Bobby's View

There is a place in the North Carolina Mountains, it is the place where Bobby grew up. It is still a rural mountain community with a small village but mostly just farm land. It's the hard life of dairy farming, with the never ending task of milking the cows twice a day, every day and some very harsh winters to boot. It is a life from another time and place, yet it is still here.
I did not know Bobby, I only know his story and only a very small part of that. But is is a story that has a hold on me for a lot of reasons but mostly because of how I came to know it, in small bits spread out over time. It seemed to be a story that found me.
I have been a walker all my life. I started walking a a young girl and it has always given me a calmness that little else can match. I love walking in the countryside, here in the very area where Bobby spent his childhood years. I walk along the road in the middle of dairy farms under the watchful eyes of the cows in the field who find me very curious. There aren't many walkers in these parts; they alll work too hard and have little energy left for idly walking.
My favorite walk is up a fairly long and steep incline The surrounding farm land undulates up and down hillsides with the road curving a path thru it. Because of the way the land lays it causes views to appear and disappear depending on the curve of the road and the height of the hills. Walking up this hill at times I can catch a glimpse of an old country church up on a knoll. The road I am on comes to a t-intersection, with both directions heading up hill again. To the right you can walk to Virginia in less than a mile, to the left you can walk to the church up on the knoll.
The church is exacly what you would expect to see here. It is a white clap-board sided building with a modest steeple atop. Over the front door is a sign with the name of the church that says "Established 1886". A big old shade tree stands in the side yard. Out back is the cemetary that stretches even farther up the hill. The church is very non-assuming except for the commanding 360 degree views that surround it.
I am not one of those types that likes cemetaries, especially those types given to ghost stories. But there was something about this one that drew me in. It is fenced and just inside the gate is a wooden cabinet attached to a pole.The hinged door on it is kept closed by inserting a piece of wood thru the latch. You can open the door, it is not kept locked. Inside is a paper diagram of the plots of the cemetary labeled with the name of the deceased, it is sort of like a table of contents for the place.
One weekend we had a couple visiting us in the mountains. He is a childhood friend of my husband. One morning she and I went for a walk. I told her about the cemetary since it seemed like a place that would interest her. And so we headed there on our walk. Once inside the gate we began walking horizontally along the rows looking at the headstones. We started looking at the dates and looking for the oldest, calling out the year every time we found one older than the last. The face of some of the stones was almost smooth with the carvings now mostly gone from years of weather. Reading the stones often tells stories, seeing an infant dead after a week and the mother right next to it gone a month later, probably from grief. We must have walked along a dozen rows or more looking at the head stones.
After a while I noticed way beyond the populated rows, back in the far right corner up on the hill a bit was a marker all to itself. We walked back to have a look. My friend is from Pittsburg and true to their custom is a devout fan of the Steelers. Immediately she noticed the image of a football helmet on the stone and recognized it as a helmet of the Dallas Cowboys. Below the helmet was Bobby's name, his birth date, the date of his death. Noticing the year of his birth I realized that Bobby was my age. The inscription read simply: "Loving Father, Caring Brother". We wondered why the stone was all the way in the back and off to itself, there must be a story that goes with it.
A couple of seasons or two passed - all the while we walked these glorious mountain ranges. Taking in the farm land around us and the majestic Blue Ridge mountains that surround it in the distance. No matter how many times I walked this route - I could never get tired of this scenery. I have walked all over the world and this is my favorite walk, it reaches deep down in my soul.
A season later we returned as always in the late spring. And as usual we walked. One day I was on my own, I had walked to Virginia and to the old church and was heading back. At the top of the ridge I stopped to speak to a neighbor. After talking a few minutes I told him how beautiful I thought the area was and how especially nice the views were from the ridge his house sits on. He thought of this as God's country. He told me there used to be a man who would park his truck just past his driveway at sunrise or sunset and look out over the mountains. It was Bobby, he had grown up just down from the ridge, he must have been looking at the very site where he grew up and the view that he had had all those years ago.
He said that Bobby had taken his own life. His family, distraught and not expecting his death was not prepared and did not know where to bury him. My neighbor goes to the white church up on the knoll and they reached out to the family and told them they knew the perfect place to lay Bobby to rest. As far up on the hill as the cemetary behind the church went, from there you can see the same view that Bobby had sitting in his truck at sunrise and sunset. I told him I knew the very stone he was talking about and had wondered why he was buried there all to himself, never dreaming it was because of the view. I thanked him for the story and it settled into my heart.
Last year our friends were visiting us again. I told them Bobby's story and she remembered seeing his head stone when we had walked the cemetary. We all decided to walk up to the church and look at the head stone again. The first thing our friend noticed looking at the stone was that Bobby was born on the very same date as he was, the same year, they had shared the same birthday. I can't imagine how me and his wife had missed that before. This time I noticed at the bottom of the stone was a carving of the setting sun over the mountains. I had not noticed that before but now I did and I knew why it was there, it was the view that Bobby loved, the view that brought him here.
On and off I think about Bobby. All I know of him was where he grew up, that he was my age, he was born on the exact date of a dear friend, that he loved the Dallas Cowboys and was a loving father and caring brother. I didn't know Bobby, but I know Bobby's view. It brings me great piece and I hope it brought him some too. Rest in peace Bobby.

A Slice of the Perfect Day/The Perfect Ride

It was that perfect day.
A perfect ride seemed only natural.About 25 minutes north of us is the mountian town of Galax Virginia. Sadly past it's prime as most of these little towns now find themselves. It is never-the-less, blessed with "one sweet ride".
Rails to trails are parks where there was once a railroad. The rails, now pulled up, what is left is a 56 mile "linear parkway" running from Galax to Pulaski Virginia. Along most of it's length it follows the beautiful New River.
All of the trestles, bridges and tunnels are still here. Many park features have been added for camping and picnicing. And may I add that the Virginia Parks System keeps things in top shape. It is quite simply, the jewel in the crown for this part of Virginia. We consider ourselves extremely fortunate to live so close to a "treasure".
Now, bicycles have been a part of my life since I was, maybe, 5 years old. I remember the feeling, the freedom, my world was suddenly bigger. I was a big kid now. Sandy and I try to ride as often as possible. While we are living in France, velos (bicycles) are the norm. We use them to get almost anywhere in or around our little seaside village. It's really quite liberating. That is there, this is here. Here, it is more casual, more recreational. Not so practical as the principal way to get around.
Today, however, a ride for ridings sake. 12 miles down to Fries Junction, on the river, and 12 miles back. Nearly flat all the way. Following Chestnut Creek, a broad stream tumbling over boulders, even a waterfall at one point. Shaded a good portion of the way, trees arching over the trail. It couldn't possibly be a more perfect ride. Long curving trestles, high above the stream. A tunnel, it's cold breath blowing out at you, maybe a hundred feet before you enter. Blackness, a disc of light ahead, almost spooky as you make your way tenatively through it's darkness. And, at the junction, a nearly 1/2 mile long bridge taking you across the New River, the clap, clap, clap of the floor boards as your tires pass over. Mesmerizing!
Beautiful just doesn't do it justice.
Oh... and today, I'm in good form. I've got the legs. I've got the lungs. 12 miles to the junction. 43 minutes. Oh yeah! You do the math! And Sandy... right there with me. So cool! She rides an hour a day either on stationary or on a trail. I'm impressed, for her and for me. Then, I remember watching the Tour de France last month. 16-17 mph, they were doin' it uphill, 12 percent grade.
Oh well. I'm still plenty happy with that. A brief rest. heart's pumpin', a bit slower now. The air, so clean, the breathing easy. warm sun, a subtle breeze, the river lazily courses by. I have absolutely no problems at this moment. Except, perhaps, the thought of 12 miles back to Galax.
I had ridden hard this morning on the trip down. Won't so hard on the trip back. Don't have it in me to ride that hard back. But hey, trails like these are just made for a lazy ride. Just like the river, we will get there.
This time, I see, hear and feel more, but one benefit to slowing down a bit. Summer's peak. Everything's so green. flowers blooming, the creek tumbling over it's boulders to my left. Nice! So nice! About the midpoint, we stop at Chestnut Falls, a now fimiliar picnic shelter with a four star view. The rest, welcome by now. The sub sandwich, surprisingly tasty. We are refreshed. it's a lazy 6 more miles back to Galax. Have to admit, I was a bit knackered by the time I reached the parking lot at Galax. But, I had ridden well, very well this morning.
A good ride. No... a perfect ride, and, a slice of the perfect day.
A little tradition has evolved to cap these now somewhat frequent rides. Up the road from the park, maybe half a mile, Bea's Resturant. The object of my desire, the ice cream. A large cone of the darkest chocolate soft serve I've ever seen.
Does that hit the spot!
I just love these little traditions.
Don't you?

A Perfect Day

Have you ever had a really perfect day? You know, one that figures to be just about perfect.
Well, I had one this week and if there's one thing I've learned in life is that a day like this just doesn't happen along very often. In fact they're quite rare indeed.
And you know what. When you luck out and one of these days happens to bless you, you have to take notice of it! Yeah, that's right! Birthdays, anniversaries and such, well they just happen. But hey, a really great day, now that's something that should grab your attention.
Now, you might be wondering, just what constitutes an excellent day to Kevin? Or.. not? It might sound a bit anticlimactic after all this fuss, but here goes....
first of all, in the mountians of North Carolina. Woke up around seven. It's cool this morning, deliciously so. It's been a bit too warm for days now. Man... I love this!
Breakfast on the back porch. There's a fog about, wafting through the trees. The sun is struggling to punch through. A lovely green "stain glass" effect envelopes me. It's just lovely, the green glow.
Breakfast, modest. A bit of cereal. Sliced fresh South Carolina peaches topped with fresh local blueberries, picked yesterday less than 12 miles from here. A cup of freshly brewed coffee, mine half milk, half coffee and a bit of sugar. Nice! Nice and simple. I sit, not wanting this morning to evaporate. But.. you know it does.
No walk up to Virginia this morning. Feel like a bike ride today. About 20-25 minutes north in Galax Virginia and we're on the New River Trail. A rails to trails park land. It follows beautiful Chestnut Creek down to the New River. Couldn't be a more perfect day. Sunny, breezy, maybe 78 degrees, but... more on that in a soon to be published post.
Wow, that was great! I feel great! Maybe just a little bit hot. Ahh, stop by Bea's in Galax for a spot of soft serve chocolate ice cream. Oh yeah!! Makes me feel like a kid all over, and, perhaps a little cooler.
Back on the "farm" and still, still perfect weather. Maybe 78, strong breeze, bright sun, puffy white clouds, and, a big ole wet pond just waitin' on me. So, me, some kind of suit, a cold beer (Stella), an inner tube a little splash. Slip into pure bliss! I could feel myself "sizzling and cracking", the bronze comming over me. That breeze, the rippled water, pushing my little boat self across the surface. I drift, looking upward aimlessly, those puffy white clouds slowly glide by. My inner child struggles to see the images. But it's not as easy as it once was. Still... how does it get much better?
A couple of hours later, and... I'm all pruney and that "sizzling and cracking" is now more of a burning. Perhaps it's time to retire to the porch for a spot of "porch sittin'" A sweating bottle of Pinot Grigio, Barefoot, yeah, you heard me. a surprisingly nice little quaff for... say $5. Two glasses, my lovely wife, that wonderful breeze. The warm sun, now beginning to create the evening version of green "stain glass". Again... how does it get much better?
Perhaps a bit of a "lie down"?
Oh my! That was nice.
The evening ages, but still, just as lovely. I'm gettin' a bit hungry by now. Pure joy to maybe grille out on an evening such as this. Think I'll thickly slice a pork tenderloin, rub it generously with dijon mustard, sprinkle with kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, a dusting with the herbes de provence I brought back from Provence. Fire up the ole Weber kettle grille. my mouth's watering just at the thought. A couple of those ears of local sweet corn my friend Randy brought by yesterday. A fresh Caprese salad, local tomatoes sliced thin, sliced whole mozza, "fresh my farm" basil, a splash of EVOO & balsamic, coarse salt & pepper.
UH--Huh!
A warm baguette and for desert, a fresh chilled South Carolina canteloupe.
Aint that some kinda menu?
The coals, now glowing. Clean and oil the grille. Lay on those little pork medallions, they sizzle as they hit the grille.
A cold Stella in a freezer chilled glass, a bite of that Caprese salad. Pull a slice of warm baguette from the basket, a liberal spread of warm (real) butter. Oh yeah! Oh yeah! this is it!1
Turn the medallions, now carmel and lined on one side. My god, that smell! It can drive you crazy! No smell can equal grilling meat. it's primal, pity the vegetarian.
No rush. No rush.
Meat, now pulled from the coals and rested, me, now drooling from the edge of my mouth.. fork tender, oh my god, yes!
Encore cold Stella.
Push back from the table.
Savor the flavors. Savor the company. savor the moment.
This day. this day, please do not end.
The light, now failing. The green now turned rose toned in the western sky as the sun dips behind the mountian. Still warm, although a perceptable chill arrives, falling fast. The breeze, softer now, do I feel a goosebump or two?
I feel absolutely great!
This day, I have been there every moment. I have thought no thoughts other than those immediately before me. I sought the day as I did as a child, moment by moment.
It comes to a close, I am not sad. The now 60 degree air, the blackness that almost seems to swallow you. The cascading symphony of cicadia, treefrog and bullfrog.
I shall sleep the sleep of a child tonight.
It was a day, a great day.. and I took it completely!