Wandering Thoughts: West Virginia, Three: Cowen

Our driveway to home for four days

The neighbors on the left had a nice garden, from which she shared some of their first picking of yellow squash. She was an interesting person to visit with; she had been a long haul truck driver for years. Her husband was born about five miles down the road. His father died in a coal mining accident; a brother was killed in a brawl of some kind. They said he never backed down from a fight. Yikes. They were friendly people and offered help if we might need it.

I picked this up on the roadside when I took the driveway photo.
Coal.
That's another post. An angry, sad post.

Our backyard, right along the Gauley River
I found this poem a few years ago. Follow the link at the end for some interesting facts regarding this author's connection with Edgar Allan Poe.

Gauley River

by Thomas Dunn English

The waters of Gauley,

Wild waters and brown,

Through the hill-bounded valley;

Sweep onward and down;

Over rocks, over shallows,

Through shaded ravines,

Where the beautiful hallows

Wild, varying scenes;

Where the tulip tree scatters

Its blossoms in Spring

And the bank-swallow spaters

With foam its sweet wing;

Where the dun deer is stooping

Bears down on his prey—

Brown waters of Gauley,

That sweep past the shore—

Dark waters of Gauley

That move evermore.

Brown waters of Gauley,

At eve on your tide,

My log canoe slowly

And careless I guide.

The world and its troubles

I leave on the shore

I seek the wild torrent

And shout to its roar.

The pike glides before me

In impulse of fear,

In dread of the motion

That speaks of the spear—

Proud lord of these waters,

He fears lest I be

A robber rapacious

And cruel as he.

He is off to his eddy,

In wait for his prey;

He is off to his ambush,

And there let him stay.

Brown waters of Gauley,

Impatient ye glide,

To seek the Kanawha,

And mix with its tide—

Past hillside and meadow,

Past cliff and moralls,

Receiving the tribute,

Of streams as ye pass,

Ye heed not the being,

Who floats on your breast,

Too earnest your hurry,

Too fierce your unrest.

His, his is the duty

As plain as your own;

But he feels a dullness

Ye never have known.

He pauses in action,

He faints and gives, o'er;

Brown waters of Gauley,

Ye move evermore.

Brown waters of Gauley,

My fingers I lave

In the foam that lies scattered

Upon your brown wave.

From sunlight to shadow,

To shadow more dark,

'Neath the low-bending birches

I guide my rude barque;

Through the shallows whose brawling

Falls full on my ear,

Through the sharp, mossy masses,

My vessel I steer

What care I for honors,

The world might bestow,

What care I for gold,

With its glare and its glow:

The world and its troubles

I leave on the shore

Of the waters of Gauley,

That move evermore.

http://littlebitsofhistory.blogspot.com/2010/11/logan-logan-county-wv.html

Here is the river level when we arrived.
The rains came again.

Taken from the same location after several hours of rain.

From the motorhome window.
We were not far from the rising river!

I must admit I was ready to leave when the job was finished!
Two of the possible three routes to the next job were closed by landslides and flooding.

Before the rains began we took a drive to Webster Springs, about eight miles from the campground. It is literally in a hole, completely surrounded by mountains. Steep streets!

Beautiful lawn ornaments, the living kind. There were two of these little fawns and the strange thing was, they were with a buck. Did not see a doe.

The river is rising.
Two days later the roads into the town were closed by flooding and landslides, one of which flooded the basement of the little hospital in town.