The Pit

Last night proved to be a disaster for sleep. For some reason I lay in bed and tossed and turned all night. The last time I remember looking at the clock on my phone it was 7 in the morning, and I still hadn't been to sleep. The house phone rang at 1130 and woke me up from the poor pathetic sleep that I had gotten. It made for a long day today.

My original goal for today was to drive around all the places I used to know and take pictures so everyone could see what the area where I grew up is like. That didn't happen. I didn't want to leave until Kim got home so she could take Erica home. Erica threw a fit the last time I left without her. I didn't want her to do that again. Well, Kim decided to go shopping today before she came home, so she didn't get home until late, and then she cooked dinner. So I had to wait on both of those. By the time it was all said and done and she had taken Erica home, it was after 6pm. It was going to be dark soon, so it wouldn't do me any good to take pictures. I decided to take the camera, anyway.

Before I left--well, for practically all day--I had this pit in my stomach, and I have no idea what it was. I called Greg to see what was going on there, and I ended up waking him up from a nap. I felt bad about that, and I think that made the pit in my stomach that much more worse. Shortly after that he called me back and asked me if I had called again. I told him no, I hadn't. He said he would call me back later on, but that never happened. I'm assuming he went back to sleep and didn't wake back up to call me. Nevertheless, the pit in my stomach was there, and it wouldn't go away. I had to get out of the house. I haven't had any real time to myself since I've been home. I know I'm here to visit, but I do need some time to myself. So, I decided what the heck, I was going to go for a drive.

I started out going through Biggers, where the high school is. I turned down Main street and drove back to where it dead ended into a field that touched the bank of Current River. I stopped there for a little bit, enjoying the view, and took a few pictures. I left there, and drove by the high school, and then turned and took the old highway towards Pocahontas. I was struck by the state of disrepair of most of the houses I saw--actually ALL of the houses I saw. Even the nice, upscale houses that had new paint jobs were still run down. It's hard to describe. I don't exactly understand why, unless it is the sheer depression in the economy here. I guess people are too busy worrying about other things to worry about whether or not the outside of their house is fixed up. Don't get me wrong, the houses looked okay from the street, but the closer you got the them, you could see that some roofs needed replacing, several pieces of wood trim on most houses were going south and needed replaced. In the upscale houses the wood trim still needed replaced, but it was covered with a nice new coat of paint. I won't even pretent to understand that. As I was driving down the old highway (old US-67), I was struck by how much some things around here stay the same while others drastically change. A lot of structures and trees that I remember from my childhood are still here, still the same colors they were when I was a child (although the seem much smaller now). Other things are completely gone. It's like there's no in-between where someone took a structure and repainted it or washed the bricks--it was either exactly the same or completely gone. I found that somewhat discouraging on many levels.

Once I got to Pocahontas, I drove somewhat slowly, trying to remember as much as I could. I crossed black river on the new bridge, and saw the old bridge right beside it (it's still used; the road used to be two lanes and the only bridge was the old drawbridge used for ferry/tugboat traffic, which is not two lanes of the four lane road). The old bridge is almost identical to the way it was when I was a kid. They've paved over the grates of the draw and it's painted grey instead of green, but other than that, it's still there, still the same bridge over the same river. Even the same sandbar is in the middle of the river that was there when I was a kid.

I drove on, and ended up going to Jonesboro. I drove around, hopelessly lost on backstreets I had never even heard of for about an hour before I backtracked and found my way back to civilization. I ended up noticing a sign for a park there, so I thought what the heck. I drove to the park (it was after dark) and ended up parking by a lake and watching the stars. I'd forgotten just how little light pollution there is here in this area with all of the fields around. I could see the stars from horizon to horizon--well, almost, there was a half-moon out tonight that drowned out some of them. But it felt good to sit outside in a park in the middle of the night looking at stars. I would never do that in Virginia, I'd be too afraid someone would come out of the bushes and mug me. When I was a kid, I never would've done that. I would've been too terrified to sit in the dark all alone with no streetlights around for comfort. But I did it, and enjoyed myself for it.

After I left the park, I drove back to Pocahontas, but I took my time. I enjoyed the scenery as I went. I enjoyed seeing the fields, some of the harvested, other still waiting to be harvested. The stars shown over them, unimpeded by buildings or lights or any other structures save the occasional fence row of trees used to keep erosion to a minimum (a lesson learned well from the dust bowl). It felt so peaceful and so relaxing--almost Zen--to be out there without a care in the world. Traffic was almost negligible, just a car here or there. I felt free, unfettered from the hustle and bustle of life back in Virginia. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to live here, I'd go absolutely nuts with nothing to do, but it is nice to visit and recharge my batteries every once in while.

When I got back to Pocahontas, I drove through the old town square and tried to take a picture of the old courthouse. It was dark outside, but I tried to take one anyway. Two of them came out very blurry because I couldn't keep the camera still for the saturation needed for a good exposure. I turned the saturation off for the other picture and it barely turned out because of the darkness. I tried anyway. I'm sure the one or two cars that drove by thought I was nuts. As though I really care. I took a few moments to look at the new courthouse (across the street, essentially) and the old courthouse, and found that I like the old one better. It has a sense of character built into the very bricks that make its walls. The new courthouse seems to be a cookie cutter mold courthouse. Don't get me wrong, it is a nice courthouse, it's just at the time it was built, the architecture was pretty much the same for most government buildings, so they all look alike. The old courthouse, however, has a feel of history to it. You could almost walk up the wall, put your ear to it and hear stories from the past. Stories of train robbers, and horse thieves and marital infidelity (yes it happened back then, too). Stories of people who have long since faded from the hustle and bustle of life, but who live on in each brick of that old courthouse. Too bad we don't recognize these things for what they are--an inextricable link to those who came before us; the perpetuation of the human species and the human condition, albeit on a subconscious level. Once I left the courthouse, I drove by Saint Paul's Catholic Church, which is just down the street from the old town square. It, too, is a pleasant historic building. Instead of being made of the normal red brick that was used for everything else, it is made out of rock, grey rock--and she is a beautiful church! The light behind the stained glass windows echoed out their stories into the night for any passerby to see. Angels, Jesus, the Holy Spirit as a dove, all of them shone out into the night like a beacon to lost souls--find me, and you will find the way! That's what I heard them say, anyway. The grotto I remember is still there, unusually it is as big as I remember it, and still just as beautiful. I would've stopped, but I was rushed for time, so I left, turning around and passing by the church one more time to see those luminated scenes and to take one more look at the grotto.

I remembered converting to catholicism on my way home. I remember Grandma just didn't want to have anything to do with it. When she found out she said, "Why did you have to become...CATHOLIC?!" spitting out the word "catholic" as though it were some unpalatable piece of food. To this day I still don't have an answer to that question, other than it was the religion that made the most sense to me, and where I felt the most comfortable. Is that a good enough reason, or even a reason? I don't know, but it's enough for me and that should be all that matters.

As you can see, I am home now, and it is getting quite late. I'm going to cut this short and go to bed. Mom and Dad want to go to Applebees for lunch tomorrow before they go to work (a feat here, you have to drive 40 miles to get to one).