Lorn in Luray

The sun was out, warming up the chilly start to the day as I headed out towards Luray, who were hosting their first ever Mardi Gras celebrations.

I was amazed at how empty the roads were. Even though this isn't a busy part of the state, there are always a few cars tagging behind me or cruising in front, but today it was an open road with just me on the tarmac, leisurely rolling along while listening to the audio book, Thirteen Moons by Charles Frazier. I had to stop and take a photo of the beautiful Shenandoah, it's green water slowly flowing through a dormant landscape, bare trees that arching from the banks, and once again I was incredulous as I stopped the car, strolled to the bridge's parapet, and then got back in the car, all without seeing another vehicle. It was as though I had the world to myself, and a little disconcerting, although I did appreciate the complete silence as I peered through the camera viewfinder, the sun warm on my back and shoulders.
I continued my drive to Luray, stopping to pick up an elderly hitch hiker who had leaned his thumb into the road as I approached, about 2 miles from town. The acrid bitter stink of cigarettes filled the car, the smell permeating from his clothes and peppered grey hair and beard, but he was friendly and we chatted until I dropped him off outside his friend's apartment. Turning around I drove onto Main Street, once again astonished at the lack of people. There were no signs or banners proclaiming the celebration either, another surprise, but I suddenly spotted a black and white stilt walker and parked the car immediately in one of the many empty parking spaces, thankful to have found some action, however brief.

She was easily 8ft tall, her lithe legs extended by tall wooden stilts, her skill so apparent that it seemed the legs were all her own. She willingly posed for my camera then began gyrating, spinning a hoop around her waist. A couple of other store staff were also watching and we all applauded loudly, but there was no general public, no other spectators. I looked about wondering if maybe we'd got the date wrong.

This one little shop had made a token effort to show it was celebrating Mardi Gras, with some beads draped over a branch while an elderly gentleman sat, his chair in a sunny spot, bashed rhythmically on a wooden drum. I looked about, my eyes searching for a crowd, or posters, or anything purple, gold and green, but saw nothing. Only a couple of other people were walking Main Street. Where was everyone?
I walked up Main Street but saw only a couple of store windows that had a few Mardi Grass items on display, a couple of masks laid down on green felt, some beads overflowing from party cups, and a huge plastic German Shepherd wearing a mask with beads slung about his neck.But he even appeared a little doubtful. Only a couple of other pedestrians were on the sidewalk but I saw nobody in costume. I hadn't been expecting a full blown parade, but had assumed some colorful folk from the town would be exhibiting Mardi Gras outfits and had certainly hoped for some music.
I went back to my car, disappointed, and drove up towards the art gallery which was supposed to be celebrating this occasion. There was a small group of people outside and I thought I glimpsed a flash of a jester as I parked the car, and so walked across. It was a building I'd not visited before so was definitely worth a look around.

Inside I found my jester, laughing with a couple of friends, and he sat for a photo, emphatic that I got his socks in the picture. I was happy to oblige. But apart from his wonderful attire, I saw no reference to the holiday the town was supposed to be celebrating. But since I was here I walked about the art gallery, a large warehouse space filled with local art. Huge windows were open allowing in fresh air,  yet it was chilly so I didn't linger too long.

There were paintings in various mediums, with sculptures made from wood or other household products, including a skirt of Wonderbread wrappers. A couple of musicians played to a scant audience under a gas heater, which was a shame since they harmonized beautifully together. They deserved a bigger crowd. I walked over to Hawksbill Trading Company, again almost empty, and found a small workshop tucked away in a room upstairs, three people bent over a table, silently engrossed in making Mardi Gras masks from card, beads, glitter and paint. I stood in the doorway for a few seconds watching them absorbed in their work then decided against joining them, reluctant to break their concentration. I needed a beer. So, my last visit was to Hopkins Ordinary Ale Works, a small brewery in Sperryville. Another drive on empty roads over the mountain dropped me into the tiny town where, after stopping to photograph an isolated old car, I actually found a crowd of people enjoying pints in the basement brewery and their beer garden. A guy from Front Royal was serving, who along with a local couple at the bar, sparked up a long conversation with me. It was wonderful to finally be with a fun group, enjoying banter and laughs over some excellent beer. I left with my spirits lifted and a bottle of their superb Saison Noire.

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.

A Plunging Premier

I opened the curtains early on Saturday morning to look down on a town shrouded under a thick blanket of fog. The cemetery looked eerie, the tombstones jutting up dark against the white mist, and the thickness of the fog made everything deathly quiet; the town was silent.
But that peace wasn't going to reign for long as a few hours later the fog evaporated and activity started up at the 4H Center where at 11:00am Front Royal's first Polar Plunge was taking place. Raising money for the Humane Society of Warren County, a target of $7000K had been set, which would help replace the flooring in the dog kennels.

I got there about half an hour before the event started and was impressed to see a fair amount of people had arrived. The local papers estimated there were about 100 spectators and around 50 participants. A fire pit was already blazing in the amphitheater and a large tent was handing out hot chocolate with homemade scones and cookies, along with slices of pizza.

I strolled around the crowd with my camera, participants happy and more than willing to pose for a photo as their families, friends and locals from town helped them get ready and offered words of encouragement. It wasn't a particularly cold day but we knew the water was freezing, and I noticed a few poor souls with the skimpier outfits were shivering.

A fashion parade had the prospective plungers walk in a circle so their outfits could be judged, the mermaid won first prize for her costume. There was also a prize for the contestant who had raised the most money, which had been $1000. The event blew away the projected target, two local papers printed different amounts, one saying over $9K and the other saying just under $10K. Regardless, it was a huge sum for Front Royal's first ever Polar Plunge.
The organizers proved their worth and had the event moving along at a good pace. Immediately after the fashion show, the plungers moved across to a steep grassy bank which led down to Lake Culpeper's edge. Last minute group photos were taken and then it was time to plunge! I held my camera ready but noticed that I was also clenching every muscle in my body as though it were me jumping into the freezing lake, but I know it was in anticipation of these brave heroes meeting that frigid water.

This was the most civilized polar plunge I'd ever witnessed, with the plungers entering the water, not as a mad dash, as I'd been fully expecting, but each group entering separately. This was great for the spectators as it gave us a chance to take photos and fully relish everybody's grand entrance, whether it was a 'run and jump' , a 'toe first, then a shivering slow entry, or simply a 'forward plow through the water with arms pumping frantically from side to side'. Whichever it was, everybody's entry to the lake was witnessed and all were energetically cheered. The Warren County Humane Shelter team were the first in, dressed as various animals, and their faces were a picture as they graciously turned around so us spectators could witness their frozen shock. It was hilarious, and I missed a few photo opportunities as I was laughing so hard. Then other groups or couples waded in, equally hysterical once their flesh met the icy lake water, squealing and screeching in their shock, some of the braver ones dunking their heads under. Even the Chief of Police waded in, complete with shirt and tie, and sporting a huge grin.

For most it was a dash to get about 20ft out in the lake and then a rapid turn to get back to the bank. A few splashed around for a minute or so, their brave smiles and cheers overcoming their chattering teeth. A big blow up shark pushed its way out into the water and posed with a huddle of penguins, and then really impressed me with a superbly realistic Jaws impression, bending down and waggling from side to side, while some spectators even belted out the theme tune. But she needed assistance with her exit, and had to be helped out of the water, her legs couldn't bend to get up on the bank, so a hilarious scene ensued with four penguins half carrying the poor shark out of the lake.

I couldn't help a few involuntary shivers as I watched them splash enthusiastically, so glad my feet were encased in warm boots, but watching these brave folks endure that water just made me feel cold in sympathy. Yet they persevered for their very fine cause, and really made the most of their brave antics. Because there had been quite a number of people in the lake, all those feet had kicked up the silt from the bottom, and soon the frigid water was a dark grey brown color. As the plungers clambered towards shallow depths and on to the bank this became very apparent. Their wonderful costumes were stained as they climbed out and I hoped their shoes weren't full of mud also.

Once everyone was out, to another thunderous applause, they swiftly headed to the small changing cubicles that had been erected or some went directly to their vehicles. I passed by a small group at the fire pit toasting S'mores and entered the large refreshment tent, immediately warmed by the heat inside. As well as refreshments available there was a local band playing. Unfortunately, I missed their name but they were being enjoyed, especially by one small local resident. And because of this first polar plunge being so successful, it seems this will now become a yearly event. I'm sure many furry shelter residents will be pleased.