The Visit: Sanctuary and Sustainability

Dad waiting for dinner at the local tavern.

“I wish you could too, sweetie.” My dad’s voice was wistful as he agreed with me when I said I wished we lived closer so I could join him on some of his walks. Section by section, he was trekking his way across one of the West Virginia rails-to-trails. Long after our phone call ended, his words rang in my mind, echoing solemnly. How much longer will I have the opportunity to do something like this? My heart yearned to be back in the mountains during the fall and I remembered our trips exploring West Virginia’s state parks. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d experienced the blaze of colors that comes with an Appalachian autumn.

A few days later, after a tip from a friend about cheap air fares, I had cleared my calendar and purchased a ticket home.  Amazingly, my inner Scrooge remained silent. Before I knew it, the day had arrived and my plane was descending out of the white and gold heavens down through thick, gray clouds to a wet and rainy airport. Still, my heart thrilled to see patches of scarlet, burnt orange, and shining golden yellow. Finally, the plane landed and emptied out. I made my way down crowded corridors and there at the edge of the security gate with a smile as large as the mountains stood the man who had introduced me to the wonders of nature. My dad.

Sanctuary

My personal retreat.

When we arrived at my dad and stepmom’s house, tucked away on a secluded ridge overlooking the Ohio River, I paused for a moment, soaking in the peaceful aura. Wind chimes rang softly in the breeze. Inside the peacefulness continued as I entered a modern sanctuary. Hues of white and blue soothed my eyes and spirit while assorted Buddha’s reminded me to stay present in the moment. Upstairs awaited my personal retreat. In the guest bedroom the white was balanced with dark wood, making me think of a quiet forest on a snowy day. Topping it all off was a hint of vanilla scent, adding a warmth and coziness to the room. It was here that I would retreat to read or write in the evenings after days of visiting, wandering the local shops (such as Barking Dog Books), or hiking.

My other favorite spot to read or just think was the sunroom. Complete with its own small gas heater for winter days or chilly mornings, this room provided the perfect place to curl up and read. The sun shared its warmth and light as I watched the leaves fall or listened to bird song, all accompanied by the gentle tinkle of the solar-powered doll chimes.

The Hike – Tunnel 19

The day of our hike dawned with a thick, wet fog clinging to everything it touched. The chill air had the crispness of a mountain autumn, but by 10:00 am the sun had started to burn off the fog. By the time we arrived at our starting point the day had launched into a beautiful Indian summer. Although there was a big group of bikers and some hikers, they were all headed the opposite direction on the trail. We, however, were headed out to Tunnel 19, a tunnel three miles out and supposedly haunted!

Dad and I, prepared with walking stick, water, snacks, flashlight, and camera, headed down the leaf-strewn trail. At first, the sounds of the town still intruded, cars, people working outside. Soon, though, the trail quieted, broken only by the sounds of our feet shuffling through the leaves and the hum of insects making the most of the last few days of warm weather. Rounding a bend, we came upon a doe standing on the trail. For a few moments we all stood and looked at each other. I could not imagine the fleeting thoughts behind those liquid brown eyes. Then, she bounded gracefully away down the trail a bit before disappearing into the woods.

Preparing to enter the tunnel.

After we had been walking awhile, both sides of the trail began to rise steeply and the air temperature dropped. We knew the tunnel was just ahead. Suddenly, we were there. Water dripped down one side of the entrance forming a pool. The gaping darkness of the tunnel was like the mouth of the mountain, waiting to swallow us. We had arrived at the Silver Run Tunnel 19 and were about to see for ourselves if any ghosts clung to its damp dark walls.

After taking several pictures to document our historic moment and to record our location should the ghosts get us, Dad turned on his flashlight, hefted his walking stick and we ventured in. Our voices hushed as we carefully made our way into the murkiness. Still the tunnel caught our whispers and eerily echoed them back to us. Along the walls were shallow alcoves, which we

Coming out of the tunnel.

wondered about together, finally guessing that they were made for the workers to have a safe place to retreat to when the train came. After what seemed like an eternity we made it out into the welcoming sunshine on the other side. After a snack and some water we headed back into the tunnel to finish the second half of our hike back to the car.

I didn’t hear or see any ghosts. If there was any presence there, it was the ancient spirit of the mountain. Perhaps watching, waiting, wondering when humankind will grow up.

My dad and I finished our walk. A few days later I headed home. Sitting on the plane, I realized that my visit was one of the best things I had done for myself, for my dad, and as part of my quest for a sustainable life.

“Appalachia is a bad taste in mainstream American’s mouths. Because it’s vast, it’s stark, it’s real. We’re not this plastic society that Americans thrive on now, this materialistic place. We don’t put on a show, don’t put on airs. We’re unhomogenized. We’re not Photoshopped. We’re unretouched. We’re real people. And I don’t think mainstream America likes real and stark and raw. That’s my opinion of it.”

~~~~~~~~ Judy Bonds, activist, in Something’s Rising: Appalachians Fighting Mountaintop Removal

Stop Mountaintop Removal

iLoveMountains.org

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