Memories
of
The New River Gorge
MOMMY'S SWEET WATER
By: Wilma Roark Mets
The smell of damp pine needles filled the air. Violets grew beside the path worn bare from daily trips to the spring. Skipping ahead I picked flowers that filled my mothers apron pocket. Later it would be a bouquet for the table.
The water at the spring was crystal clear and ice cold, and come straight out of the mountain. Mommy always commented on these two things. With our water buckets filled we left for our trip home. The little bucket had a special spot on the side table beside the bigger bucket. No one was allowed to drink from the little bucket except mommy. She called it, Mommy's Sweet Water, making the trip to the spring even more special.
That little girl still lives inside of me. Water always tastes better from a dipper, but everytime I see an empty soup can, I see a water bucket. I see myself as a child carrying Mommy's Sweet Water. I smell the smells, I hear the sounds, especially my mother singing her favorite hymns.
I can't help but believe there would be a lot less problems and many more problems solved, if children could once more carry their Mommy's Sweet Water.
I HEARD MY GRANDMA PRAY
By: Wilma Roark Mets
Sometimes I was permitted to spend the night with grandma and that was better than anything else I could ever have done. We sat on her porch swing and sang songs and she told me stories. She had an apple tree that had a branch that hung over the gate to her yard. It was angled in such a way that you could ride your bicycle past it and grab an apple and never have to slow down.
I remember her white frilly starched curtains. She washed them often because the coal dust in the air settled on everything. She always had her windows open in the summer. She had a lamp by her bed with long clear icicles hanging down. When the wind would blow through the windows the icicles would tinkle like fairies flying around the room.
We always got a special snack at night before going to bed. Grandma would give me a hug and kiss and I would get into bed. Grandma's room was right beside of my room allowing me to always hear her prayers. I could see her kneeling by her bed and I still remember her praying. She would always remember the leaders of our countryand those she knew were sick and of course her family. The thing that always amazed me was, she never left anyone out.
When Grandma came to my name, it always brought tears to my eyes. She told God to bless her sweet little granddaughter and always be with me throughout my life. She told him to burden my heart to the point I would accept him so we could someday be together forever.
I thought I was grandma's favorite out of about 50 grandchildren. When I became an adult, what a surprise I got when all the rest of the grandchildren said the same thing. We all agreed on one thing though, we heard our Grandma pray, and we heard her pray for us.
If I could tell Grandma just one thing now, it would be, "Grandma, I heard you pray for me and God has answered your prayer". He's number one in my life too. Now I know how important it is to pray for your family and let your grandchildren hear you pray.
Listen, the wind is blowing thru the open window. Can you hear the gentle tinkle, is it those fairies again, or is it the voice of my Grandma praying?
That New Fangled Contraption, the television
By: Wilma Roark Mets
In our mountain neighborhood, spread out so that you would need binoculars to see the neighbors house, progress had come to that part of the world. Word got around that one of the neighbors had, one of them there televisions. The newest thing for every home, and you could even watch, Saturday Night wrestling every week. Every one waited for an invitation to that home, to view it themselves.
At 8 yrs. old, my job was to walk to my Grandmothers house everyday, to get a gallon of milk. She had a cow and that's where we got the milk. I would walk down the long dirt road, up hill and down. There was a creek that ran along side the road. It was lined with trees and wild flowers. There were millions of crawdads in that cold mountain stream. An alternative route was to go up a very steep hill, without a road, and that was a short cut.
This particular day, I walked to my Grandmothers to get the milk. She was the most wonderful grandmother in the world. She had the milk ready for me, so I hugged and kissed her and left for my walk back home. I had been thinking about this new fangled contraption that, my father said, had a moving picture inside of it.
It was getting late in the evening but still had some daylight left. I decided to walk up the steep hill, the shortcut home. If I hurried it would leave me enough time to stop at the neighbors house and see this new invention. When I got to the neighbors house, the window was up and I could hear some strange sounds coming from inside. Now, in those parts, everyone knew everyone and even their kids.
I went up to the door and knocked politely, holding my gallon of milk. When they came to the door I asked if it was true, did they really have one of those televisions? They said, yes we do, would you like to come in and see it. Of course I said, yes.
I went inside and was shown the television. It was on the only channel you could get, and that was channel 3, Wheeling W.Va. They invited me to sit down and watch it for awhile. I sat down with my legs wrapped around that gallon of milk. Suddenly, there was music and a big white horse came on the screen with a masked rider. He rode up to the camera and shouted, Hi Ho Silver, Away. That's when I fell in love with, Clayton Moore, The Lone Ranger. I sat there and watched that show, totally mesmerized. I still remember the thought that was going through my head. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have one of these in your very own living room, where an actual movie would play in your house.
When the show was over, I had to leave. I picked up my gallon of milk, warm by then, I'm sure. Thanked the neighbors and hurried home. I told my parents about seeing the western movie.
A big surprise awaited me. A couple of weeks later I was on my way home from school and I could look across from one mountain to the mountain where we lived. Something strange was on top of my house. It was the same thing I had seen on the neighbors house, with the television. My father had told me, it was so they could get service for their television. I couldn't believe it, I started running home. As fast as I could run, down the hill, across the foot bridge and up my hill.
Inside of our living room was the most beautiful, big, huge large, 19 inch, black and white television. Our very own television that would play from 6 AM to, way after I was asleep. We sent invitations for friends to come and see the television and watch Saturday Night Wrestling. I was so proud of that antenna on top of our house. It was like a status symbol in the neighborhood.
Now we have 4 televisions in our home, all are bigger than 19 inch. I seldom watch them and they are all color. Television has lost its fascination of long ago. My milk is bought at the store, and I have a satellite dish, where we get at least 200 channels. I will never view television with the same eye, as I viewed, as a little 8 yr. girl.
The mournful sound of the whistle
By
Wilma Roark Mets
Its hard to imagine a time when there were no telephones. No, I didn't live on another planet, just a simpler time and place.
My father was a coal miner in W.Va. during the 40's and 50's. The communication system was very simple but it worked. The coal mines had a whistle/siren that blew every evening at 6:00 IF there was going to be work the next day. If the whistle didn't blow you knew you weren't suppose to go to work. Everyone, including the kids would listen for the whistle.
Another purpose for the whistle was, if there was an accident at the coal mines, like a cave in, or rock slide that caused an injury or death, the whistle would blow. If you're father happened to be working and the whistle blew, everyone held their breath.
I remember a day when the whistle blew. My daddy was at the mines and the whistle blew about 1:00 in the afternoon. We came running to our mother who was standing there stunned. All we could do was wait for information, and hope it wasn't a death or someone close to us and especially our father.
When my father got home he had a heavy heart. Our neighbor, my fathers friend had been the victim. A piece of slate had come loose and slid, cutting his head off. Needless to say, this shook everyone up pretty bad. I remember my father crying and asking why, the neighbor man was a good person, never hurt anyone.
I think about it and I can hear the mournful sound of the whistle. A welcome sound if it blew at 6:00 but a terrifying sound any other time.
The communication was simple but it worked. Layed back times, layed back attitudes. If you were to go there today, little has changed. The coal mines no longer operates and there are telephones but life remains the same, layed back times and layed back attitudes.
Hiding from the Sandman
By
Wilma Roark Mets
The mountain side was dotted with small houses, all of them full of children, this was our neighborhood. The year I was in the first grade, strip mining came to our side of the mountain. Of course, this was of great fascination to the children. The biggest problem was, keeping us away from that area, since there was great danger. At the same time, there were, rock cliffs where we were accustomed to playing, and climbing.
One thing the neighbor kids did was, they would take a small preschooler and hold them out over the cliff, one big kid on each side of the smaller one. The big kids were 4th. and 5th. graders. The small kid was usually their little sister. I was smart enough to know better than to let them do that to me. I was a dare devil but nothing like that.
In an attempt to keep us kids away from the strip mining area, my father came up with a story. There was a concrete building midway around the mountain, dirt road. He said, that's where the Sandman lives. You had better stay away from that area. Never ever go past that concrete building.
This kept us away from the strip mining but it also made us curious. We spent many hours that summer hiding in the bushes, watching that "tool shed" for the Sandman to come out. We have packed a lunch and sat there quietly, listening and waiting for him. The neighborhood was strangely quiet and empty. We were all posted in the bushes, watching for any signs of movement.
The boys would get brave and throw rocks at the building like they were daring him to come out. The girls waited, ready to run.
In my minds eye, I can still look out over that mountain and see the deep gorge of New River. I can feel the sun on my head and hear the birds sing. I can turn and look the other way and see the little church with its tall steeple, I can hear the singing on Sunday morning, "Come to the church in the wildwood, oh, come to the church in dale. No place is so dear to my childhood, as the little brown church in the dale.
I can taste the wild strawberries that grew all along the path to the, Sandman's house. The woods was full of, huckleberries and mountain tea berries. There were chestnuts and black walnut trees, and we would pick the nuts up by the wagon loads and pull them to our house. Often we would stop and share them with different neighbors. I remember them as though it was yesterday. Those were the times when neighbors helped each other and looked out for one another. I fear those days are gone, replaced by greed and jealousy, hatred and suspicion. Oh, Childhood home, where are you now, I can't get there from here.
Through the years, I have made up stories for our kids, for different reasons. I must have taken it after my dad. Perhaps that's how I can write stories for pearlsoup.
The Cabin without a Door
By
Wilma Roark Mets
As a child, the one thing we had was, a sense of adventure. Often we went exploring in the woods, and most of the time all we found was a fox hole, snake skin or a turtle shell.
One day we decided to go exploring so we cleared it with our mother and prepared to leave. There was a group of us, some were siblings and some were neighbors.
We crossed the sage brush field and into the woods. The woods was dense, with a lot of underbrush. Imaginations can run wild when you see a path or evidence of a wild animal. The path would belong to Indians, surely they had to be nearby. We searched for them and tried to find them but, of course we never did. We knew there were wild animals like bears and mountain lions etc.
This particular day we decided to go a totally different way, taking the uncharted path. We swung on a grapevine which took us across the creek. Each of us trying to swing further than the other. We had been warned over and over of the dangers of swinging on grapevines, but we never listened.
We got walking sticks to clear the path of stickers and spider webs, but a lot of things we ignored and trampled it down. Its a little scary to find yourself in a place in the woods where you've never been and have never gone that far before and you aren't sure you can find your way back. The bigger kids, 10 and 11 yrs. old assured we smaller ones that they knew exactly where we were.
We were all in for a surprise when, nestled in the trees was a cabin, long ago abandoned. We let our imaginations take over. We hurried around the house so we could go inside but there was no door. We stood there totally stumped, just looking at each other. The chinking had fallen out a long time ago so the boys decided they could climb up the side of the wall. Never let it be said that they could do something the girls couldn't do. Everyone started climbing the wall.
When we got on the roof there was a door that lifted like a lid. We opened the lid and there was a ladder that went down inside. We climbed down the ladder to a totally empty room. There was leaves inside but nothing else. Now the stories started, what could be the reason for no doors on the ground level...the, lift up, door became a scuttle hole and to this day when we talk about finding the cabin, the door is a scuttle hole. We were sure there had been pirates in the woods, and pirates mean treasure. We looked under the leaves and climbed the ladder to the outside. We closed the scuttle hole and decided to follow the branch of a tree that grew near by and had grown out over the roof. Climbing down was much easier that way.
We found our way back home after giving up on the treasure. To our surprise, my mother knew exactly what the cabin was used for. She said it was moonshiners, protecting themselves from the revenuers. What a totally boring story for our cabin. Pirates was much more glamorous than moonshiners. I'm still thinking there had to be a mistake there. I'm sure the treasure is still there waiting till the pirates get back.
I was thinking how much this cabin is like our hearts. When you build a wall around you're heart so the hurt can't get in, neither can the love. Nothing goes in and nothing comes out. If your heart is all walled up, my prayer for you is, God will find the scuttle hole, and begin to tear down the walls. I believe inside of all of us is great treasure. Share it with someone today
The Goose that lived in our house
By
Wilma Roark Mets
Going back in time many years, to when I was 6 yrs. old. Once again in the coal fields of W.Va. where I spent my younger years.
The miners were going through a time when work was scarce. My mother was a survivor, thrifty and very frugal.
Toward the end of October someone gave her a goose. We didn't have a place to keep it safe and away from predators. She needed to preserve the goose till Christmas, because she was going to bake it for Christmas dinner.
We lived in a house with 4 rooms. Together we completely cleared out one room and laid newspapers over the entire floor. Therefore the goose had its own room. In the mornings we would wake up to the goose honking, instead of the rooster crowing.
Being a young child I naturally became attached to the goose. We fed the goose and watched it thrive under my mothers watchful care.
As Christmas approached and the tree cut and brought in, the goose's days were numbered. Finally on Christmas morning the goose was caught and taken outside behind the house and beheaded. My mother was very good at picking the feathers off and preparing the bird for baking.
Christmas gifts were all brought by Santa, and I remember getting a baby doll. Christmas was quite different then, one gift is all you got. That might not seem like much but we didn't know the difference, and was happy with whatever we got. Who would dare defy Santa and even think the gift wasn't enough.
I don't remember the Christmas dinner, so it must not have made to much of an impression on me. The one thing I will never forget is the weeks leading up to Christmas in 1950. That goose had a good life, had its own room and kids to play with. No goose had it finer.
Silly things like that is what I remember most. Watch for another story and find out the surprise we got at Thanksgiving that very same year. The goose is gone but the Thanksgiving surprise is still with us.
The March of Dimes
By
Wilma Roark Mets
Each spring all the school aged children were given March of Dimes cards. There were slots in the cards that held dimes. I think there was about 10 slots so if you brought back a full card you were giving a dollar to the March of Dimes. Since most families were poor and had a kid in each grade, they couldn't afford to fill the card for every kid in the family.
When you got your card you would hurry home and get permission to go out and bang on doors to get a donation of a dime for your card. It was somewhat of a status symbol to turn in a full card. That meant you had worked hard for the money.
When I went out to collect the dimes for my card, I had gone to several houses and sometimes I got a dime and sometimes I didn't. There was a house on the mountain that had quite a few kids and we knew all of them. I knocked on their door and Harry came to the door. Harry was about 2 or 3 years older than me and I was about 8. Harry was in a wheel chair and wore glasses. I knew Harry had at one time been like the rest of us kids but something had happened to him. Harry hollered for his mother and she came to the door and I asked for a dime for the March of Dimes. As tears flowed down her cheeks she said she didn't have a dime to give. However, she was really thankful for the kids that were out working to fill the cards. She told me, those dimes were the only way little Harry could have gotten the wheel chair and his glasses.
By the end of the week I had collected 9 dimes for my card. I just couldn't go back to school without filling my card. I decided I would earn a dime to complete filling my card.
Since I was little and there was no way to earn a dime and most people had given all the dimes they had, I drew up a plan, I got creative.
An old neighbor lady had taught me how to recognize edible wild plants. There was a meadow down from the house and I knew there was a truck load that grew there. I got my mothers galvanized bucket and went to the meadow. I picked the youngest part of the greens. The new tender tops were good and sweet and I knew all the different varieties. It took a couple of hours to pick the different kinds and get only the perfect leaves.
After my bucket was filled I went over to a house at the end of a row of houses. When I had collected for the March of Dimes she had said she had already given. She was a black lady, a sweet woman that was always kind to all the kids. I knocked on her door and asked her if she would like to buy a bucket of greens. She told me she could go pick all the greens she wanted for free. I told her how long it took me to pick them and it would only cost a dime and she wouldn't have to do it herself. She said, "Lord child, why you needin a dime so bad"? I told her it was for the March of Dimes and I only needed one more dime..
She gave me the dime. I had sold my greens and now I could go back to school with a full card. I was the only kid in my class that filled their card that year.
I still see those edible plants growing and I think about that one lone dime I earned picking them. Better still, all the dimes it takes to make a difference in a kids life. Harry's wheelchair and glasses started with a dime. Harry's mother didn't have a dime but I know she would have given thousands of dollars if she could have.
I also want to tell you, Harry did walk again. He wore glasses but he walked and was able to eventually collect dimes for the March of Dimes. I wish I could see Harry again and tell him what an inspiration he was to the kids at school and how he changed my life and my heart.. One dime at a time.
SURPRISE ON A MOONLITE NIGHT
By
Wilma Roark Mets
Summer had come and gone. The beautiful colored leaves had been replaced by gray skies and cold winds. As I look around, the day to day functions are the same. We have a goose living in one room of our house. It is being kept for Christmas dinner.
I had been going to school everyday, walking the mile or so one way to a little one room school house. I walked with my sister and the other kids in our mountainside community.
One of the things every kid enjoys is spending the night with a special friend. I had often been invited but never had been allowed to stay. My friend lived in the house at the end of the little windy path on top of the mountain at the old town of Caperton (Snake Town). I had walked there many times to my friend Betty's house. Ironically, I'm Wilma and she is Betty, like the Flintstones.
It had snowed for what seemed like days. The year was 1950 and some of the older folks may still remember the big snow of 50. The snow was very deep to a little 6 year old. It was in the middle of the night and we had been asleep for hours. The sky was clear, the moon was very bright and shining on the landscape giving it a fairytale appearance.
My father surprised us kids by waking us up in the middle of the night, He told us we could spend the night with our friends. We needed to get up and get dressed very warmly for the walk up the mountain. We didn't need a flashlight because the moon was very bright.
We got up and dressed quickly, everyone leaving at the same time. Walking was difficult and you couldn't see the path because of the snow, so you just guessed where you were going. The trip took a lot longer than normal and it was real cold.
About half way up the mountain we saw someone approaching, it was Betty's mother and she was going to our house. How strange the whole thing was to the three of us. When we got to Betty's house her father let us in and we went to Betty's room. Betty had an older sister and an older brother. The girls slept in one bed and the boys slept in the other. I remember the homemade quilts being so heavy you could hardly turn over.
We girls sat in the bed in the dark, and we talked about how strange it was that we were finally able to spend the night with them and was never allowed to in the past, and on a night like this. Finally we slept.
The next morning we heard Betty's mother coming in and she said something to Betty's father and then came into our room. She told us our father said to get dressed and come back home now.
We walked back down the hill trying to walk in the same steps that we had made when we had walked up the hill the night before. The steep steps up to the kitchen door were covered with ice and snow.
When we got inside of our house, there sat my mother in a rocking chair holding the most beautiful baby boy I had ever seen. Where had he come from, how did he get here? My mother said the stork brought him, surprising everyone of us. We had no idea where babies came from. We took our coats off, everyone was talking at the same time. I couldn't wait to get warm so I could hold him.
My mother had just finished nursing him and he was still awake. He was the most beautiful baby in the whole world. He was so soft with downy soft black hair. He became my baby. I would run home from school everyday so I could hold him. The memories of that night long ago are more precious than gold. My brother is still like my own. He is wonderful, he is sweet and very talented. God blessed me with my brother on that cold November night. He said I'm like a second mother to him. He loves the mountains just like the rest of us.
Wilmajmets@aol.com
Them Black Shiny Shoes
By
Wilma Roark Mets
As a child growing up in the mountains life was very simple. Our surroundings was like living in the middle of natures Disney Land. We had what we needed but not a lot of luxuries. I was a preschooler, maybe 3 years old, when some relatives came to visit. They had a daughter about my age and she had a pair of black patent leather shoes. I called them black shiny shoes. My mother always bought my sister and I high top brown leather shoes. I wanted sandals, I wanted black shiny shoes.
While visiting at our house the little black shoes got a hole in one of them. Her mother threw them in the trash and they went to town and bought her another pair of shoes. The dump was located down the red dog road not far from our house.
After the relatives left to go back home I took a walk down the road to the dump. Now picture this! I knew where the shoes were in the dump. It had rained the night before and the shoes were wet. I got them out of the trash and sat down on the grass. The grass was high and I can still smell the damp sweet smell of it. I put the shoes on and buckled them. I sat in the grass smiling, looking at my feet, turning my feet from side to side. The shoes fit, they were mine now. I stood up and started walking back home with the shoes on, they were squishing as I walked. I was Cinderella going to the ball.
Finally I had my very own pair of Little Black Shiny Shoes.
That was a very long time ago and since that time our daughters have always had a pair of Black shiny shoes and now my granddaughter has them. Her mother, our daughter, knows my story and I'm sure she will see that her daughter always has a pair.
When I go to the mall and I pass a shoe store, I'm still drawn to the section where there are Little black shiny shoes. One time I bought a pair for a little foster girl living in a friends home. I got white ruffled socks and black shiny shoes and I went to the home and sat her on my lap and put them on her. The whole time I was putting them on her I knew I had gotten them for myself. They were for the little girl sitting in the tall grass putting the wet shoes on, smelling the sweet damp grass.
Life was so simple then, and I don't ever want to lose site of that little girl who got her very own pair of, Little Black Shiny shoes.
This happened in the holler next to the slate dump over the hill from Kaymoor 1 top.
Wilmajmets@aol.com
Dear Wilma,
You may remember me, I am Shirley Williams Sizemore
I wanted to let you know I really enjoyed all the stories you
wrote about growing up in
Kaymoor and Garten.
My cousin sent this e mail to me, and I was so excited.
I have so many great memories growning up there.
May God Bless
Shirley
By: Robert Martin
My mother was born in Garten in 1926. She often talked of Kaymoor Bottom. My grandfather worked the mine and lived in a company house. My mom has passed away, but my aunt still lives in Garten. She lived at the Bottom as a child.
