Virginia is for Lovers?

This family of four was forced to live on a pittance. Three months, countless interviews, and a stack of resumes later, the house in southern Indiana was closed up and left unsold.  We packed our belongings and moved 500 miles away to the Allegheny Mountains of Virginia.  We knew things were going to be a little bit different from our Midwestern lifestyle as soon as we headed up that first mountain road at 55 mph on a 15 mph curve. The shock set in as the road coiled round and round while our ears popped and the baby spit up his breakfast.  I, too, felt the nausea rising in my throat as we continued our ascent. To control that feeling, I focused on the trees outside the window in the George Washington National Forest. It didn’t work. When I spotted a Scenic Overlook, my husband quickly pulled over. Once I set foot on the ground, my dizziness subsided and I could appreciate the breathtaking view of a powerful waterfall’s misty torrents cascading to the green valley below. It was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen!  Mountainous peaks touched the clouds as flocks of cardinals soared through the sky overhead. The fresh crisp air smelled of damp wildflowers. It was enough to revive my senses in order to continue traveling upward.  


Rocks jutted from the ground somehow appearing like a violation of the land. A log cabin or two nestled back against the mountainside. The cattle, scattered throughout the terrain, hardly noticed the passing car on that two-lane highway.  Things were getting remote when houses turned from modest dwellings into tin-roofed shacks with the boastful washer and dryer perched on the front porch for all to see. The sight of a Confederate flag waving in the wind alerted me to the possibility of Time standing still. Once we arrived at our final destination, a tiny village of 50, I began to reacclimate.   Crossing the lawn between two houses, a man hollered out, “Haaa…Y’all from the flatlands?  Ma name’s Mac. Welcome to Bath County!”  Then he proudly began to tell us about our new homestead. “Been in the family for years,” he beamed. “This here’s an original Sears & Robuck house that was ordered out of the catalog over a hundred years ago and shipped piece-by-piece up the mountain on a railroad that no longer exists.”  As I was about to retreat to the car, the sluggish moving van arrived. It was left parked along the side of the road on a shoulder that barely existed. The driver jumped out, waved, and asked, “Where to, Lady?”  I simply shrugged my shoulders and said with a sigh, “Up the hill. Follow me.”

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