This is not Sunday music
While I was at the beach, the speakers in the beach house echoed out with summer's pop tunes and favorite hip hop beats. Justin Beiber and Katy Perry were the top picks.
Today I went to church in Morgantown. We had a potluck break the fast after church meetings. I counted twenty-four at the dinner, which I think was almost everyone in attendance. The church meetings were at the Institute building in downtown Morgantown. It was a great meeting. I'm glad to have participated. Not only did I see the folks from the beach, I also saw a few folks that I met two years ago at the YSA conference in Pittsburgh.
Yesterday's ride from Corolla, NC to Morgantown, WV was a long one. We made multiple pit stops for food, luggage readjustments, bathroom breaks, and scenic views. I don't have much to say about the trip up through the coastal plains, but the views, air, and smells as we approached the hills and mountains of western Virginia and then crossing over into the Appalachians of West Virginia were powerful, enlivening.
Western Virginia was the picture of quaint, past century pre-industrial agriculture. Mennonite farms with Mennonites on bicycles set the tone for the hidden valley region: each property folded and tucked with the integrity of a military uniform. And just as any good hidden valley, the space was protected by high peaks, a steep drive up a long mountain that afforded the views you looked for on postcards. Thank you, Heaven. Yet, the views and grades of the mountains of western Virginia were only a prelude to the climes and sights of West Virginia. After passing through the pre-industrial hidden valley, a mesh of back country roads, the slopes of West Virginia rose up, a nine percent grade slowed a pace already made heavy by endless hair-pin curves. We wound the cars of our caravan through trees, over streams, and under the shadows of tornado driven storm clouds. We rose on the macadam spine, higher and higher, our stomaches sloshing to and fro. As in a Jim Henson film, the path to our destination was guarded behind these mountain fortress walls. Finally reaching the top, we saw the sign of our success: Welcome to Wild and Wonderful West Virginia. Directly opposite the sign, on the other side of the road was a scenic roadside pull off. It was at this time we stepped out of the vehicles, out of the air conditioning into the pure ozone, the cool mists of a hundred valleys and tree-covered peaks, stretching a fifty miles before our view. The view was expansive, but it was the smell that got me. I could feel the air. I could feel the air cooled by a thousand trees and a hundred streams, air driven by valley winds a thousand feet below. It was the kind of air I could breathe in in the most remote of places I had visited: the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the Green Mountains of Vermont, the Adirondacks of New York, the peaks of Yosemite, the beaches of Reyes Point. Here it was in the mountains of West Virginia. The nature power of the site was reinforced as we continued into the national forest of the region, thick stands of young growth not given to stagnation. The forest was alive, alive and living. I was there. I hope to be there again.
We continued the journey through more low mountains, their tree-covered nature giving way intermittently to fields of grass--appropriate highland pasture. We find our evening meal and refuge came as our local resident and guide welcomed us into his home: a friendly white single-story home sitting in a stand of a dozen other houses, making up the municipality of Franklin, West Virginia. His mother had prepared us a meal of pancakes and sausage--our wilderness alternative to IHOP. Thank you, Kimble's. From there, we made a late night bee line back to Morgantown through unforgiving fog-smitten winding back roads. We made it back alive, and made it through the trip in one piece,as individuals and as a community.
Some fotos from the beach trip...let me know if the link works.
And some more...
Today I went to church in Morgantown. We had a potluck break the fast after church meetings. I counted twenty-four at the dinner, which I think was almost everyone in attendance. The church meetings were at the Institute building in downtown Morgantown. It was a great meeting. I'm glad to have participated. Not only did I see the folks from the beach, I also saw a few folks that I met two years ago at the YSA conference in Pittsburgh.
Yesterday's ride from Corolla, NC to Morgantown, WV was a long one. We made multiple pit stops for food, luggage readjustments, bathroom breaks, and scenic views. I don't have much to say about the trip up through the coastal plains, but the views, air, and smells as we approached the hills and mountains of western Virginia and then crossing over into the Appalachians of West Virginia were powerful, enlivening.
Western Virginia was the picture of quaint, past century pre-industrial agriculture. Mennonite farms with Mennonites on bicycles set the tone for the hidden valley region: each property folded and tucked with the integrity of a military uniform. And just as any good hidden valley, the space was protected by high peaks, a steep drive up a long mountain that afforded the views you looked for on postcards. Thank you, Heaven. Yet, the views and grades of the mountains of western Virginia were only a prelude to the climes and sights of West Virginia. After passing through the pre-industrial hidden valley, a mesh of back country roads, the slopes of West Virginia rose up, a nine percent grade slowed a pace already made heavy by endless hair-pin curves. We wound the cars of our caravan through trees, over streams, and under the shadows of tornado driven storm clouds. We rose on the macadam spine, higher and higher, our stomaches sloshing to and fro. As in a Jim Henson film, the path to our destination was guarded behind these mountain fortress walls. Finally reaching the top, we saw the sign of our success: Welcome to Wild and Wonderful West Virginia. Directly opposite the sign, on the other side of the road was a scenic roadside pull off. It was at this time we stepped out of the vehicles, out of the air conditioning into the pure ozone, the cool mists of a hundred valleys and tree-covered peaks, stretching a fifty miles before our view. The view was expansive, but it was the smell that got me. I could feel the air. I could feel the air cooled by a thousand trees and a hundred streams, air driven by valley winds a thousand feet below. It was the kind of air I could breathe in in the most remote of places I had visited: the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the Green Mountains of Vermont, the Adirondacks of New York, the peaks of Yosemite, the beaches of Reyes Point. Here it was in the mountains of West Virginia. The nature power of the site was reinforced as we continued into the national forest of the region, thick stands of young growth not given to stagnation. The forest was alive, alive and living. I was there. I hope to be there again.
We continued the journey through more low mountains, their tree-covered nature giving way intermittently to fields of grass--appropriate highland pasture. We find our evening meal and refuge came as our local resident and guide welcomed us into his home: a friendly white single-story home sitting in a stand of a dozen other houses, making up the municipality of Franklin, West Virginia. His mother had prepared us a meal of pancakes and sausage--our wilderness alternative to IHOP. Thank you, Kimble's. From there, we made a late night bee line back to Morgantown through unforgiving fog-smitten winding back roads. We made it back alive, and made it through the trip in one piece,as individuals and as a community.
Some fotos from the beach trip...let me know if the link works.
And some more...
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