NEWS FROM THE HILLS
There is gold in our hills. Not the kind of gold that King Midas lusted after, or even the gold that the forty-niners dug for so feverishly. It is the unmatched gold that God designed when He created the heavens and the earth.
In my imagination, I can see Him carving out a little chunk of heaven and placing it in the earth, and announcing with satisfaction, “It is good!” If He did, this had to be our beautiful state of West Virginia, the place we call home.
September is beginning to gild her hills with gold; riches that money cannot buy, and treasures that cannot be hoarded. Each day brings new changes and added dimensions of beauty. The yellow-gold of the turning poplar trees stands out like flaming candles among the other trees.
Hickories are turning their own shade of gold, and the bronze-gold of the beeches are now seen. Goldenrod spreads fronds of pure sunshine in the fields and meadows, while the ditch lines are filled with blooming coreopsis. This hoard of gold coins transforms the ragged roadside border with riches untold.
I found the first asters of the season, the wild white ones with the scent of honey. The tiny yellow eye winked at me and carried out the theme of the season. No wonder this is called a season of gold.
How beautiful heaven must be! If our earth is such a place of wonder, especially during the fall season, then our minds cannot begin to comprehend the place that God has prepared for His people. Until that time, I will enjoy autumn in the hills.
It is during this delightful season that we have our annual Golden Delicious Apple Festival here in Clay. Folks come from far and near to mingle with old friends, visit kinfolk, and enjoy Clay County’s friendly atmosphere. There was a grand parade featuring the various queens and princesses riding on elaborate floats.
My sister, Mary Ellen Friend of Ravenswood was honored as the Grand Marshall of the parade. She was the first Miss West Virginia State Fair Queen fifty years ago. Still lovely and elegant, she has an inner beauty and Christian testimony that outshines the rest.
My 55th high school reunion (Class of 1952, Clay High School) was scheduled at the same time as the parade, and of course I wanted to attend both places. I settled for the parade first, as we had horseback riders from our family, and planned to go on to the reunion later. (Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men . . . !)
The parade was good. When the horseback riders came down the street, I was bursting with pride. Criss, adorned in his red and white checked western shirt, was riding Black Beauty, a Tennessee walker, while son Andy was mounted on Topsy.
Daughter Patty was astride Crystal and son-in-law Bob was beside her on Dillard. Our eight-year old granddaughter, Taylor came prancing along on Spirit.
All went well until they passed the motorcycle gang close to the post office, and someone gunned their motor just as the horses went by. It spooked Beauty, and she r’ared straight up in the air. One of the bystanders commented, “That old man sure knows how to ride!” Patty answered, “Heck, that old man knows how to hold on!”
That was not the end of the story—on the return trip, Beauty again got scared of the amusement rides, and when a motor roared, she stood on her hind legs and walked several feet up the street. I told Criss the Festival committee was going to bill him next year as “Clay County’s Oldest Trick Rider!” He didn’t think that was funny.
Parking was terrible in Clay, as our small town has narrow streets with vendors lined on each side. I parked on a vacant lot at the end of town, where vehicles were parked helter-skelter. When I hurried back after the parade on my way to the reunion, I was blocked in on both sides. I tried to get out anyway (dumb mistake) and ended up hanging my car door on the front bumper of a huge van (unoccupied.)
To make a long story short, by the time I got help (from a super-nice police officer named Paris Workman) it was too late to go to the reunion. I crept back up through town with my car door caved in, and could just hear the grandchildren say, “Well, Mommaw’s done it again!”
We had an answer to the question of what has happened to the whippoorwills and Bob-white birds. John L. Smith of Hurricane sent some pages from the manuscript of his book on birds. It is fascinating reading on the decline of both birds. In his closing sentence he wrote, “Our hope is that the parcels of landscape of the past always remain, and somewhere the voice that heralds the night will still be chanting in the gathering darkness.” Wonderful!
Maryanne B. Danner is looking for a recipe book containing nursery rhyme pies—such as “Four and Twenty Blackbirds.” I am not familiar with this, but maybe someone is. Sharon Shafer of Walton is searching for a poem that her mother, who is 88, memorized in school. She remembers part of it, “When mother ferns die, and baby ferns cry . . . when the wind is so bleak and the woodland so drear, on each baby’s cheek glistens a tear . . .” Does anyone know it?
Our daughter Crystal of Andrews, NC, home schools her girls and has a request concerning a project they are undertaking. They are doing a presentation reflective of West Virginia’s culture and history, and would welcome any information concerning our state. They will be cooking and serving food that is unique to our area, and would like to know what dishes we consider true mountain fare.
Her address is Crystal Sparks, PO Box 657, Marble, NC 28905, and the e-mail address is csparks@dnet.net. Any help will be appreciated.
“The goldenrod is yellow,
The corn is turning brown,
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.”
From “September” by Helen Hunt Jackson.
Autumn is here—enjoy it.
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