Here in the Blue Ridge, we are either on top of the mountains looking down into sprawling hollers covered with trees and gurgling branches or we are down in the holler looking up or to the side of a mountain (we call hill) stretched out before us.
Here on the farm the mountains are all around us. Daddy farmed on the tops of the hills while the cows and sheep pastured the slopes. To help them move from one place to the other on the slopes they would follow each other. After several years these paths became trails. We called them cow paths. They always had a gentle grade.
Sheep and cows would follow the same trail. My brother and I would walk along these paths. Usually they were pounded into hard red dirt with tall grass growing along the edges. The grass was there because of the animal droppings. For some unbeknown reason cows never messed in the path but sheep were another story. We had to wear our shoes because of them.
The cows and sheep are gone from the farm replaced with hardwood and Christmas Tree managed forests.
There are still paths through the woods thanks to our dogs, our deer, and yes, our resident black bear. These paths offer us a cool and refreshing way to see the wild flowers in the spring and the brilliant leaves in the fall.
Sometimes we get really brave and walk on the trails during an ice storm to see the glittering ice covered branches and the weighted down white pine tree tips. If we are lucky and the dogs haven’t barked, we can sneak up on a deer or even a rabbit. That is so special to us and we just stand and point with our mouth hung open and our eyes wide and glaring.
Our little house is built on top of one of the farm’s “hills”. In front of it is the Big Reed Island Creek Holler. Technically it is a gorge but I like the term holler. Sounds more inhabited.
The Creek or River as we call it has a long row of mountains that forms its right bank for most of its course from the Carroll County line to where it enters the New River at Claytor Lake. These mountains are to steep to farm and are a haven for animals. I rejoice sitting in the front yard and watching the mountain and its treasures throughout the year.
In the spring I am usually able to spy on the bear sun beside his favorite rock cliff or scratch on the old rotten chestnut tree for grubs. In the summer all the timber’s leaves have grow to the point I can’t spy on the bear but I turn my attention to Liberty and Justice, our Bald Eagles that are trying to best to keep the fledglings in their charge fed, safe, and clean. Both struggle with raids from the ospreys and crows.
As fall moves in I have to wear a heavy coat while I sit in the front yard. The first tree to change color is the ancient Maple tree beside the road that predates me. It is always orange and yellow. Then the Black Gum turns on its color with bright red leaves slowly followed by the maples and last the oaks with their mauves and browns.
When the parade of color is over and winter has set in I am forced to go inside and and watch the mountain from my front room’s sliding glass door that covers one side of the wall. All the leaves are gone. The bear has slipped inside his underground den, and the temperatures drop below freezing each night. The river freezes first along the rocks that liter its main channel and then slowly the ice takes over most of the river. The poor heron is still standing in the ice-less parts– fishing. I am watching from my warm perch the interaction of ice and bird. Absolutely beautiful.
Just as winter snuck in, it sneaks out and once again I can sit in my front yard watching for the bear, the eagles, and what ever else has taken up home in my beloved ancient mountains. I always ponder how wonderful and amazing God has been to me and my family for allowing us to live here for many generations. I hope and pray that God will allow us to continue our lives here for many more seasons and generations to come.
—Kathy Patterson
I hope you enjoyed Kathy’s description of her homeplace as much as I do. I’m thankful to be the third generation of my family to live in Wilson Holler. Thankful there’s two generations of Wilsons in front of me that live here too.
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And yet another wonderful surveyance of that great area of our country. It is a Blessing to have someone that fan describe something to the point you can almost close your eyes and feel that you are witnessing it first hand. There are some things you cannot imagine and put down on paper so that others can feel they are there. Miss Cindy is always in my daily prayers and thankfulness as well as the rest of your sweet family. God Bless.
“Here in the Blue Ridge” encompasses a lot of territory. The Blue Ridge Mountains extend from North Georgia almost to Maryland. Along the way they capture a sliver of Northwestern South Carolina, gather in all of Western North Carolina, snag half of East Tennessee and cut a swath up through Virginia until it touches West Virginia and Maryland. It may not be the biggest division of the Appalachian Range but it is most certainly the best judging, by the people who live there (here).
I enjoyed reading Kathy’s post. It brings back sweet memories of growing up in the wonderful, simpler times. Thank you for sharing!
Mama called them pig paths! Where we lived a lot of the pastures were cleared of trees except for pine thickets so I guess pigs mostly would be roaming around. I have badly injured my left knee–no break but I can’t walk on it. I have an orthopedic appointment on May 18 & hope they can soon do an MRI. It just started hurting and I heard a pop & would have fallen except for a nearby wall. It sure is painful. My husband has taken off work to help me get around and my son will also help. Our neighbor has loaned us a wheelchair–I’ve been being pulled around in my office type chair. Got inside on one of my husband’s little gurney type thing with a stool set on it. Wish we had a picture of this!!Hope yall will keep me in your thoughts & prayers–it is so hard for me to feel totally dependent. Also I’m thinking often of Miss Cindy and hoping she has a painfree peaceful passage.
Wanda-I’ll be praying for your knee to heal quickly!! Thank you for praying for Miss Cindy!!
Tipper,
I have always heard that cows are the best surveyors because they always “lay out” the path that is the most efficient and easiest way to transverse a hill. Truth or fiction? I have no idea.
The closest thing I have that would support this theory is that I have walked straight up a hill and have also followed cows’ paths to climb the same hill. Hands down, the cow path is a much easier way to reach the top, but usually takes longer because of the longer distance one has to travel.
Thank-you so much. We saw the bear today as we drove down the holler road. KP
Sheep make better paths than cows. They are smoother, packed better, and have a better grade.
But, be sure to wear shoes.
You’ll have to come to the Blue Ridge and see the cow paths. You will enjoy walking them so much.
KP
Yes mam. I thoroughly enjoyed reading Ms. Kathy’s story, brings back a lot of old but great memories of my childhood.
We are praying for Miss Cindy & the whole Presley clan!!
beautiful!!!
The tittle of story I mentioned is “Does It Still Happen” and one of the paragraphs says it best of all, in every persons life there needs to be four footprints, two big and two small, and of a person, hopefully a family member, teaching and showing things to the younger generation and helping make good memories for them. Like Kathy’s of her Daddy and family. Tipper and the Deer Hunter are well on their way of doing this, and maybe some day they will have grandchildren to help make memories.
Very much enjoyed reading this story. Sending prayers for Miss Cindy, you, and your family.
Kathy’s post was a delight and very welcome hello to a new day, starting with praise for the beauty of nature. Thanks!
Obviously, this author has a great eye for life’s cycles and what goes on about her. And reaped the many blessings because of it. This world is too often in a hurry to get no where fast. They miss so much along the way.
I’ve spent many a teenaged summer boating, jet skiing and playing in Claytor Lake very near Galax, Va. It’s a very beautiful place indeed and wild. There’s a butterfly farm nearby for hiking and butterflies. I have a first cousin who lives in Carroll County. He loves it and it’s close to Mount Airy, NC the home of our kin people the Surratts and Easters. There’s goats roaming the hills there to this day. Occasionally, they’ll stand on a cliff and you can watch them. Claytor Lake has carp the size of Volkswagen bugs in there they say. It’s a lake made from the electric company like Smith Mountain Lake. There’s a many beer can sunk to the bottom I guarantee that to keep the game warden off your hind end…
Loved reading this article. I grew up in Dugspur, in the Panther Creek area, and am very familiar with Big Reed Island Creek. My husband and sons have fished in it, and our family used to gather at a spot by the river for a cookout every summer. Thanks for taking me back to those times
Sounds like great country. I can tell I would like it. Found it on topographic maps and it is wonderfully varied with all kinds of nooks and crannies so endless variety. A person could spent a lifetime exploring that country and its plants, animals and ways but still be nowheres near done. My kind of country.
I enjoyed Kathy’s post. A lot of the things she wrote about were similar to my younger childhood years. I live on the “old home place”, it has been in my family for over a hundred years and will be passed on to my son and grandsons. Sadly so many of the ways of the past have changed or no longer done at all. Now, many of my areas of my life and memories are being turned into housing developments. No matter the amount of money, my place is not for sale, I need the memories of growing up here and of my family loved ones more than the money. I never had much, or some of the finer things, but God has blessed me with everything I ever needed. Funny, I just finished reading a story by Mike Gaddis on Jim Casada’s Sporting Classics Dailey this morning about the things country boys did in the past. It asks the question, do young boys still do these things. Unfortunately around here the answer would be “no”.
Kathy’s post was a delight to read. She’s a great writer.
If you see my post twice, I’m having internet problems.
Blessings sent your way today and every day✝️
Even though I now live in a suburb of Charlotte, Kathy’s story rang true to me and brought to mind the many trips back to our family’s origins in Buncombe County and the cabin where my grandmother grew up. Every time we make a trip to Asheville, as soon as we cross the continental divide, I know I’m home.
What a vision of beauty Kathy has created so wonderfully. I truly miss my mountains but words like this help maintain my memories.
thank you for sharing, God bless you and your family ,God bless Ms Cindy, God bless you, God bless me , thank you God, thank you Jesus ✝️❤️
Awesome description of life. Stars my day out with a calm state mind.
Beautiful story that reminds me of visiting my uncle and aunt and cousins in Randolph county, Al. Got our cookbook yesterday and enjoyed it. A birthday present to me today. It reminds me of my heritage.Thanks, Richard
I love this story. Our family that still lives on the “homeplace” is on its eighth generation. I’m not sure the younguns are as crazy over the hills and hollers.
The land is slowly reclaiming things. There is probably 200 acres left that was once farmed and lived on by my great great great grandparents and all their children and grandchildren. Slowly, in the 40s and 50s they began to leave for jobs, money and an easier life.
I often wonder why they didn’t realize all the riches they needed were right there. I reckon they wanted more for their children than little places on the hillside. It holds such beauty to me, God’s masterpiece. It was a very hard way of life. I use to love hearing Momma talk about them. We cannot even imagine that kind of toll and tarry today. Carrying water over 2 “hills” and your buckets being only half full when you get back from all the splashing. I’m not sure we have that kind of endurance nowadays.
My aunt that passed away last year kept to a lot of the old ways. I believe it was one of our family’s greatest losses when we lost her. So much knowledge. My great uncle’s cabin/house behind her is still there and very primitive.
I love the old ways and so glad you keep them before us, Tipper! You and your family are such a blessing! Still praying for all y’all!
I enjoyed reading Kathy’s post today. She writes beautifully.