Focus on Color: Pink

Over three weeks ago, when school was still in session, Coban got off the bus on a Friday wearing black shorts, a red hoodie, and the fuzzy Santa socks I bought him this year for Christmas. “I was feeling festive this morning,” he said. “Because one way to survive the Coronavirus is by having fun!”

Since then, he’s had three weeks of doing school from home. We aren’t really seeing people much, except occasionally outside, at a distance. Even this resilient, good-natured child is starting to feel the pain. He got quiet last night while we were making dinner, and I looked over and saw a big tear sliding down his cheek. Sundays are not our favorite day anyway, but they feel even harder right now.

He decided we needed to take another photo walk. I let him pick the color the last two times, but I suggested pink last night because it’s everywhere right now.

I got out a notepad and gave him a quick lesson in negative space and composition before we left. The thing is, he doesn’t really care much about the photos at this point. He was happy when I sent him one of his own shots to use as a background on his Chromebook after the first time we went, but he hasn’t looked at any of his photos again since then.

It’s really just being out there doing something that is helping him (and me) right now. What’s working for us with this particular project is that there are parameters. We have a specific goal in mind, and we can do it again next time but slightly differently. New day, new color.

We’ll run out of colors eventually of course. But I’m hoping it’s the kind of creative kickstart that leads to new and different things.

Even if it doesn’t, we both felt a lot better when we returned home last night. With the brevity of a nine-year old boy, he said, “I don’t feel stuck anymore.”

Focus on Color: Purple

It was about 4:30 pm yesterday when Coban grabbed both my shoulders and shook me as he gave a little faux scream. We both wondered why it wasn’t already time to either watch TV or go to bed.

He wanted to ride bikes around the neighborhood, but it was cold, and I’d already been on a run. Since I wouldn’t agree to anything else, he caved to my walk-with-camera suggestion.

About a half hour in, he said, Thanks for suggesting this. We’d just been barked at by some scary dogs and chased by some toddlers. We were having fun.

We looked for purple this time, obviously, and found it in so many tiny spring flowers. The irony of living through a very scary time but still being free to walk outside and take in all this fresh beauty.

I’m concerned about what is happening and what’s going to happen, of course. But I’m also really grateful for this unexpected, uninterrupted alone time with my child. And the fact that he may have finally found a way of making art that speaks to him.

Hi-Chew, anyone?

Focus on Color: Yellow

The nine-year old doesn’t get too excited about neighborhood walks unless there’s a little game involved. Sometimes we bring the football to pass back and forth as we go. Yesterday I lured him out by handing him a camera.

These are my photos, not his, but I like to hope that maybe I’ve planted a seed.

Meanwhile, the walk felt like something of a scavenger hunt as we looked for all things yellow. I like the symbolism here: you find what you’re looking for.

Maybe this will turn into a little mini series as we make our way through the coming weeks of quasi isolation. Nothing like being put in a box by a virus to stimulate some outside-the-box creativity.

Morgantown murals!

Earlier this year, I started volunteering at Arts Mon (Monongalia County’s art council) and attended my first Arts Collaborative meeting. I learned about a cool pop-up art event that was planned for the courthouse square and that the Arts Collaborative had worked with the City and Mainstreet Morgantown to wrap downtown trash cans in work by local artists. But the thing I heard that got me all excited was this: Morgantown has a mural initiative.

Since that meeting not six months ago, five new murals have popped up downtown. And they’re good.

A local family painted a giant rainbow on one of their downtown buildings that sends a cheerful, open message as you head into town from the Westover bridge. If you cross that bridge and continue up Pleasant Street to the local co-op, you’ll see that it now has a giant cardinal on its outside wall. (All you West Virginia history nerds will recognize this as West Virginia’s state bird.)

The next and newest contribution is hiding in an alley on Court Street, which connects High and Spruce Streets across from the courthouse. I really like how that new mural works in harmony with the existing graffiti.

Court Street leads through to Spruce. As you continue North, you’ll pass Health Right, a free clinic that treats low-income and underinsured patients. The side of the building that borders a quaint alley called Wall Street now highlights four local leaders’ contributions to the community. In very pretty colors.

Next, cross the Walnut Street bridge into South Park to find the new image gracing the parking lot of Gene’s, Morgantown’s oldest (and arguably best) local dive bar. The Gene’s mural coordinates with a recently-painted rainbow crosswalk that adds a little spice to the whole block and continues that same message of acceptance.

As you can see from this Pinterest board I started a while back, I love the idea of art on buildings and in crosswalks and on benches and on park picnic tables. It takes the ordinary and transforms it into something happy and inspiring. And sometimes, it leads to real change.

Princeton, WV transformed its downtown over the past few years, and it all started with murals. That story about Princeton got me so excited, I ended up geeking out on creative placemaking and doing a whole lot of internet reading about what art can do for a community. (I have a few ideas.)

All this happened because a really committed group of Morgantown citizens got together to push through some red tape, acquire some funding, and make space for artists to express themselves in a way that everyone can enjoy. To those people I want to say thank you. You’ve given me some new hope. And to everyone else: Let’s keep this going.

Opening Day for Trails

April 13th is opening day for trails across the country. This means communities all over have events to celebrate the rail trail that runs through their town. I was recruited to this particular event in Salem, WV for a specific purpose: to help assess the interaction between the town and the trail.

We scoped out the trail conditions and found some major problems just outside of town. Water runs in ditches on either side of the trail bed, which is now much lower than when the railroad ran trains on it. When the railroad pulled out, the company tried to make as much as it could from all the components that once made up the tracks. Railroad ties, steel rails, and even the ballast that supported them were sold off in truckloads.

The lack of drainage creates some serious issues for the trail surface. It was swampy with mud and completely impassible in places. The water has created a path of least resistance, at times directly bisecting the trail.

We also saw quite a few unnatural “waterfalls” along the way, such as the pipe above that spews soapy water into the trailside ditch. We stopped when it became clear conditions weren’t going to improve, but not before seeing this collection of barking dogs. They remain fairly intimidating despite the chains that tie them to their individual houses.

Someone bought the house below to open a trailside store, but it never materialized.

The bright spot in town is the Dairy Queen, which also happens to be the site of my very first job. That’s right. At age 16 I learned to make a kickass Blizzard and a cone with a perfect curly cue on top, all while wearing a monogramed visor. My childhood babysitter, who we called Zippie, managed the store when I was in high school. It was the cleanest fast food restaurant you’ve ever seen in your life. On slow nights, she’d put me to work scrubbing the bathroom walls. I believe she owns the place now, and she still runs a tight ship.

They have nice new picnic tables outside, some open air and some under a covered patio, as well as a bike rack and a place to tether your horses. The onion rings are still delicious.

This beautiful house sits on Main Street, which is largely boarded up and closed now.

There were a few nice touches, such as this little courtyard surrounded by daffodils. and a quaint little bridge to access the trail from the sidewalk on Main. But otherwise, the downtown is largely boarded up and closed.

For such a tiny town, I could not believe how many kids on bikes showed up to participate in the bike rodeo.

The best part was, the “rodeo” was a simple course laid out with a sack of flour and some orange cones. The kids had these determined little looks on their faces as they threaded their way through the course.

We rode east out of town all the way to this tunnel, which is not in good shape. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, and the ground was muddy and filled with puddles. We decided millions would be needed to fix all the issues there. Can you imagine? For just one tunnel. But the goal that the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy is working on right now is connecting the trail from Parkersburg, WV to Pittsburgh, PA. And to do that, not only will they need to acquire additional property to bridge the existing gaps, but they’ll have to address these infrastructure issues as well. It’s a big job.

It was pretty inspiring to meet all these people who drove several hours to support this effort in a community that isn’t even theirs. I tend to think it really meant something to all those determined little cyclists.

Damn Good Junk

I took the back roads to Davis last weekend, and so many things along the way begged to be photographed. But often the roads are narrow or someone’s house is right next to the thing I want to capture, and I didn’t want to stop. Lucky for me, this amazing junk shop had a pull off directly across the road. Who can resist a man in a roof canoe peddling Damn Good Junk? Not me.

I also liked the look of these gas pumps, leftover from another time but still regally standing guard over the toilet on the porch just behind.

I have a very poor memory for routes, but I realized as I wound my way down old Route 50 through turns so tight you almost feel dizzy in the driver’s seat, that I’d driven that road many times before. Just beyond those tightest of turns is Cool Springs, which is the most entertaining (and long-standing) of destinations. My mom used to stop there every year on her way to Ocean City, Maryland, and the windy roads never failed to make her sick.

Hot dogs, milk shakes, fresh produce, and a coonskin cap are all available for a price in the store that still has an old school lunch counter, and so much more. The walls are lined with taxidermy, and local handmade soaps and jewelry are mixed in with the most amazing collection of kitsch and the tackiest of West Virginia paraphernalia. It’s a real treat for the eyes. The shake was pretty good too.

The grounds include these stone figurines, an array of barnyard animals, and an impressive collection of tractors and train parts that has clearly taken years to assemble.

The closer you get to the mountains, the more beautiful the landscape. I’ve never managed to get a satisfactory photo, but I get excited every single time I come across the giant row of windmills on Backbone Mountain. They’re just so huge and dramatic.

My ultimate destination was the Billy Motel, where I’ve wanted to stay for years. I must say, I was not disappointed.

When I walked into the office/bar to check in, a man in the corner said to his friends around the fireplace, “Well, shall we bash Trump some more?” And I knew I was in the right place.

The rooms have a fresh, modern look, and the tile in the bathrooms is clearly old but revitalized (through lots of elbow grease I learned). On the rough-hewn wooden shelf were two drink tokens to use at the bar, and beside the bed was a collection of stories by Breece D’J Pancake. I love this attention to detail.

Not only is the bar full service and the bartender a friendly source of local knowledge, but the room is filled with midcentury modern gems.

Outside is a quaint little courtyard with a buddha in the corner. Naturally.

Everything was just so well done. AND, it’s in West Virginia. It’s no wonder the New York Times has taken notice.

We drove a short distance to downtown Davis for dinner at Sirianni’s and then danced to the music of a very fun and energetic band called Qiet at the Purple Fiddle.

The next morning I stopped on my way to breakfast at Tip Top to photograph this amazing mural created by Nellie Rose, a local textile artist, who I met for the first time on the dance floor at the Fiddle the night before. She was sweet and friendly, and I couldn’t help but tell her in what I hope was not too much of a fan voice: “I follow you on Instagram!”

Seriously, friends. Thomas and Davis: They’ve got a good thing going right now, and you should totally check it out.

The End of Summer

Sometimes you have to make art out of dead flowers. And then throw a dinner party using your grandmother’s china. That leads to a gathering of friends, memories of both grandmothers, and a discussion about Emily Post.

And then things feel just a little bit better.

A Genuine West Virginian

Today I visited two sites where construction is underway to address water quality and other issues on old mining properties that companies abandoned before conducting the required clean-up. When that happens, the Department of Environmental Protection takes over and uses the bond money the company posted when it obtained its mining permit to reclaim the site. 

This site is in a "town" called Century, which, although it has a Main Street and a few others, appears to be just a handful of houses clustered together in a remote area without cell service, quite close to what used to be a fully functional coal mine. The trailer above sits just opposite the entrance to the site, which is unmarked except for a single metal gate near the entrance. Some say it was the largest mine in the state, but I learned today that some say that about nearly every mine in West Virginia, so I'm pretty sure that's not true.

Walk a few hundred feet past the entrance, and telltale signs reveal themselves. Part of the old mine shaft remains visible, though it is caved in and impassable, and the dirt the workers have disturbed bears the unmistakeable shade of acid mine drainage. 

I met some engineers at the site, and we stood around the truck and looked at the site plans before taking a tour to inspect the progress.

The machine the mining company used to dredge this pond during operations still sits beside it. Over the last few weeks, workers have drained the pond as much as they can. Next, they will dig out the remaining water and acidic sludge and move it to another location to allow it to dry out and harden to the texture of regular dirt. The pond, once cleaned, will then be used for stormwater runoff.

The color is shocking in person and makes me think I'm in the middle of Yellowstone. But of course, I am not.

Truckers bring huge loads of rock and spread it in a drainage ditch to catch the water seeping from the site and channel it to the preferred location so it can't get into a creek.

I'm strangely comfortable standing outside around a truck, the only girl amongst a crowd of men in boots. Their outfits remind me of my dad. I grew up inspecting logging roads and sitting on tailgates, and so this all feels very familiar.

This "wetland" exists, I learned, as a result of the mining company's use of the land. Had they not been there, water would never have pooled in this way, and we would not see cattails in a random spot at the top of a hill, waving silently as frogs hop in and out of orange water.  

Coal companies came and extracted a resource, bringing jobs in the process. They left a mess for someone else to clean up, and now people here have jobs simply because those companies did not fulfill their obligations. This "extract and run" strategy has left its mark in more ways than one. I believe it has shaped the way people here view the land, not as something to be maintained and cared for throughout time, but as something to use and abuse, as you might an old truck.

There is sadness and irony here, yet today left me feeling more a part of this place than my normal routine allows. In this space, having grown up in Doddridge County, the daughter of a logger, makes me a part of all this. Like a genuine West Virginian. 

A Wild & Wonderful Table

My friends from the Bridgeport Farmers Market know how to throw a party.

Last Saturday was their second annual fundraising dinner, A Wild and Wonderful Table, featuring delicious dishes prepared by West Virginia chefs using local meat and produce, two signature cocktails, and my very favorite WV beer, the Halleck Pale Ale. 

Not only did everything look beautiful, but I loved the way so many people contributed their particular talents to make this event come together. In addition to the organizers, who coordinated and orchestrated many moving parts, one person designed and constructed the long community-style tables using lumber he sawed himself.

Another envisioned and executed the "look" for the event, complete with vintage place settings and natural tablescapes made from brown paper and fresh herbs, topped with gorgeous flower arrangements (made by yet another market vendor), all underneath long strands of twinkling lights.

Several Sargasso bartenders made sure everyone had delicious drinks throughout the night, served up in Ball jar glasses of course.

Local musicians played throughout the night.

Did I mention the food? Yum. 

This whole night would have been amazing and lovely no matter where it took place, but the fact that one group of people came together to make it happen here in North Central West Virginia . . . well, let's just say I think everyone involved truly appreciates the sense of community it represents.

Naturally I took many more pictures than this, all of which are view-able here.

Highway to Holler

The New York Times says the personal essay is dead. Lucky I only make photo essays I guess. This set documents the three-mile stretch from Route 50, where you turn off to get to where I grew up, all the way back to the holler itself.

When I lived in Oregon, I thought even the plants that grew in the ditches were beautiful. It's taken me a while to adopt that same viewpoint about home, since it's all so familiar, but seeing it through the camera lens definitely helped. And now I wonder if the west coasters feel the same about WV ditches?

Once you arrive at the farm, you may start to understand why Dad exchanged small-town life for the hemmed-in serenity of these hills. This has long been a question of mine.

Portrait of a Small Town: Fairmont, WV

What better way to start then a God-sent Granny?

I'll let these photos speak for themselves. Fairmont has some lovely old buildings but a very forgotten feel.

By far my favorite was this collection of gems, on haphazard display in the windows of a full service gas station:

Portrait of a Small Town: Clarksburg, WV

I remember having a ball with my camera in a tiny little rundown town in Preston County when I first moved back to West Virginia. I've gotten a little better with the camera since then, so it seems like time to make the small town rounds again. First stop: Clarksburg.

Above is a fountain I remember from chlidhood, right next to the bank where I opened my first savings account. (This is a big deal when you're raised by a fiscally conservative New Englander.)

Downtown has some beautiful buildings, but I've also been intrigued for a while by the little subsection of town known as Glen Elk. The homeless shelter known as the Mission is there, but otherwise there's a quiet, abandoned air to the place.

I was surprised to see a large bag of good-looking salad greens in the front seat of this car.

And I think this may be a Slim Jim wrapper. At least, I really want this to be a Slim Jim wrapper. 

Apparently a former buggy for a soccer team?

Love the unexpected spot of color from these cute yellow chairs . . . and I hope they mean that people actually sit on this little balcony.

Just around the corner from what appears to be a residence is an old doorway that looks to be a former entrance to Julio's. I haven't been in years, but it's one of those semi-secret places that everyone raves about. Despite being next to the railroad tracks with nothing else around, Julio's has always had the reputation of a fine dining establishment, known for the lack of prices on the menu (much to the chagrin of my aforementioned fiscally-conservative father). Apparently prices have since been added.

I can imagine a really great outdoor beer garden in the grassy space above. If you could somehow convince a bunch of creatives to re-locate en masse, they'd find some really cool (and cheap!) places to inhabit here.