Grave Mountain below Somber Peaks

Sunday was a dreary day but still warm, breezy and with little humidity. With rain clouds hanging low and dark in the sky I decided to drive down to the Grave's Mountain Apple Harvest Festival. I hadn't been for a few years but love this rural annual delight, the scenery and rustic activities a wonderful escape from busy life. Driving down a steep mountain road I dipped into the valley and apple country. The store was busy and the apple warehouse was teaming with people, leaning over into huge wooden bins packed with scrumptious crispy apples.

The event is so well organized that although there was about 14,000 people here, fields full of cars and a line of vehicles waiting to park, it was only a few minutes until I was walking along the many booths of vendors displaying home made crafts, paintings, hats and baskets, primitive decorations, wreaths, wooden pens and garden ornaments made from glass, to name a few, all proudly displayed, their creators happy to discuss prices or explain how their skills came into play. I kept looking up at the thunderous clouds, dark and ominous on the mountaintops and heard a man say, "It's raining up thar in them mountains." And following his line of sight I thought that maybe I could see fine lines coming down from the sky.

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I was ravenous after smelling tantalizing aromas of hot apple cider donuts, funnel cakes and kettle corn being cooked. I wandered over to the food tent but the lines were long so I held back, instead standing and listening to a really good bluegrass band called Dark Hollow. And as I stood, my foot tapping to the beat, I looked beyond them and near the creek spotted a booth selling BEER! It was a local brewery from Culpeper called Beer Hound Brewery. They had 2 brews on tap, a stout and a hazy IPA, which of course I chose. Not the best east coast style IPA I've had but it certainly wasn't bad, and I strolled down to the Rose River, a small creek slowly rolling over boulders and rocks that children and adults perched upon while eating their lunch. Small children rode around a pen on ponies, grinning at their parents, or hanging on for grim death, even though the ponies were only walking. Folks took family photos among the pumpkins or tried to find the perfect shape for decorating their front porches. A civil war camp was set up by some trees, a small fire crackling and trying to stay alight in the strong breeze that would suddenly pick up and set their flags snapping.

 

My favorite photo of the day. A cute little girl with ribbons in her hair begging to be helped up to the final pinnacle of the hay stacks, her little arms and legs unable to lift her to that crowning position. And yes, the others helped her.

A big teddy bear made from hay had a long line of ardent photographers waiting to capture a family day out in a picture. And the apples. Lots of crispy crunchy globes of deliciousness piled up in wooden crates. I so badly wanted some, but still have half a big bag full at home from last weekend. But I could smell their sweet freshness and so hung around a little to enjoy the fragrance.

The apple butter in the making. These men had been stirring it for hours and were now adding the sugar. It would cook for some time yet before it was bottled and sold later that afternoon. I sniffed deeply as I stood watching but then had to walk over to the food tent as my tummy was grumbling loudly. So many tantalizing scents but nothing was going down the hatch. So I stood in the much shorter line, now it was well past lunch time, and opted for the Brunswick stew. It was wonderful. Thick and tasty, heaped with pork, tomatoes and lima beans. I was surprised as I left the tent to see rain beginning to fall. So that man had been right, he had seen rain on the mountain, and now it was here. It was only coming down lightly, an earthy scent lifting up from the dusty ground as the few rain drops soaked in, but it was a good time for me to leave and walk to the car.
I thought I'd drive home across those mountains we'd been looking at. From Sperryville, I can drive up the mountain side and then follow the road right into Front Royal along the mountain ridge tops.

A low blanket of cloud sat atop the mountain like a huge roll of cotton wool. It had been raining but had stopped as I drove along the winding roads, stopping at the outlooks. Not many other people were up in the park but a few braved the chilly winds to step out of their cars and take photos, watching as the clouds were pushed across the horizon, tendrils and wisps curling and spiraling as the wind tugged and broke them away. Some misty patches floated across the road blocking the light and spreading across the tarmac. I didn't see any wildlife, no bears or squirrels, no deer or even vultures skimming across the valley. The trees were very green, only a hint of fall hues, a speck of red, a few golden splashes, patches of brown. I'll be keeping a close eye to monitor the change so I can come back up early one morning, able now to beat the leaf peepers that flock in from surrounding cities, but for now the sudden drop in temperature wasn't welcome when I was only wearing a t-shirt and capris. It was time to head home for a hot cup of tea.