[dropcap]W[/dropcap]e are in Wetzel County and turn down the road that I know will take me home. The sun beats down from in between the ancient trees making the light dance.
Burlington Hill and Tarpin Ridge are to the left. Fishing Creek is to the right. I look over and watch the creek lazily wind, knowing it, the trees and the mountains are becoming the only constants that will be here for me someday.
I remember many times being on this road. I think back to the 1978 Honeydew Pontiac Bonneville with its 8 track playing John Denver’s greatest hits. My Dad is not here to sing Country Roads. I close my eyes and can still hear his voice as we all sang together.
All My Memories Gather Round Her
As we drive over the Twin Bridge in Veto I know the roads are going to get worse. I start to get car sick and grab for a hard candy to suck on and smile thinking about how many times Grandma Maxine gave me spearmint gum when I would get carsick. She never understood it made it worse. I love that she tried.
We have passed Childs and Cherry Grove Cemetery.
Then we are in Maude. When I was young I thought Maude should have been further up the way, where Maude, Shuman, and Marie lived. It just did not seem right seem right that Maude did not live in Maude.
As we drive through Halls Hills I remember as a child thinking it was funny that Pine Run would be there instead of Pine Grove.
I let my head rest on the seat and start looking left, squinting through the sun. I look for a small wooden school bus stop. When I see the first one I have a silent laugh. It took me a long time to believe that those really were built for the sole reason of keeping the kids safe from the way my Grandpa Ollie drove, but they were. I wonder should be I glad I did not get driving skills from him.
Willeyville. There is the old schoolhouse, up the hill. The Yoho Reunion. I can see still Aunt Geraldine there, smiling down at me, her long hair blowing lightly in the wind, the headband slightly struggling to do it job. Uncle Charles, my cousin Kenneth and his wife Claudia are all so vivid. At least the family did not try to convince me we were pirates.
As we pass the store I wish we had time to go in and visit, but we never do.
Before Sutter as I know Steel Run comes up, I look to the right. That is where Junior and Peggy were with the deer Rudolph that he saved. I always did feel bad that with my childhood southern accent that her name always came out sounding like Piggy. Now I smile at the memory. I see the old oil wells to the right, rusted but still standing proud. To me, it symbolizes the whole County, my family.
Fishing Creek is getting smaller. Onie is ahead.
I know if I keep looking to the right I will see the turn to over the stone bridge that would take me to the Shuman Farm and Grandpa Bryans house. The land is unchanging. I can close my eyes and remember being there with his siblings at the dinner table in the kitchen as we fought over the fat of the meat. The smell of the old heater reassuring being there as it always had. As I thought it always would be. I know if you leave the kitchen and go to the other side of the house that is where Katherine posed with the family for the picture and where the famous picture with Ap and his ladder was taken.
It almost seems the smell of the house, the feel of flannel shirts and the taste of Candy Corn permeates the car as it permeates my memories. We are almost there now.
Memories of Wetzel County are all Relative
As you make the turn you can see on the left what once was the farm when Grandpa Ollie was younger, by the hill that he and Grandma Maxine had pictures taken on. Where Grandpa posed on his wedding day. There is Jimmies old dog house and what used to be the creek. Not much is left of Grandma Maxine’s flower garden on the side of the house. As the old willow tree approaches, I know that pain in the butt left turn that leaves you blind to drivers coming down from Old Hundred is right there. I smile thinking about how much Tom hated making that sharp turn the first time he met my Dads family, a ditch to one side and a mountain to the other.
The irony that Tom and I lived somewhere for years where we had a mountain on one side, right by a bridge where there were always car accidents, on land where two people were in a fatal car accident because they were beheaded in that accident was never lost on me. No one ever had an accident pulling in here. Or out.
The only thing that seems to matter about this land to me now is that the old red barn still is as bright red as it was when I was a child. It is time for it to be loved by someone else. For new people to pose for pictures. We do not need to make the turn.
The Morris family were to the right. It was hard for me to believe Dougie was old enough to go college. That was a long time ago.
Around the bend to the left were Clarence and Irene Dean. Delores would often be there. On the same land were Cousin Kenneth and his kids Chris, and Cynthia. I always enjoyed visiting. Irene had the best lap, Dad even said so when he was a kid. She held three generations of us on her lap. Now I hold her, in my heart.
Through the Eyes of a Child We See Most Clear
Then we are in Wheat. I reflect that I never saw much wheat growing here. Lots of corn. I knew the old family land had tobacco when my Grandpa Ollie was young.
Then there was Aunt Tersie on the Old Sapp Family farm. The house was to the left. The old wrap around porch seems to hold her essence, still there, hands on hips, yelling out to all of us younglings over one thing or another that we did wrong. Especially if it was something Little Roger and I did. It takes two.
We go through Uniontown past Horner Cemetery. I remember Grandma Maxine was always able to find yard sales or people to visit near Low Gap Run and Four Mile and on through Knob Fork, past Mount Zion Cemetery.
We are in Anthem now, the Carney Cemeteries are slightly south and Sugar Run is ahead. Past Sugar Run I know the worst curve between Wileyville and Hundred is coming and I grab another hard candy. It has always been one of the worst parts of the trip. The other was always leaving.
There is the sign for Old Hundred as we enter Cusicks Crossing and leave Burner Run. The Gorby family and the grocery store with hot dog and shakes is there to left. The best homemade grilled cheese where Dreama worked is the to the right.
Somewhere in the winding roads of Hundred, Wetzel County, West Virginia is the holler leading to Jim and Nellie’s. The big yard that Mitsie used to run in, the field where Rocks son was broken in for riding, the driveway we would not even go to. There is not enough time. I would not be able to get there by memory anymore. It has not been so long since I have seen them, we knew it was the last time we would see each other. It was a very good, goodbye.
Even though it matters, it doesn’t. I know I will see them all again at the end of my road and to me, this is Wetzel County.
Kellie Sue Sapp King – 29 Sep 2017