris was crawling along through the thicket as quickly as he could manage, trying to get to an open area where he could raise his gun. As it was, there was no chance of getting off a shot at the bear since he was practically dragging the rifle alongside of his body. He finally made his way into Bee Tree Creek, where the flowing water offered a slight opening in the laurel. But as he raised his rifle to shoot the bear, the bear had moved in so close to the trapped dog that it was impossible to get a shot at it for fear of hitting the dog.

Quick thinking coupled with the inherent and passionate bravery of a mountain Scotsman, Samuel Paris McKinney instantly came upon a plan. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled out the tomahawk from his belt, ran up to the bear and grabbed the great beast by the hair on the nape of its neck, quickly and deftly swung the tomahawk once and split the bear's skull wide open, killing it instantly. For years afterward, stories were recounted about how Samuel Paris McKinney had killed a bear with only a tomahawk and in the process had saved his favorite hunting dog, all without getting so much as a single scratch on him.

In the years following this account, progress inevitably took its toll upon the region, and the great laurel thicket was cut down and the area along Bee Tree Creek was settled. Later, coal mines dotted the landscape. As the area grew in population, Samuel Paris began to stay on his land high up on Barker's Ridge, and in his last days raised and sold hunting dogs to make a living. Men would come from miles around to buy his dogs and hear him regale his tales of yesteryear. The time of the rugged mountaineer had come to an end and those times were now found only in story form. And oh what great stories Samuel Paris McKinney told.

Mother's Day Flood

“You need to move your car!” These were the words that awakened us at 3:30am. Shirley’s brother, Ricky, was frantically pounding on our bedroom window to let us know that the floodwaters were quickly rising. Almost at the very same time as Ricky pounding on the window, the electricity went off.

I hollered back, “Okay, I’m coming.” Shirley jumped out of bed and, still half asleep, tried to help me to the bedroom door, however, in her sleepy stupor, she started moving items from all around the room into the middle of the bedroom floor. Since the room was pitch-black now due to the electric going out, she was setting up an obstacle course for me. The first thing I ran into, fell over and survived was a vacuum cleaner. The vacuum cleaner is usually completely out of the way, but that’s to Shirley’s “helpfulness”, it was located directly between me and the bedroom door. After falling over the vacuum, then tripping over a suitcase, and then kicking another suitcase, I asked Shirley to please quit assisting me in getting out of the room. My lumbersome march across the bedroom had awakened Shirley’s mother, who hollered that there was a flashlight on the nightstand. I then made my way toward the nightstand, only to encounter the same vacuum cleaner (which Shirley had again moved to help me out). Eventually the flashlight was found and I managed to escape Shirley's obstacle course of horrors with only a fist sized bruise on my ribcage. I then proceeded on my way outside into the downpour to rescue our car.

It had started raining at just about dark on Friday evening. We had been sitting out on the porch when the storm blew in, and we rushed inside. It had been raining on and off all night, and it seems a torrential downpour blew in every half hour or so.

Luckily, Ricky is a night owl and had checked on the rain before going to bed, and had noticed that his front yard was under water. He ran out and moved his truck as far up in the yard as he could, there’s not much high ground in Coon Branch but the top of the yard is slightly higher than the bottom of the yard.

By the time I made my way out to move our car, Ricky was standing beside the car and was watching the floodwaters rise. They were right up to the rear end of our car by that time, and I pulled it up as far as I could. The water pouring off the bank behind the house made the driveway look like a creekbed. Ricky told me that his newly planted garden was already under water, and that Matheny Bottom road was under about a foot and a half of water. He said it was almost coming in his truck door as he was moving it to higher ground. I shined the flashlight out into the darkness and all I could see was raging floodwaters. We were flooded in.

The storms kept rolling in one right after the other, and while it was soemtimes hard rain, it had rained like that many times before without flooding like it was. Shirley commented that the people up the holler had recently logged off their property so there was nothing to hold back the water, and it was rushing off, bringing with it tree limbs, rocks and soil.

I came back inside and went back to bed, Ricky said he’d keep an eye on the floodwaters and if they got any worse, we’d have to evacuate and move up on the hill where Shirley’s mother had to wait out the Great Coalfields Flood of 2001. I figured there wasn’t anything that I could do about the flooding so I might as well get some sleep while I could. Shirley, of course, tossed and turned and worried about the stormy waters around us all night.

After a few more storms, which included thunder and lightning, dawn was soon breaking. I woke up and looked outside, it looks about the same, still raining though not as hard as it was. Floodwaters were again nearing the back end of our car, but it looked like it’d be okay. There wasn’t any higher ground to move it too anyway.

Morning found us surrounded by water, and with no electricity. Shirley’s mother was completely distraught over not having her morning coffee. I offered to go outside and built a campfire and heat some water for coffee, but she said the juice would be back on directly. I had my camera so I went out and took some photographs of the flooding, and noticed that now that the rain had stopped that the floodwaters were starting to recede. I could see the tops of the tomato stakes in Ricky’s garden. That made the garden under about 5 feet of water!

After a couple of hours, the waters had went down a little and word got to us that the problem was that the water from Coon Branch had got backed up when it tried to empty into Laurel Fork. Laurel Fork was running full and couldn’t handle any more water, so it was making Coon Branch back up all over Matheny. It was almost as if Laurel Fork was acting as a dam that was holding back Coon Branch. People were commenting that the reason Laurel Fork was so flooded was because of the Mountaintop Removal site located about a mile upstream from the mouth of Coon Branch. Stories were told about how the runoff coming from the mountaintop removal site was unbelievable. Even during the flood, people were blaming the mountaintop removal mining and the rampant logging on exacerbating the flooding. Even old timers there were saying that the water had come up faster than any of them could remember, even in times of harder rain. Without pointing fingers, it did seem like something was going on. It did rain pretty hard at times, but nothing that should have caused this amount of flooding.



After the rain completely stopped, it was only a few hours before all the floodwaters were gone and Coon Branch was left covered with a thick muddy muck that covered everything. The clean-up began, and damage was assessed. We also began to see sightseers coming and going, seemingly getting joy out of other folk’s misery of having lost everything they owned. Many of them would point and ogle at various sites that had been flooded out. I never could understand that. A real Appalachian would have asked if there was anything they could do to help, rather than just driving by to snap pictures and wave. There were even some of the younger people driving their jacked up trucks through the receding floodwaters and playing in the thick mud left behind. This was no time for play.

I was left pondering what is becoming of Appalachia? The land raped by rogue industries, the people ignored by politicians until something bad happens, increased flooding caused by poor stewardship of the land, then looky-loo’s who apparently get joy out of seeing others in misery. What is to become of us now that we are under attack economically, politically, socially, culturally and environmentally? There can be no Appalachia without the mountains that define us. There can be no Appalachia if the basic tenets of what makes us Appalachians are ignored and not passed on to the next generation. Are we to become a culture of victims?

While this was just a relatively small flood up a secluded holler in Wyoming County, West Virginia, it really opened up my eyes to the floodgates that are bulging with a change that will surely flood and forever alter the face of Appalachia if something is not done to curb the insanity.

Cora

For today's post, I am going to tell readers of my mother-in-law, Cora (McKinney) Stewart. The best way to do this is to post the song lyrics of "Song for a Miner's Wife", which was written specifically about Cora by her daughter Shirley. The song can be found on Shirley's upcoming CD, "Been to the Mountaintop".
===================
Song for a Miner’s Wife (Ode to my Mother)
by Shirley Stewart Burns

I came to this valley 40 years ago.
A young miner’s bride to have and to hold.

I was barely 16, and so scared was I
to leave mommy and Daddy and my family behind.

It’s a lonely life
to be a miner’s wife.
Such a lonely life, to have and to hold
Goodnight.

I soon settled into my daily routine.
Neely went to the mine, and I cooked and cleaned.
Three children we had, a girl and two boys

our lives they were filled with comfort and joy.



It’s a lonely life
to be a miner’s wife.
Such a lonely life, to have and to hold
Goodnight.

I prayed for my Neely as he went to the mine.
And I prayed that my boys never would find.
That they had not a choice but to go underground,
With death and destruction looming all around.

It’s a lonely life
to be a miner’s wife.
Such a lonely life, to have and to hold
Goodnight.



I watched as my Neely gasped for his breath.
His lungs were infested, the pain in his chest.
“We’ll grow old together,” he told me once.
But the mining did kill him, dead at 51.

It’s a lonely life
to be a miner’s wife.
Such a lonely life, to have and to hold.
Goodnight.

The years quickly passed and my children are grown.
Mostly out of this valley, out on their own.
I think back in time to my young handsome groom,
All alone with my thoughts in this quiet bedroom.



It’s a lonely life
to be a miner’s wife.
Such a lonely life, to have and to hold

Goodnight.

© Shirley L. Stewart, 2000

The Year in Review--2008

I know these types of “Year in Review” write-ups are often overdone, but bear with me as I’m going to remember the events that shaped My 2008.

January was a cold month for us, the gas bill doubled from the previous month which caused frugal me to go into conservation mode, and use blankets and run the little electric heater to keep the furnace from kicking on. Also, lots of soup made its way into our suppertime along with the obligatory homemade bread. It was during this cold spell that I wrote the poem, “The Lonesome Wind”. After eating lots of good food, and losing part of our fingers to frostbite, we realized that the gas company screwed up our bill and estimated our gas usage to be more than double of any month of actual usage, so we turned the heat back on and set the thermostat to a balmy 54 degrees. Hey, I’m still frugal!!!


February Snow in front of our place.

February found us depressed due to the bleak times of winter. I never have been one to like the winter months, I like it hot enough to melt the tar on the road. In February, we found out that Shirley’s book, “Bringing Down The Mountains”, released the previous November, had sold out of its first printing and was going into a second. Also, Shirley was approached by Mari-Lynn Evans who done the book & documentary, The Appalachians, about the possibility of editing a new book that she was working on about mountaintop removal. It was also in February that we made a trip to Morgantown, where we visited my brother Jason, and where we realized that we really miss Morgantown. We ate at Kassars restaurant, and admitted that the food alone was worth the trip.





March was a pleasant enough month, the weather started warming up, I still haven’t got used to how early spring comes here in Charleston. Many times I’ll be talking to my mother on the telephone and she will comment about how hard it is snowing and I’ll say, “No, it’s in the 50’s here”. I guess to me winter will always be like the ones I experienced growing up on the mountain. Also, in late March, Shirley facilitated the plenary session on mountaintop removal at The Appalachian Studies Association conference (an academic conference), at the end of which in the questions portion of the session, she was shocked to be asked to sing one of her original songs. She did, and luckily it was captured on video and put on YouTube. Listen to Shirley by clicking here. After the session, she was asked by many people where they could buy her CD. She responded that she didn’t have one, and was then approached by Michael & Carrie Kline, renowned Appalachian Folklorists (http://www.folktalk.org/about.html) who offered to record Shirley in the summer.

April was a good month, I relished in the greenery that was returning to the mountains. Too bad gas was $4.39 a gallon or else we would have travelled a bit to soak it all up. Instead, we watch spring arrive by looking out our front door and by going to Coonskin Park, which is just under the hill from where we live.

April in Pendleton County.

May was a might hectic. Shirley agreed to compile & edit the new book from Mari-Lynn Evans, and we hammered out a contract. It is a long story, and thankfully Mari-Lynn is a good person or else our publisher, Sierra Club Books, would have driven us all crazy. In late May, my brother Jason came for a visit. He wanted to go on a ghost tour of this part of the state, he came with a list of places to visit in hand, and of course it was hot by now, in the upper 90’s. We took him around to most of them. On the last day of his visit, he wanted to visit Granny Sue at her farmstead. I had only briefly met Granny Sue once before in Morgantown, and was a might hesitant to impose on someone for an afternoon, but all my reservations were erased when we met her husband Larry at the exit by the interstate. Larry was to lead us to their farm, which is located on a backroad of a backroad. On the way, Larry pulled into a little stop-and-rob gas station, and I turned to my brother and said, “This ain’t no farm. I thought you said they lived on a farm!” Larry then gave us that grin that he is known for, and said, “Gotta get some milk.” There was just something about Larry that makes you instantly like him. Well, after that, I just knew that these were good people and people I wanted to get to know. We then continued to follow Larry up a long and winding road through some beautiful land. I really can’t explain my first impression of Granny Sue & Larry’s homestead, it was everything that I have ever wanted in a house and more. It truly is my dream home. And they are so nice, we just sat around and talked all afternoon and into the evening. Unfortunately, we had to leave earlier than I would have liked because Jason had to return to Morgantown that night and he had quite a trip ahead of him.




Above: Granny Sue's Kitchen.


Above: Jason, Granny Sue and Larry telling stories.


Above: Me spinning a yarn.

June started with me discovering Granny Sue’s blog. I had never really read blogs before, I just didn’t get the whole concept. But it all made sense when I read through the hundreds of posts, and I saw just how much we had in common. It also dawned on me that I had stories to tell, and perhaps people would want to hear them. So I thought and though about started my own blog, I knew it’d be a lot of work, but could also be very rewarding. I put it on my to-do list. Late June found us at the Stewart Family Reunion in Wyoming County. We always try to attend the family reunion and to catch up with folks, we’d missed the year before due to a deadline on Shirley’s first book that had to be met, so we made a point to go. We’re glad we did.



Above: The Stewart Reunion

July found us on the mountain. I hadn’t been there since March when Shirley was at the Appalachian Studies Association Conference so it was great to be home. We took the scenic route home, and drove to Covington, Virginia, and then up US 220 through Bath & Highland Counties, and then into Pendleton. It was a nice drive. I still remember how sleek and shiny the cattle were in Bath County. I don’t think I’ve ever seen cattle that looked that good before in my life. While at home, I met an old genealogy friend, Glenn Huffman, and we went looking at a few old cemeteries. We found the tombstone of my great-great-great grandfather, George Sponaugle Cunningham. It was quite a find, and thanks to Glenn’s eye, a stone that I had previously overlooked was identified. Later in July, I started this blog. I was inspired by my trip home, and given the impetus by Granny Sue and encouraged by Shirley. Shirley thinks, as they say on the mountain, that “I can drive hen shit to gunpowder”, so I was pleasantly surprised with the response that I have gotten with the blog. Also in July, we attended the annual McKinney Family Reunion at Twin Falls State Park in Wyoming County. In addition, in the middle of the month, Shirley recorded her CD of original songs in Elkins, WV. In the last part of July, Shirley and I celebrated our 5th anniversary by going on a day trip to Lewisburg to eat at our favorite restaurant, Food & Friends. We also toured the town, visited antique shops and later decided to visit Grandview State Park. It was a good day. We returned home late that night, and the next morning received the sad news that Shirley’s uncle Ray had passed away. I am reminded of the first conversation I ever had with Uncle Ray, he told me a fool-proof way to keep tomatoes from blighting!!!



Above: Shirley talking to Uncle Ray at the Stewart Reunion.



Above: The Humpback Bridge, Covington, VA.


My great-great-great grandfathers tombstone.


Above: July 4th in Germany Valley.


Above: The McKinney Family Reunion.

August arrived with a heatwave. I found myself slipping outdoors a little more to enjoy the sweltering heat, and I also noticed that I seldom went anywhere without the digital camera so I could take photo’s for the blog. August also found us both working on the new book, now titled “Coal Country”. I was a research assistant for Shirley, we work well together, I have no desire to be in the forefront of things and fortunately for both of us Shirley has the ambition to make things happen. Besides, I couldn’t buy a job in Charleston so what better job could I ask for than to work for my wife from home.

September found us neck deep in essays from various people wanting to contribute to the book. It was progressing nicely but was getting quite hectic. I found that my continuing posts to this blog really helped me relax and keep sane (or as sane as I get). I also found that the more I wrote on the blog, the more stories I remembered. It was about this time that I really discovered poetry. I found that I like it a great deal. Whoda thunkit? Also in September, we toured the Arthurdale, a New Deal community in Preston County, WV, and later we attended a political rally in support of Coal River Wind Farm, which offers an alternative to blasting away the last mountain in the Coal River Mountain that hasn't been disturbed by mountaintop removal.



Above: Coal River Wind Project Rally in Charleston, WV.

October was the month from Hell for us. It is usually one of our favorite months and we typically spend it traversing the backroads of the mountains, soaking in the changing seasons and admiring God’s Creation. Instead of this, we had some event scheduled for nearly every weekend. The first weekend Shirley gave a presentation on mountaintop removal to a group of 200+ students at Virginia Tech. The 2nd weekend we had a book signing here in Charleston, and we had to prepare another presentation for the following weekend which was in Roanoke, Virginia, at the Society of Environmental Journalists (SEJ) conference. She spoke at the breakfast plenary session on Environmental Justice in the Coalfields. It was very well attended (300+) journalists from around the world. I must also say that the Roanoke Mall is awesome, and I rediscovered the goodness of frozen cheesecake on a stick at The Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. But on a sour note, our hotel (which was not cheap by any means) was horrible. It was at the Quality Inn in Roanoke. Avoid this rat palace at all costs. The ceiling of the room was falling in and water stained, you couldn’t close the bathroom door without lifting the toilet seat, and the bed pillows were really couch cushions!! No kidding! We even complained at checkout and they dismissed us by just saying, “Okay”. Talk about customer service, they could really use some! On the way home, we swung around by Lewisburg and had lunch at Food & Friends, and then went leaf peeping at what was left of the autumn leaves. We did stop at Beartown State Park and experienced a spiritual moment with nature. In between of all this, we also found time to stand in as witnesses at our best friend Christina's wedding.


Above: At Beartown.


Above: Jeff & Christina, newlyweds

November was looked forward to as a time to relax, the presentations were all over and the book was coming together. Shirley had some health issue’s to arise and needed her mommy to soothe her with some homemade potato soup, so I went to Wyoming County and picked up Mawmaw who stayed with us for a few weeks. Also, no Year in Review of 2008 would be complete without some mention of the defining event of the year, the November Election. Let me say that we watched with bated breath the goings on of the wheels of democracy. Shirley and I have both been longtime critics of King George the Unwise, and you might recognize Shirley from footage of the first inauguration of King George where she was protesting by holding a sign that said, “No Count Election, No ‘Count President”. We actually didn’t have a clear choice in the 2008 election, we weren’t really eat up with the message of either candidate. We liked McCain’s stand on mountaintop removal better than Obama’s, but like Obama’s views on education better than McCain, and mountaintop removal and education were our key issues. I guess for us the deciding factor were the VP picks, one of them we disliked, but the other we despised. In the end we recognized that either of them would be better than what we currently have in Office, so we voted our conscience and waited to see who won. We hope the winner has the wisdom to lead this republic in an honorable and respectable manner. I guess I am jaded because for the life of me, I don’t see why anyone would want the job. Late November found me on the mountain for deer season. I had a great time with my family, and hunting…or what passed for it…I shot more photographs than bullets, as a matter of fact, I didn’t even shoot my gun.



Above & Below: Germany Valley, WV. November 2008



December came with a flurry of excitement. Shirley and I are real big Christmas junkies. I decided to wait in anticipation for Der Belsnickel. He showed up just in time. In other news, Shirley and I met the first deadline for the book, Dec. 15, and on the 19th we began our annual migration through West Virginia in celebration of the Christmas season. We had a great time visiting, and got a lot of great gifts. On the way home, hot sausages were spilled, a great stench arose from the back seat of our car that has yet to dissipate, and New Years Eve found us at home playing Nintendo Wii (a Christmas gift from our friends Krystyl & Jeffrey), watching movies and contemplating a prosperous New Year.



Der Belsnickel

I want to thank everyone who brightened my 2008, and to all of those who read and comment on this blog. I hope you will continue to stop by for a visit often, and let me know what you think about things. I hope to get to know you all better in the coming year and I pray that good things await for us all.

Matthew, 2 January 2009

Report on Christmas

Hello all. I hope you all enjoyed a wonderful Christmas surrounded by those whom you love. I thought I'd devote today's post to catching up since my last post.

On Friday evening, Dec. 19, Shirley and I left Charleston and headed to her homeplace in Matheny, Wyoming County, WV. On the way, we had supper with two of our good friends, Christina and her husband Jeff, at an italian restaurant in Beckley. It was really good. Shirley and I had to do a little last minute Christmas shoplifting (just kidding...shopping). At 10 pm, we were just getting to Walmart in Crab Orchard. As soon as we parked, I heard someone singing southern gospel. I know it isn't unusual to hear someone singing southern gospel in southern West Virginia, but it was after 10 pm in a Walmart parking lot. I found that a little unusual, even for Beckley. After hearing the singing a little bit, it dawned on me that I knew the voice, and I commented, "That sounds like Jack Stewart!". Sure enough, it was Shirley's Uncle Jack, just sitting in his vehicle with the windows rolled down singing at the top of his lungs. I went up and talked a little with him, and he told me that they just got done singing up at the old folks home, and Aunt Diane needed to do some shopping, so he stayed in the car while she went shopping.

We got to Matheny around 11:30 that night.

The next day found us back in Beckley with Mawmaw (Shirley's mother) and her brother Rick. Mawmaw needed to do some shopping, and Rick needed to get out of the house. We had a really nice time out on the town. We made a day of it.

When we got back we received word that Shirley's Aunt Brookie had passed away. She was a month shy of being 93. Shirley and I went an saw her at the hospital in August, and Brookie was a sharp as a tack. They say Brookie was sharp minded right up until the end, her heart gave out. We attended the wake that was held Monday Evening at Brookie's church in Skin Fork, WV. The wake was one of the old timey ones where they sat up with the dead all night. It was cold that night, down in the low teens, but there were several hundred people who showed up to pay their respects and remember Aunt Brookie.

On Sunday, we got together with a few friends, Christina and Jeff stopped by and we exchanged gifts with them. They got me and Shirley a Nintendo Wii!! Wow, we were both shocked and amazed at what good friends we have.

On Christmas Eve, we ate Christmas dinner at Mawmaw's. I made the ham, the rolls, and Mawmaw's favorite, Ambrosia Salad. It all turned out really good. We ate so much it was nigh onto sinful. Then we opened gifts with the family. About 4pm, Shirley and I hit the road for Monkeytown, home of my people. It was 61 degree's when we left Matheny, but it kept getting a little colder as we travelled. By the time we got to Monkeytown, it was down to 50 degree's, still good travelling weather even if it was raining.

Christmas Day we were greeted with many many presents. I got a calendar of Pendleton County Churches, which I had been wanting. I also got a great flag of Germany. Those were probably my two favorite gifts of the year, although I must say everything that I got was appreciated. Oh, and I also got a huge jar of hot sausages!!! More about those later....

All the cousins and Aunts and family stopped by to see us on Christmas Day. My Aunt Aim and my Cousin Ditme visited for about 4 hours. We had a good time talking and joking around. Later that night, another aunt, Big Six, and her children, The Sixlets, stopped by and we played cards. We had a good time way up into the night.

Also, of note, while at home I split some more wood for Dad, I like to split wood. Also, I'm pretty sure that the mice who ran out of the woodpile all congregated in the ceiling over my bed and were having their own Christmas Party that night. They were so loud I ended up beating on the ceiling at 4 am, to no avail. Those mice just wouldn't stop! Oh, and the best part is when they started playing soccer with a hickory nut. I was just a hair shy of cranking some buckshot into the ceiling. Oh, and the best part, Mom's great mouser, Buttercup, lay snoring through the whole ordeal!! Ahhh, the joys of country living.

We returned home on December 28th, but not before I packed my huge jar of hot sausages (half-eaten by this time), which got upset as the car was being packed, so I got a back floor full of hot sausage "juice"! Whew, that is a real treat to smell. I sopped up all of the "juice" that I could get with an old towel, and then sprayed it down with odor neutralizer...still no help...so in Buckhannon on the way home I stopped at got a box of 20 Mule Team Borax and a box of Baking soda, I scattered it about 2 inches deep on the floor board, but the smell is still there. Today I vacuumed the car out, and I've come to the conclusion that the hot sausage smell is gonna be with us for a long time.

Oh, and to top it all off, our digital camera died on the way home (unrelated to the hot sausage incident), so we are in the market for one of those. The photo's that we took will be okay though, we have them on a memory card, we just can't access them without another camera.

All in all, it was an enjoyable Christmas, and one that I will remember (and hopefully not just because of the stench in the car!)

How was your Christmas?

I'll Be Home For Christmas

Recently Tipper over at The Blind Pig and The Acorn featured a post about Christmas music and she asked readers what is their favorite Christmas song. I thought about it a little bit and then it dawned on me, my favorite Christmas song is "I'll be Home for Christmas". I thought I'd share with y'all how this became my favorite song.

Every Christmas Eve, my wife Shirley and I travel from her family’s home in Wyoming County in southern WV to my family’s home in Pendleton County in the Potomac Highlands of WV. The drive takes about 4 to 5 hours if the weather is good. Since Shirley's family opens gifts on Christmas Eve and my family opens gifts on Christmas Day, we are able to be with both of our families for Christmas...although it means spending most of Christmas Eve on the road.

Pendleton County snowy road (Courtesy of Cousin Darlene Wilton)

I recall watching the weather before we left that day, and it was calling for a bad snowstorm to hit on Christmas Eve, but in southern WV it was just rain so we thought we'd be okay. So we left Wyoming County about 4 p.m. and started up the road. We were making pretty good time but about halfway home just as we got into the mountains, we drove into snow. It looked just like a wall of snow, one minute we were in rain and the next we were in a blizzard. I turned to Shirley and said “Okay Rudolph, full power” quoting one of her favorite Christmas cartoons. We took it easy on the now bad roads and were making progress on our trip, albeit we were really going slow now.

In the back of both of our minds we were dreading the worst part of the trip which lay ahead of us. You see, there are four big mountains after we get off the interstate, and sure enough the further we went into the mountains, the worse the roads got. On the first mountain, which is usually the least treacherous of all of them, there were several accidents and the road was blocked. There were cars in the ditch and big rigs jack-knifed all over the roads. It looked like Hermie and Rudolph weren’t going to get through. The state troopers were there and were telling people to go back to Elkins and spend the night because the road was going to be closed until they got the worst of the wrecks cleared up. They expected it to be several hours if not overnight. Well, I insisted to Shirley that we wait for a little while and see if things changed, I didn't want to miss being with my family on Christmas.

Germany Valley, Pendleton County winter

After what seemed like an eternity there was no change in the road conditions and it all looked very bleak. I was beginning to realize that I was probably going to have to spend my first Christmas away from my family on the mountain. I decided to check the weather one last time to see if there were any updates on the situation, so I turned on the radio. The song that was playing was "I'll be Home for Christmas", and it was especially poignant to me when it got to the part "I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams". The radio offered no news that I wanted to hear and I was beginning to face reality and admitted that we were probably going to have to turn back towards Elkins.

Just when we were discussing where to stay in Elkins, we heard something coming up the mountain. There was a sound of “jing…jing…jing…jing”, it was either sleigh bells or road chains, and I told Shirley it was either Santy Claus or a snowplow. The sound kept getting louder and it was getting closer. A few moments later, we say the lights of a snowplow and it was scraping the road and throwing down cinders. It cleaned the road around the wrecks just enough for our little car to get through. I went up to assess the newly plowed road and told the State Troopers that I thought I could get through and that I was going to try it. The State police tried to talk me out of it, and tried to warned me of the danger and they told me that if I wrecked I'd probably have to wait until morning to get assistance. I was concerned but I grew up driving in snow so I was confident in my driving, it was just everyone else that I was worried about. So, I got in the car and drove right through those wrecks in the newly plowed road. Behind me, several other cars decided to follow me, but the very next car behind me couldn’t get through the road and got stuck and once again blocked the road. So we were alone and for the next 15 miles or so, we never so much as saw the first vehicle. We were driving on roads that were covered with snow, and we were making our own road as we went.

Germany Valley in Winter

After crossing the 3rd mountain, the snow immediately stopped and once again we drove into rain once again, which was odd because usually the last two mountains are the worst. I’ve never seen a storm like that since, it was like someone shut off the “snow switch”. From there to where we started up the last mountain where home is, we didn’t have snow. It was once again snowing on the mountain at home, but it wasn’t all that bad, probably only 2 or 3 inches on the road. We made it home just as everyone was going to bed…the trip took us nearly nine hours. I remember blowing the car horn as we pulled up the driveway, and hollering out the window, "Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas Clark!", quoting Cousin Eddie from the Christmas Vacation movie. I was just ecstatic!

My parents were shocked that I had made it across the mountains, they had been listening to the police scanner all night, and it was reporting that the mountains were blocked and no traffic was getting through. Mom said that Dad commented to her when they heard the report on the police scanner, “I’ll bet that it is killing Babe not being able to get home.” (Yes, my nickname is Babe!) My one little cousin was the only one of them that hadn’t given up hope, and she wasn't at all shocked when Shirley and I pulled up the driveway. I remember she kept saying, "I told you all that Matthew would be here for Christmas. I told you he wouldn't miss it."

I know the Lord was travelling with us that night, and He answered my prayers in getting us home that snowy Christmas Eve. Ever since then, my favorite Christmas song has been "I'll be Home for Christmas" because it reminds me of my very own Christmas miracle that occurred along a snowy roadside in the mountains of West Virginia.

Coon Branch

Today, I’m going to post a story from my wife Shirley’s family. Her family were the first settlers of Wyoming County in southern West Virginia so all of her people are from down that way. The story I’m going to share with you is about her father whose name was Neely, her uncle and a cousin back in the 1960’s when they left southern WV in search of work.

Left to right: Neely, his older brother Charles and their cousin Kennis, photo taken in Coon Branch abt 1945.

Neely was looked up to by his cohorts as a fellow who knew his way around the world. He was a little older than most of them and he had been in the Korean War so he knew his way around outside of southern WV. Aside from Neely, none of his close friends had ever lived anywhere besides Coon Branch.

Neely around the time of the infamous job search. Photo taken in Coon Branch.

In the 1960’s, times were really hard and work could not be found anywhere so Neely suggested to some men that they go to other states to look for work. They did. First, they started in Virginia but everywhere they went, nobody would hire them because they were from West Virginia. They then went on down through the Carolinas where they received the same treatment. This was a problem for many men of that time since West Virginians had the reputation for working just long enough to earn enough money to return back home. Everywhere Neely and his two kinfolk went, they always heard the same response, “we don’t need anyone right now” or “we just hired someone for this position” when the employers found out where they were from.

Home for Christmas. Neely in Coon Branch in the 1960's

Neely caught on really fast to this ploy and told his two kinfolk, “the next job we interview for, when they ask us where we are from tell them we are from anyplace except West Virginia”. The men felt really good about this plan and sure enough the next day they found a place in Florida that needed three able bodied men for immediate openings. In the interview, which was conducted at the same time for all three men, the boss eventually got to the inevitable question, “So, where are you boys from?”

Before Neely could answer with the white lie, his cousin who was fresh out of the holler piped up and responded, “Coon Branch”.

At this point in the story, years later Neely would recount, “Needless to say, we didn’t get the job. I should have told them to say we were from any other STATE than West Virginia.”

Soon thereafter, the three men gave up and came back home and Neely went on alone to find work in Chicago. He did very well for himself there until the mines opened back up and he was able to come back home to Coon Branch, where he lived out the rest of his days.


Neely and oldest son, Ricky, on the streets of Chicago.

Neely’s life in Chicago in detailed in the book, Appalachian Odyssey: Historical Perspectives on the Great Outmigration edited by Phillip J. Obermiller.