I guess even today the substantial mountain ridges to the west of us inhibit travel in that direction. You know, we just don’t seem to head that way very often. As a life-long Roanoker I have often traveled the directions to which the lay of the land lends itself: up the valley to the northeast, down the valley to the southwest, and to all points east. But other than the easy and frequent jaunt into Craig County my wanderings further out that direction have been few and far between.
Westward expansion in this country in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries had wagonloads of people (and the few worldly possessions they could carry) flowing like lava across the landscape.
But that “lava” flowed around the obstacles of big chunks of Appalachian Mountains, through which occasional gaps provided manageable transit here and there. Much of the terrain which had been flowed around earlier came to be filled in later, but some of it remains hidden from the mainstream; a bit backwater in character- and such is not far from us here in Big Lick.
My friend and I found ourselves on the far side of Craig County on Rt. 311, over Catawba and Potts Mountains on a brief mission to explore out that way within the time constraints of an easy day trip. We entered Monroe County in West Virginia on Rt. 17, not far from Paint Bank, and at the hamlet of Waiteville we took the road up Peters Mountain. At the crest we parked at a trailhead and hiked up to the spectacularly-situated Hanging Rock Raptor Observatory. The well-kept former fire tower is open to visitors and the views from it are stunning. We saw no hawks that day, but we did gaze out over a vista to the west with which I was little acquainted.
Back on the road, over Peters Mountain, at sleepy Gap Mills we turned on Rt. 3 and headed to Union, a bustling little town situated in the rolling, open country of the greater Greenbrier River valley. Before we arrived in that Monroe County seat we stopped at Rehoboth Church, a 1785 log structure purported to be the oldest church building in existence west of the Appalachian Mountains. It also served as a fort in its earliest days as defense against Indian attacks.
The road outside Union lay under a particularly expansive sky that day, bright white clouds marching steadfastly across a cold blue background. We tried to capture the scene with our cameras, pulling over at every other hill crest to tumble out of the truck and stand braced to the wind, framing yet another photo.
Having never set foot in Union it felt foreign yet inviting. My friend had to remind me that no, we weren’t hundreds of miles away from home; Roanoke was really “just over the mountains.” The Korner Kafe drew us in as an obviously popular lunch spot. The day’s special was a baked potato piled high with shredded steak and onions and cheese so of course I had to try that. Chatting with some of the locals (a couple of them being particularly colorful characters) as we ate reminded us of the reward of gaining a bit of the local folks’ unique perspective on life, wherever one may go.
A walk along Union’s Main Street, through the historic district, revealed more of the charm and no-nonsense character of the town. Historical markers described local structures such as the old courthouse and Presbyterian Church, as well as events such as the town’s scuffle with Federal soldiers during the Civil War, in which the citizens fearfully hid what valuables they could from the advancing army, yet generously shared their food with the surprisingly polite young enemy soldiers.
Union’s Civil War monument lies in a field on the edge of town, and we were struck with the timeless nature of such homage to loved, respected, and otherwise inspiring folks gone before us. The wind whistled through the picket fence surrounding the statue as we turned to go, next stop Lewisburg via Ronceverte.
We paused at a park beside the Greenbrier River in rough-and-tumble Ronceverte. And yes, I had to ask how to pronounce it. The river ran fresh with recent rain, and we could plainly see evidence of its frequent forays beyond its normal channel. As in so many similar places, the river is boss; it will go where it wants. We noted the appeal of a return trip to canoe a stretch of the Greenbrier as we headed up the road to Lewisburg.
Lewisburg is an interesting, classy town. We walked the streets for a while enjoying the character of the shops and the variety of wares from hippie stuff to fine art galleries, attorneys’ offices to earthy coffee shops. There’s fascinating history too, Lewisburg being one of West Virginia’s oldest towns.
We peeked inside the 1796 Old Stone Presbyterian Church and were struck with the elegant simplicity of its design. The adjacent cemetery begged for a closer look, and reading some of the more eloquent inscriptions of those deceased so long ago – some in the 1700’s- was intriguing. The carving on some of the stones was ornate, on some crude, but all delightfully interesting and conveying something more than just the words.
It struck us funny how we continue to dutifully inscribe our tombstones with the exact date of birth and the exact date of death, as if such facts are the most important things to note about one’s life. Funny! I mean, what difference does it make? Recovered from our self-induced comedy we checked out the 1837 Greenbrier County Courthouse, the General Lewis Inn, and the 1902 Carnegie Hall.
While heading home via White Sulphur Springs and Clifton Forge we reviewed our day in such interesting territory and looked forward to returning to explore more of the land in our backyard – “just over the mountains.”