Remote Rustic Ruins

After a stressful week at work, dealing with clients who possessed more chromosomes than brain cells, I decided some driving around back roads would, hopefully, prove to be therapeutic. I found myself out in WV, passing through small communities, and spotting more animals in fields than people on the streets. A sign outside a church reading, 'Most worries never happen', set me in a good mood, and I was nice and relaxed as I trundled small roads with very few vehicles passing me by. The sun was warm through my open window and a light breeze ruffled my hair. It was apparent that the farm animals were also enjoying this unexpected warm spell in February; I've never seen so many horses and cows laying down in their fields, evidently relishing the warmth, the horses were all on their sides, legs stretched out. I'd initially thought they were dead until I noticed more and more of them as the day passed.

 I found myself on a winding road and became a little concerned when I passed a rusting container in someone's front yard with 'Hatfields' daubed in black spray paint on the side. And then just a few yards further a road was named 'TNT Drive'. I was obviously in gun country and decided it would be best if I stayed in my car, despite not having seen a single person. Maybe they were all hiding behind hedges or abandoned vehicles guarding the road with shotguns, my imagination was running riot. But then I saw a beat up old store with wonderfully weathered Coke signs on the side and had to stop for a photo. I got out of the car, leaving my engine running, and strolled to the side of the building with my camera. Then I walked to the front for a shot of the porch. It wasn't until I got close to the step that I realized a single light bulb was burning inside the store that I had assumed had been long abandoned. And then I heard deep, gruff men's voices.I'm afraid West Virginia's stereotyped reputation, (although terribly incorrect) suddenly fired my imagination causing me to experience a sudden momentary tight sphincter lapse, and I backed away as quietly and quickly as possible. I wanted so badly to walk through the door and investigate the interior but lacked the courage, imagining a crowd of men glaring at me as I invaded their discussion on hunting or scalping wayward nosey parkers. I silently retreated to the car.

Some good ole country music on the radio restored my confidence and I was soon singing along as I meandered the roads once more, passing a very angry rooster on the grassy verge, who gave me a contemptuous side eye glare. Pausing at a bridge with some eye catching rustic buildings, I leaned over the parapet to watch the gushing river, swollen by the recent rains, and then strolled across to an interesting farmyard. It wasn't until I was looking through the viewfinder of my camera that I noticed a huge cow, possibly pregnant, staring right at me. She advanced a few feet but wouldn't come to be petted, preferring to gaze curiously at me from the safety of her cluttered paddock. It was evidently deep in mud so she likely couldn't be bothered to trudge through it to find me empty handed and lacking in treats.

A while later I came upon a small settlement, mostly abandoned. A few houses were slowly being pulled to the ground by brambles and vines that were draped over them, like fingers pulling in a fishing net. I didn't venture inside any of them, I could see by peering through the maws of broken windows and doorways that the buildings were empty inside. Bereft of life now, this was likely a close knit neighborhood at one time. While driving down another empty road a huge slice of rock stuck out from a steep slope, narrow and thin. It was strange as there was no continuation of strata on the other side of the road, it was like a pocket door emerging from the mountain, a dragon's head with scales on its back peering out from the trees. Note the house perched at the very top, what a grand view.

Driving through Timberville, VA, I had to stop when I spotted this circus on the side of the road. Behind the bus were two smaller trucks, with 'MY FAMILY' and 'BROTHERHOOD' written on the them. They had decided to park the charabanc next to some huge blue metal bins marked 'CLOTHING', the kind that you dump your unwanted wardrobe items into for donation. There were stalls selling Trump merchandise but only a couple of people were showing any interest. Obviously this town's folk are mostly intelligent given how many people were present. I stood chuckling for a bit but then moved on, anxious to not have my photo taken in front of this charade.

Back on the rural lanes I came across this beauty, standing defiantly against the overcast sky, its beaten weathered boards striking in the sun's glare. It's so sad to see these homes in such disrepair, especially when they're so well built compared to the cheaply made constructions that are being thrown up so quickly today. I would have loved to live here in its hey day, sitting on a rocker, drinking a beer, while watching eagles soar overhead, or listening to rain falling on the tin roof of the porch.

I stopped at another tumbledown home, its entrance not in these photos. It had evidently been abandoned for a while and wasn't that alluring from the front, but around the back was an amazing barn. Thick solid struts supported weather distressed boards in beautiful aged brown and grey hues. One whole side of the structure had been replaced by wooden cable spool ends, it was incredible and what a great idea. I only looked inside briefly, the home had been trashed, mainly broken housewares and ratty clothing littering the floors. but I did like the shelf of old videos and the way the light fell on them. It wasn't until I was home and processing the photos that I realized one of the videos was of a royal wedding, though I don't know which one. It led me to ponder whether the family member had been British or was simply a huge fan of the royal family who wanted to record this.
As I started to make my way towards home I came across a front yard that I had to stop and admire. A miniature town had been constructed, the name Millersville on an old millstone. There was a church, doubling as a school house, because I saw a globe through one of the windows, a country store and what appeared to be a car repair shop. Each building was filled with memorabilia and antiques, the fronts of each also adorned with collections that must have taken years to accrue. A rusty tractor and wooden windmill completed the scene. I would have loved to talk to the owner but nobody was about, despite me standing on their road and taking photos. But what a delightful find to complete my weekend of meandering.