A Windy Peak above a Golden Valley

We've had some ghastly weather at the weekends this year and this one was promising more of the same. An ice storm with a small amount of snow was supposed to be moving in on Sunday afternoon and evening. But even though it was cold the strong winds from Saturday had abated a little and so I decided to get a short hike on Sunday. I found it difficult to leave my warm cozy bed where Rosie Lee and Tricksie Treat were snuggling with me. I'd been sipping a huge mug of tea while engrossed in my book and could quite happily have stayed there all day but the mountains and fresh air were calling out to me and so wrapping up well, with hand warmers stuffed into my pockets, I made for Luray.
I'd read about Kennedy Peak just that morning on a Meetup hiking group announcement, but they'd be starting their hike a good 90 minutes before me so I'd likely meet them on their way out. But when I arrived at the small parking area mine was the only vehicle to take a space. Maybe they canceled their event in case the ice came in earlier. I stood and chewed my fingers while pondering on this. Maybe I shouldn't chance my luck either, the air did have a 'snow feel' about it and the wind was biting. But I realized that I was simply trying to find an excuse to jump back into the warm car, and I'd regret it later if I didn't do the hike. Plus, seeing the summit in the distance was tempting, it was a peak that needed to be climbed.

 I set off at a brisk pace to warm up. I was striding along a wide trail, an old forestry road, on top of a ridge. The wind buffeted me and I pulled my hat down over my ears. The path was rocky so I was constantly looking down to avoid tripping but every now and then I looked up at the summit standing proud ahead of me. With the trees bare on either side of the track I could see down into the valleys, brown fields, narrow roads weaving back and forth, and quietness, apart from the gales. It felt like I was the only person up here. Which I was...

 The path was rocky but the trail was a relatively easy climb. As I passed around the sheltered back of the mountain, the winds dropped and the silence of the forest was deafening. There were no sounds apart from my boots crunching the frozen earth or kicking small stones. No bird cries, no rustling of undergrowth from small critters, everyone was sheltering, likely sleeping. As I reached the final turn I came across a sign indicating that the fire tower was immediately ahead.

 After a short uphill climb over a rocky ridge I arrived at Kennedy's Peak. It was freezing cold, the wind whipped at my jacket and hat as I kept my hands deep in my pockets clutching the hand warmers. But I was amazed to see that the fire shelter had a deep enclosed area under its viewing deck, a fire pit at the front and even a small stack of fire wood ready to use. If I hadn't been concerned about the bad weather coming in I would have loved to sit up there, warming my hands in front of hot flames. Definitely worth considering for the future, especially if I remember a pack of sausages, biscuits and flask of tea!

 The ridge line that I'd hiked along before climbing up the mountain.

Despite the cold I had to sit and relish the experience of having this impressive panorama all to myself. I tucked myself into the shelter but even though I couldn't escape the winds completely I wasn't so exposed. It felt as though I was the only person on earth. I couldn't detect barely any movements down below and no sounds traveled up to my perch, no voices from humans or animals, or growls of engines. Either the wind was blowing all noise away from me or folks were huddled in their warm homes. I don't know, but it felt strangely eerie as though I was the lone survivor of a major catastrophe. There were spectacular views of Luray Valley and the South Fork of the Shenandoah River to the east and the Massanutten Range, including Duncan Knob and Kerns Mountain to the southwest. The Bermuda grass in the fields below was sandy colored; come the spring they'll change to a lush green. It was an astounding view, and one that I'll definitely be back to admire again. My hands were frozen after just the few minutes I'd had them out of my pockets to use my camera, so very reluctantly I began my return journey down the mountain.

On the way back down I took my time. I had been concerned about being caught in a snow storm while on my way up. The clouds were hanging lower and there was a smell of snow in the air. I stopped to observe smaller details, marveling at how even though most of the trail was colored in earth tones, vivid splashes of color lit up the browns and greys. There were neon yellow patches of moss hiding under a ledge and some of the rocks I studied were veined with scarlet and orange or flecked with quartz that glittered in the changing light as I passed. Teal lichens and green mosses clothed the boulders and sides of the path. I heard one solitary crow as I sauntered down, his constant cawing either a warning of the incoming bad weather or a call to his family.
When I reached the bottom my car was still the only one parked by the ledge, used in the summer time by para gliders, but vacant today. Driving down the steep mountainside a turkey vulture swooped low across the road in front of me as I peered up at the houses balancing on tall brick or stone pillars to maintain their position on the precipitous gradients. I'd once viewed these homes as gorgeous but after having looked into the purchase of one, no longer do I see their advantages, only the downfalls of mountain life.
While up on Kennedy's Peak I'd spotted the yellow roofs of a farm I'd discovered a few years ago. It had clearly been vacated some time ago and was up for sale when I'd last driven up to it. I really wanted to explore all the buildings but after my trespassing demeanor a few years ago, exploring in this county makes me nervous.

But I drove down there anyway, just to peer over the fence and see if it was now lived in. Unfortunately the grounds remain deserted. the buildings looking shoddier and a few wooden structures falling down. Yet despite its tumbledown appearance, the bright yellow roofs managed to convey plenty of cheerful appeal and I longed to walk in and explore. I was itching to see if the buildings were open to photograph but the 'No Trespassing' sign held me at bay, still exuding authority over me despite its worn appearance. I took some photos and then drove away before my presence was reported. Better to be safe than sorry!

A Scottish Remembrance in Front Royal

The freezing temperatures and icy winds that have thwarted every weekend so far this year may have caused me to cancel any outdoor activities, but I wasn't going to miss the Robbie Burns night at The Beer Museum. Only a 10 minute walk from my house I arrived with a thick jacket and scarf ready to celebrate the famous poet.
The last time I'd done this properly was many years ago in England with our table tennis and wine group in our little hamlet. We'd got together at Sue and Ray's house donned in tartan kilts and each one of us clutching a typed poem which we each had to recite. A piper had proceeded Pete holding the haggis aloft on a silver platter while we all stood around the table. The haggis was given the address and then Pete sliced it open with a long sword, which he brandished about for a bit for good effect. We'd toasted with whiskey and tucked into haggis with boiled potatoes, cabbage and swede with gravy and lashings of red wine. We'd laughed until our sides split as we listened to each other stumbling over the words of our poems. It had been an evening that is now forever etched in my memory as a wonderful moment, and I have to confess that, as I stepped up to the door of the museum, I wasn't assuming that this evening would be a patch on my fond memory. I was wrong.

Michael, the owner, and many others, were decked out in full Scottish regalia. He willingly posed outside of his fine establishment and welcomed me warmly. And as on previous walkabouts in this town, I found myself chatting to so many friendly Front Royal residents.

We had a brief introduction from Eric on the life of Robbie Burns, who like himself, was a free mason. I was astounded at how much material Mr Burns wrote. 716 are listed here. His first poem was written at age 15 and his works have been translated in more than 30 languages. He loved the ladies, dedicating hundreds of poems to them, and fathered 12 children, 9 to his wife Jean. Of course his most famous poem is Auld Lang Syne and he was voted 'The Greatest Scot' in 2009 by STV viewers. Only 37 when he died, his grave is in St Michael's Church, Dumfries, Scotland. Sir Walter Scott met him in Edinburgh and said, "His person was strong and robust; his manners rustic, not clownish, a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity which received part of its effect perhaps from knowledge of his extraordinary talents … I never saw such another eye in a human head, though I have seen the most distinguished men of my time."
I walked to the bar and ordered a porter. The building was quite empty and I hoped the cold wasn't keeping folks away. A fire was blazing outside with 2 pipers and a drummer from Winchester practicing.It was lovely hearing the sound and a group of us watched, enjoying their performance while toasty flames danced in front of us keeping us warm while we stood still. When it was time to go back inside I was amazed at how many more people had turned up, the place was crowded. Food was being prepared upstairs while a tray filled with shots of whisky was placed on the bar so everyone could raise a dram for the toasts.

Michael spoke a few words, borrowing my reading glasses so he could see the small print, and then read The Selkirk Grace, a prayer before eating:
'Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be Thankit!
Then the pipers and drummer proceeded the haggis from the bar to the front room. And the haggis was this time held up high by Michael on a lovely large silver tray followed by his son holding up a silver sword. I was ecstatic. It was wonderful to see this tradition once again, and especially to see it done so properly and evidently held in high respect.

We had more poetry read out, none if us understanding a single word, and more toasts. A toast to the lasses and then the lads is traditional and done on a much lighter note, the room exploding in uproarious laughter. We were allowed to then help ourselves to the food upstairs. The haggis was very tasty although I always find it a little dry and so make a red wine gravy to mix up with mine. But it was lovely to taste it again and the locals were surprised to enjoy it too. There had been many screwed up faces and grimaces when I had explained what was inside, but these had transformed to countenances of surprised delight after a few chews.

I followed the pipers back outside and we once more circled the fire. A larger group was out here now and the flames danced high. One of the regulars had brought an exceptional bottle of whiskey, Johnnie Walker King George V. Look up the price! Michael handed me a glass which held double of what is in the photo above. It was the most wonderful smoothest whiskey I'd ever had, delicious! I chatted to a local who was smoking the fattest cigar I'd ever seen, looking remarkably like a roman candle firework. I kept glancing at it expecting it to send out sparks and bangs at any moment.

The atmosphere was now party mode, some folks were dancing with the music and others were busy concentrating on working their way through the impressive menu of local craft beers on tap. I had no intention of waking up with a sore head the next morning, and after seeing another bottle of whiskey appear I decided to walk home. It had been a fabulous evening and I'll definitely be back the following year to celebrate Robbie Burns again.
I did find out later online that traditional Scottish haggis is banned in the US as it contains offal, and so a 'replica' is made. It tasted absolutely fine when I tried it but this article is interesting.
I also discovered that many Americans believe that the Haggis is an actual animal! I found this hilarious PDF online and had posted it to the beer museum's Facebook page, but they removed it. I must have touched a nerve!

The joy of walking home is still a novelty to me that hasn't worn off yet. I love walking the quiet back streets lined with old houses, intricate wooden gables, porches filled with seats and knick-knacks, warm amber and orange lights glowing from inside cozy rooms and the train whistling in the background. As I turn the final corner I see my little house up on the hill, yellow lights gleaming from inside like welcoming beacons. I'm happy to call this town home!

Cozy Pups and Polar Climes

A day and a half after taking Natty to Cora's house, she gave birth to her puppies. Thank God I didn't go through this at my house as there were complications that I'd not be able to deal with on my own. The first puppy was stillborn. Cora tried to resuscitate, but to no avail, bless her. The birthing took over 3 hours as poor Natty was so exhausted, but Cora handled the whole operation like a pro, even helping Natty at times. So eventually Natty had 7 live puppies, all girls except for one boy, and after work on Wednesday I drove up to see her, even though snow was in the forecast.

Natty was so proud and protective of her brood. I sat on the floor very close and we were allowed to pick the babies up but were watched intently by mom as we handled them. A constant chorus of tiny wimperings and squeaks came from the puppies as they vied for the best position to feed. Even though they were so small it was possible to see these pups would grow up with different appearances. Some had snub noses while others had longer snouts. I couldn't get over their tiny paws and wiggly tails, the bed was an overload of cuteness.
Cora had even recorded the births, taking down times that each pup entered the world, and we chuckled at Natty's expressions as she watched the recordings on Cora's phone.She seemed to understand what she was watching. A lady who had been out with us the night we searched for Natty when she ran off has been hounding the shelter for news on Natty and wants to adopt her. Rebecca has said the decision is mine and I've thought of nothing else each day. The puppies have already found new homes according to Cara and I'm leaning towards letting this lady have Natty, on condition that if either of them aren't happy, then she would come back to me. It seems this lady has a lot more time and resources available to her than me, plus no other pets, so Natty would be spoiled rotten. I don't have to make a decision just yet as Natty and the pups are going to Cora's lake house for a few days so I can't visit them until next week. I have plenty to think about it until then; I want the best for this little girl, she's had such a hard life.
The weekend was yet again destined to be foul, weather wise, with ice storms and snow predicted accompanied by heavy winds. My hopes of cycling around the town exploring or walking along the river banks or early morning hikes on the Skyline Drive were dashed to the ground once again. The gales began Saturday afternoon as though a switch had been flipped. It was quiet as dusk approached, wisps and small flurries of snow falling as quickly as the temperatures. Then suddenly a loud whoosh swept around the house and the gusts continued throughout the rest of the weekend. But Sunday I was determined to get out, even if it was just for a drive in the countryside. The blasts of arctic air were still blowing, causing me to quickly draw breath as the cold hit, so there was no chance I wanted to hike. I took the back roads to Luray and looked around antique stores and sampled beers from their brewery, rushing from car door to shop store and back again between visits.

The threatened storm hadn't come by Sunday afternoon. I'd tried to stay within an hour of home while I was out just in case the weather suddenly turned, but I guess the tempest draughts blew the storm in a different direction. The previous weekend's snow still clung to shaded areas, wildlife and farm animals laid low to the ground or stuck to the sanctuary of hedges and woods. Ponds were encased in thick ice while rivers and creeks were lined with icicles along their banks, like white fingers stretching out as though trying to stop the water's flow. Nobody wanted to be out in these freezing conditions, and after a couple of hours nor did I. I drove back home to snuggle on the sofa under throws, hoping fervently that these last 2 weekends were not going to be setting a trend of bad weather over every weekend, as had happened for much of last year.

The Tail of a Woofer called Natty

This is a 'tail' of a few tumultuous days that had a wonderful ending. A tale about a dog.
On Friday while surfing Facebook at my desk I came across a plea from a pet rescue organization. It showed images of two very forlorn dogs who were in a high kill shelter and need immediate evacuation and fostering. I quickly responded to help with both. I've been in The Blue House for nearly two months and both Rosie Lee and Tricksie Treat have adjusted well to their new surroundings, claiming their favorite sleeping spots and thundering around the house as though it were a Feline Formula One racetrack. I feel we now have space to help another animal, especially on a fostering basis.

 So on Saturday morning I began the drive down to Staunton in pouring rain. I'd had to purchase a crate and a leash to pick up the dogs. I could have got these from the organization's base in Fairfax Station but that would have added considerable time and mileage to my journey so I got the crate from a local animal thrift store and bought the leash new. Arriving at Staunton 2 hours later I met a lady who had a cargo van filled with crates of barking dogs. Well, all were barking except Natty and Nellie, the two I was collecting. They were so traumatized that they simply huddled in silence, their heads hanging. And poor Nellie shook from head to toe. She was also a severe flight risk so couldn't be transferred from her crate to mine. She had to stay in the one she was traveling in. Natty could be leashed since she was so docile and meek. The lady also told me that she was pregnant, a fact we hadn't been aware of.
Once they were safely stowed I began the 2 hour journey back to Fairfax Station where both dogs would be checked and then Natty would return to Front Royal with me. Nellie thankfully already had a foster home to go to. The journey was long and the rain unrelenting until we neared our destination. The poor dogs must have been kept in terrible conditions as the car smelled like a farmyard, an over populated farmyard. And I couldn't open the windows because I didn't want to let the rain in. Eventually we reached the center and leaving Nellie in the car until I had help I walked a very docile Natty into the building. The staff at the center were incredible. Fully sympathetic that I was a complete novice they helped unload Nellie and then checked over Natty. She got updated on all her shots, was given heartworm medication, flea and tick preventative and also a microchip. She tested positive for Lymes but is unable to receive medication for that until her puppies are independent feeders. They gave me a bag of puppy food for her so she receives nutrients required for her babies and wished me luck. The whole time throughout this ordeal where Natty was prodded and poked, stuck with needles and walked about in a strange surrounding, she made no complaint. She didn't make a single noise or show any malice, she just endured her treatment silently. She made no attempt to escape, just quietly trotted where she was taken to. I soon realized that she makes no sound at all, I have yet to hear her bark or whine.

 Once her medical checks were completed we began the drive back to Front Royal. Natty dozed in the back of the car and upon entering The Blue House took no notice of the cats at all, simply wanting to rest. Rosie Lee and Tricksie Treat stared at her as she walked through the house but thankfully made no loud complaints or attempted an attack. I laid an old duvet on the rug below the sofa and Natty curled up and went straight to sleep.

 While she slept the cats stared at her and Tricksie Treat checked out her crate, which I couldn't use as since she is pregnant she can't stretch out in it. Upon waking, Natty was a lot more alert, eating a bowl of food and lapping some water. The rest of the day she slept but we did manage a couple of walks which she enjoyed tremendously.

On Sunday I had to bathe her. I hadn't wanted to do it on Saturday as she'd been through enough already on that day, but a bath had to be given. she smelled bad, poor thing. but like everything else she succumbed to her treatment with no complaint. I noticed a long scar on top of her head and she has a good chunk of her ear missing also. This dog has been treated badly yet has somehow retained her sweet uncomplaining nature. Since being in my home she has shown nothing but trust and affection, it breaks my heart to think how someone could mistreat such a companion.
We went for 3 walks on Sunday and she ate well but I was really concerned about her pregnancy. I read up on it and realized that it wasn't something I could see her through, being on my own and having no experience whatsoever. I had planned on taking her to work each day but the thought of her having pups there scared me intensely. I spoke with the rescue organizer, Rebecca, and we decided the best option would be for Natty to go and stay with Cora, a foster lady who lives on a farm with plenty of whelping experience.
We met up that evening in the Sheetz at Haymarket. I explained the situation to Natty, promising I would visit and led her to where Cora and her son were waiting. I lifted her into the truck and said goodbye, promising to call later that evening. I began driving away and looked back to see Cora's son out of the truck and running to a grassy area. Thinking Cora had lost her phone I parked and walked over, to hear the horrific news that Natty had escaped. Her son had the window down and Natty leaped out. I was distraught. It was dark and her son couldn't be sure in which direction she had fled. We began searching, but after about 30 minutes it seemed hopeless. I called Rebecca.
Cora and her son walked around all the buildings and I walked over the road to the woods, thinking she could be in there. Using my phone as a flashlight I scrambled back and forth over brambles and plodded through soggy grass. After an hour and a half I was full of despair. We'd had no sighting and I agonized at the thought of her alone and pregnant on the streets, especially after the ordeals she had already endured. Cora had to leave but Rebecca showed up. I chatted with a local policeman whose car I'd spotted outside Sheetz and he put out an alert. Rebecca also contacted her boss and the tragedy began to flicker along the pipeline, alerting thousands of folk in the neighborhood.. A sighting was reported that a tan dog had been seen north on Heathcote Rd. She had run over extremely busy intersections with no sidewalks and over a bridge spanning Rte 66. Rebecca and I drove up there immediately, followed by our friendly cop, but to no avail. She could be anywhere. Rebecca said we'd have to wait until daylight and she'd get a tracker dog team. I gave her the duvet with Natty's scent on it and drove home, feeling anguished and extremely wretched for that poor little woofer out there in the dark and all alone.

I didn't sleep well and told work on Monday that I'd be leaving early to continue searching. Rebecca had set Facebook alight with notifications and a Lost Dog poster. and the comments poured in. So many people were feeling our pain and we also got more sightings. But no one could catch her. As the day progressed the reports stopped and we fretted that the shock had caused Natty to go into labor, and that she'd nested down somewhere. I was frantic. The previous night hadn't been too cold but Monday's forecast was very different with temperatures plummeting at least 20 degrees. The last sighting we'd heard had been by the railway tracks. Cora was already there with her son when I arrived and we all walked along the tracks. A dense thicketed woodland with swampy patches was to our right and we kept hearing a bark. Cora thought it could be her but I had my reservations since Natty had not barked once since I'd picked her up. But we plodded into the undergrowth regardless spreading out as we slopped in the flooded grassy humps and collected burrs on our jackets. But we never saw the dog. I veered back to the railway line and saw a young girl bouncing up and down from behind a tall wooden fence as she tried to get my attention. Apparently just 20 minutes earlier they'd seen a tan dog running along the fence line on their side. I told Cora I was going back to my car so I could drive round and investigate.
I drove down cul-de-sacs that finished near the railway line, getting out to peer into gardens and call Natty's name. As I pulled out of one and prepared to drive down another I noticed a dog laying down on the front yard of a house, looking as though it belonged there. I stopped and looked. And it looked at me. I spotted the torn ear and the yellow tag on its collar that I'd placed there Saturday afternoon. It was Natty. I stepped out of the car and walked around a few steps, softly calling her name. She stood up and took one step towards me. I stepped once more towards her and she skittered to the side. So I sat on the curb and called her again. She came straight to me and laid down putting her head on my lap. She was safe.

We hugged and hugged, her tail thumping on the ground as she licked my chin and standing up I led her to the car. She even tried to get in herself. I lifted her up and then got in myself, quickly closing the door, still not fully taking in that the hunt was over, Natty was safe and wouldn't be spending a night in freezing temperatures. And she looked remarkably well. No mud or burrs on her, like on me. She was obviously happy to be in a warm car and extremely tired. After more hugs, a snack and a drink of water, she laid her head on her paws and gave in to her exhaustion, asleep in seconds.
I sat there and thanked God for her safe return, tears pricking at my eyes. I savored the victorious moment a few seconds later and then gleefully sent the photo above to Rebecca and Cora with a "Look who just came to me!" message.
The dog tracker hadn't been able to come that afternoon and was going to search the following morning. But they could now be cancelled. Over 12 other people were out hunting this little hound, they were all given the good news, and then suddenly Facebook came alive with scores of well wishes and breaths of relief from those who had been monitoring the situation. She had covered almost a full circle, over busy streets, through residential estates, through woods and over a railway line, covering about a 2 mile radius.

I drove to meet Cora and after explaining to Natty that she had to stay with Cora until she was done whelping I carried her over to their truck, ensuring all windows were up and that her son had a tight hold of her leash. Natty curled up on the bench seat and fell back asleep and later when they got home, Cora sent a photo of Natty fast asleep on the floor. She seems to be used to bare floors at the moment, we'll introduce her to soft fluffy beds.
As I headed towards Front Royal I burst into tears, the relief overwhelming me. I couldn't believe how I'd come across Natty so easily, maybe she was done running and wanted to be caught, who knows. But after only 30 minutes darkness had fallen, a heavy black curtain slowly closing out a magnificent scarlet sunset that had dazzled us just a few minutes previously, like the final encore of a production. Everyone could now go home and sleep well,