Back to Shelton Laurel

I took a drive out to Shelton Laurel yesterday. 

The foliage was amazing--pretty much at peak.

The sun, however, was hidden behind low clouds but I still found a lot to photograph. These are a merciful few of the 159 pictures I took.

I poked along, stopping whenever there was a pull off--either to let people in a hurry pass me and/or take pictures.

There wasn't much traffic--except at one point, a clutch of bear hunters in their camo outfits and bright orange caps. Excited dog noses poked out of the dog boxes in the back of their trucks.

I wish I could have gotten a picture, especially of the  truck barreling down the road with one hound standing atop the dog box, busily sniffing the air.

And I should have tried to record the baying of the hounds already loosed, a deep, melodious sound echoing through the valley.

Though I'm no fan of bear hunting, especially as it's done here with radio tracking dog collars, it's as much a traditional way of life for some folks as the pig roast at the VFD.

Shelton Laurel is a beautiful place, fiercely loved by its people.

I was acutely aware of present and past as I meandered up the valley, remembering the events I wrote of in And the Crows Took Their Eyes.

Much that I saw could have been what they saw back then.

I made a call of respect to the chimney that remains of Judy Shelton's house.

And I stopped to photograph the place that some believe to be the site of the massacre.

The clouds kept getting lower and rain was forecast to begin soon.

So I turned around at the Carmen Church of God and headed back home.

Still taking pictures.

So much to enjoy.

So much to love.

Mostly Barns

Old Barn

 

 

 

 

Red Barn on Indian Grave Gap Road

Red barns aren't as ubiquitous here in western North Carolina as in other parts of the country. Unpainted barns were the norm for a long time. Still, that iconic red barn of children's books and country-themed calendars tugs at many of us. Our own red barn was unpainted for many years . . . and then John bought a spray painter.

I love the weathered gray of many old barns.  But the way that red pops against a green background is nice. And the paint adds protection to the wood. 

 

A little on line research reveals that the red paint may have originated in New England in the late 1700s when thrifty farmers, seeking to protect their barns' wood from the weather  began experimenting with ways to make their own protective paint.

One mixture of skimmed milk, lime and red iron oxide created a rusty-colored mixture that became popular among farmers because it was cheap to make and lasted for years. Another preservative was linseed oil, derived from flax seed -- and flax, grown for linen, was a common crop. It was found that adding rust to the linseed oil created a nice rust-red finish to the wood.

What color are the barns where you live? If there are barns . . .

 

Seen in Shelton Laurel

 

 

 

 

 

 

Were You Raised in a Barn? (Repost)

My older boy is able to answer that question affirmatively, if not entirely accurately. He did live with us in this barn for three summers -- the last summer stretching till the end of October.

The first summer was 1973. Our son was not quite one, not quite walking. We had just bought our farm and were camping out in the upper part of the barn, getting to know the place and our neighbors. The following summer my husband and a friend were building our house -- getting it to the 'dried in' stage before we had to return to our teaching jobs in Florida. And the third summer, we were back with all our belongings and various helpful friends and family, making the big push to finish the house before cold weather.


Unfortunately, it began to get cold toward the end of October and when we awoke one morniong to find snow on our sleeping bags, we moved into the unfinished house where we at least had a wood stove. What bliss!

It was a wonderful experience though, living like in the barn -- cooking on a Coleman stove, bathing in the branch or in a washtub, the big entertainment at night watching the lightning bugs. When we moved to the house we actually said that we should move back to the barn every summer -- but of course we didn't.

I made use of the experience in Old Wounds -- the barn that Elizabeth's family is living in is based on our barn and that dark rectangle there on the front is a shutter which, when pushed up is the window Rosie sat at to watch Miss Birdie and Cletus come up the road.

And my older son has an excuse for all time for any less than polite behavior he may commit.