December 10th. Shenandoah Caves

Sometimes being here is like a C&W concert.  Today we went up and over the “Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia (on the trail on the lonsome pine....)”, across the “Oh Shenandoah (“ I love your daughter, oh away, you rolling River river....”) and passed very close to (“Country roads take me home to the place I belong...”) West Virginia.  There are several parallel ranges of mountains, with flattish valleys in between.  The settlers must have been so relieved as they staggered over the mountains to see such an abundance of good farming land stretching out before them.  I love the place names here - ‘Rockfish Valley’, ‘Stoney Creek’, and - my favourite - ‘Moose Bottom’. 

Our first objective was Shenandoah Caverns.  Bill and I like to think we are connoisseurs of caves as the minute we hear of one in the vicinity, we’re in it before you can say stalactite.  Each one has its charms.  This one, though by no means the largest we have been in, had beautiful glittering white formations, like a brides dress, and also long, thin ones, rippled like flags in the wind, and striped in brownish red and white.  These were called ‘Bacon formations’ and indeed they looked exactly like streaky bacon on a big scale.

We left and drove on up through the mountains, higher and higher, till we reached Shrinemont, in Orkney Springs.  This is what we would call a Christian Conference Centre.  It was silent and quiet, stored safely for the winter.  There was extensive accommodation in white and green painted panelled wood houses with verandahs, and a little outdoor church among the trees.  It certainly had peace and atmosphere.  On the outskirts of Orkney Springs, we stopped at a store.  Three very jolly senior citizens, one a corpulent gentleman in a cowboy style hat, were selling fudge to raise funds for their community centre for teens.  Their notice described them as ‘Recycled Teenagers’, although one assured us that he was not recycled as he’d never grown up.

Shrinemont was well off the tourist trail – en route we passed numerous wooden houses, but now many looked less affluent, and some were dilapidated and empty, their obvious charm and beauty marred by tottering verandahs and windows at drunken angles.  It seems that often these houses have been homes to the same family since the first settlers arrived, but now, about eight or nine generations later, the kids have gone off to the cities, and when the parents die, the houses may be left to decay.   The suction effect of cities is apparent in most societies and America, it seems, is not immune.

Some quirkie things – I love the letter boxes on poles that sit at the end of every driveway.  Some people even decorate them.  One had a large red cockerel (rooster) on top, one was made into a little house, and one had been painted as a large fish.  ‘He’s just telling us he’d rather be fishing’ said Mary Carolyn.