Willow Bend

Discovering intriguing, scenic locations has always been a joy for me—which is one of the main reasons I am addicted to Geocaching—and in my fiction, setting virtually always plays a significant part in the story. One of my relatively recent tales of terror, “Willow Bend” (slated to appear in in the Ulthar Press anthology Voices in the Darkness later this year), came about after Ms. B. and I, on a geocaching venture at Rock Castle Gorge in Patrick County, VA, discovered The Austin Homestead, a tract of privately owned land in the middle of the state-owned Rocky Knob Recreational Area (see “Stonewalled,” “The Haunting of Stonewall, Episode 4”). My first impression of the place was that it was the Vermont setting for H. P. Lovecraft's “Whisperer in Darkness” transplanted in Virginia. A few additional hikes in the area convinced me that I needed to use a fictionalized version of the place in a story of my own. And thus, in 2016, “Willow Bend” came about. It's a ghost story set in a location based closely on the Austin Homestead and Rock Castle Gorge.

Particularly for less-experienced writers, the effective setting may often be overlooked or short-changed. Even in a story that is driven primarily by the characters or specific events, a work that fails to convey a sense of place often lacks one of the crucial elements of believability. In the proper hands, the setting can function as a character, evoking mood and emotion, or serving as a motivator for critical events.

Forgive me for picking on the late Rex Miller, but I'm going to pick on Rex Miller. His novel, Slob, which in many respects stood out as an effective, gripping tale, was ostensibly set in Chicago, yet there was not one scene I can recall that in any way evoked the sense of being in Chicago, where I lived for several years. Every aspect of the location felt nondescript, even lifeless, so much so that it damn near pulled me out of the book. Contrast this with author Wayne Allen Sallee's fiction, much of which is set in Chicago, his hometown. Holy crap, Wayne's stories—even those that don't need Chicago to function—function so much the better because every vivid detail of the setting brings all other aspects of the story into stark clarity. Had one never visited Chicago, sufficient exposure to Wayne's body of work might fool one into thinking one had lived there for a decade or two. And seen many things that sane individuals ought not see....

“Willow Bend” is one of my many tales in which the setting plays a distinctive, crucial role, and I hope I have succeeded in making it a place you might care to visit. And perhaps remain...indefinitely.

Figuratively, of course. Perhaps.

Rock Castle Redux

Strike a pose. Don't fall down go boom.

Up well before dawn, back home at just about bedtime. Another annual outing to the Blue Ridge Parkway for a full day of it in the area. The restaurant at Mabry Mill has gotta serve the best breakfasts in the south; today's choice was sweet potato pancakes with bacon and some damn fine coffee. Five stars. From there, out to Meadow Creek Trail and then to Rock Castle Gorge, where Kimberly and I went hiking almost two years ago. Today, I was on a mission. On New Year's Day 2012, I found a geocache out in the gorge and left a travel bug — a trackable item whose purpose is to move from cache to cache and travel as far as possible — but unknown to me at the time, the cache had been archived by its owner, who had moved and could no longer maintain it. Well, since that day, the travel bug has been sitting there, unmoved and unmoving, because the cache is no longer listed at geocaching.com. Knowing the container — a nice ammo box — was likely still out there, I decided to rescue that travel bug so I could get it back in circulation. Happily, I managed to do this thing, which I expect will make the travel bug owner, whoever that is, very happy. All along the trail, we found dozens of little rock towers, some of them quite intricate, that Mother Nature, surely, on some of her less busy days, had seen fit to erect.

The Blue Ridge Parkway up there — way up there — as seen from the Meadow Creek Trail

The gorge hike was a good three miles-plus, so then it was wine time. This we found at Villa Appalaccia, one of the best wineries in the region, which we've visited a couple of times previously. This weekend is the single busiest weekend on the Blue Ridge Parkway, since the fall foliage is at its peak, so there was a big crowd. We managed a pleasant picnic lunch in a secluded corner of the grounds — where we found ourselves literally surrounded by woolly bear caterpillars. Never seen so many in a single place, but as they are completely inoffensive little critters, we were not displeased by their company.

Surprisingly, the only disappointing aspect of our trip was visiting the winery at Chateau Morrisette, which is typically a superlative experience. Today, it was so busy — and they were woefully unprepared for the crowd — we spent several hours just to get what amounted to a pretty unsatisfactory wine tasting. To their credit, they gave it to us gratis for our wait, but that only partially mitigated our dismay, since our visit is traditionally a highly anticipated experience. Had we had an ounce of sense in our respective brains, Kimberly and I would have just wandered over to the restaurant and had a glass of wine at the bar... but no. Flukes do happen, though, so we've certainly not been put off future visits. I do hope they have the foresight to better prepare for a day when they have to know that most of the world is going to darken their doorstep.

Eventually, we made our way back toward home, but the evening was hardly over. Tonight was the "Tour de Haunt" caching event at the Castle of Horror in Reidsville, which I had never previously visited. Initially, we figured we'd just hang out with some other cachers for a bit and then head home, but after seeing some of the sights at the site, we decided to go on in and do the full tour. Am I ever glad we did — it proved to be a most enjoyable haunted attraction. It's a bit too adult-oriented for kids, I think, and by entering, you give them license to make contact with you. It puts a little extra edge on the experience, and because it's a bit smaller than some of the other local Halloween haunts, they give it more of a personal touch. I was impressed, and both Kimberly and I had a great time at the place. Hats off to Christopher Hall, a.k.a. Ranger Fox — or "Safari Joe," as he was dubbed by some of the roving ghouls — for masterminding the event.

I reckon some of the same will be on our calendar next October. Hope so, anyway.

Click images to enlarge.

A couple of the many fun rock castles in Rock Castle Gorge. I can't imagine how many millions
of years it took Mother Nature to create these incredible formations....

One of the Woolly Bears that came round to see us at lunchtime

A sample of the goodies at Villa Appalaccia

Stonewalled

I've never been particularly fond of New Year's Day and its attendant traditions—as if January 1 is some magic milestone where the world changes, and you suddenly have the wherewithal you didn't have 24 hours earlier to fulfill your every dream. Far as I'm concerned, New Year's Day represents just another step along that ever-fun path to one's inevitable death. Still, I've never had reason not to celebrate when celebration is due, and this year...well, of course I did. Saturday afternoon, Ms. B. and I hauled ourselves and a couple of days' worth of provisions to the mountains of Virginia for a little sojourn at the Stonewall Bed & Breakfast, on the Blue Ridge Parkway near Floyd. Along the way, we stopped at Villa Appalaccia, a small but impressive winery that, to our happy surprise, we found open on New Year's Eve afternoon. Excellent, excellent wine, which, we learned, is made from grapes that are grown in slate earth, rather than the typical clay of the region. Apparently, it makes a significant difference, and I may have never enjoyed a wine more than their Sangiovese and Aglianico varieties.

The Stonewall has several guestrooms in the main house, but we opted to stay in the very rustic, very tiny View Cabin, located some distance away in the woods on the property. Spartan, to be sure; there's an outhouse for taking care of your personal needs—fortunately well-tended—and if you want to stay warm, you'd better fire up the old wood stove. The cabin is wired for electricity, at least, so you can plug in your electronic devices—though you won't pick up the inn's WiFi way out there. (Despite the distance from any population center, cell/3G/4G reception is quite good.) There's not room for much more than a bed, a chair, and a table, but we found it clean, stocked with wood and other necessities, and ultimately quite comfortable.

Once ensconced in our luxurious lodgings, we headed out to dinner at Chateau Morrisette restaurant and winery where Kimberly and I dined last New Year's Eve (and I found the inspiration for a new novella ["Adventures in the New Year"]). If anything, this year's fare at the restaurant was even better than last year's (filet mignon for the old man and peanut-crusted chicken breast for the young lady), and I was here introduced to an intriguing house "winetail" called the Bloody Indy—a concoction of their Independence white wine, tomato juice, and potent spices. A startlingly good drink, though more akin to a Red Eye (an old favorite of mine) than an actual Bloody Mary. This year, there were no uncomfortable after-dinner adventures, and we rather enjoyed our own little private welcoming of the New Year, sans Dick Clark or any other vestige of civilization's noise.

I might mention here that there have been some recent bear sightings on the property, so we were advised to make a lot of noise when coming and going on the path between the cabin and the inn, particularly at night. Thus, we took it upon ourselves, whenever we were out and about, to holler "Bear!" at strategic moments. I don't know that it frightened away (or attracted) any bears, but the squirrels sure looked at us funny.

Breakfast at the Stonewall is something to behold. A massive spread of eggs, bacon, country ham, pancakes, french toast, biscuits, danish pastries, fresh fruit, juice, coffee, several varieties of tea...you name it. I find proprietor Scott Truslow's bacon to be the highlight of this feast. He has his own special method of preparing it, and it's worth raving about. A lot. So don't be surprised if every now and then on this blog or in person, I up and start singing about Stonewall's bacon. Fair warning.

Then, off to Rock Castle Gorge, not too far from the inn. There's a ten-mile loop trail through the gorge, and we did about five miles along the creek at the base, rather than tackling the sheer incline from Rocky Knob, up on top. A couple of caches were involved, of course. The highlight for me was coming upon an old, private farmhouse way back in the gorge, accessible only by the trail, which absolutely could have been the setting—transplanted from the mountains of Vermont to the mountains of Virginia—for H. P. Lovecraft's "The Whisperer in Darkness." The atmosphere here couldn't have been more suited to a Lovecraftian tale, and since Kimberly hasn't read the story itself, I gave it to her pretty near verbatim.

I do understand she slept less well last night than the previous night....

Last night, temperatures dipped well below freezing, but we built a great big campfire and roasted Nathan's hot dogs and marshmallows, accompanied by some of that fabulous Villa Appalaccia Sangiovese. The bitter wind drove us in before too late, though, so we settled into the cabin and watched Larry Blamire's The Lost Skeleton Returns Again on my laptop, which more than hit the spot for us. This morning, another fine breakfast, and the rather sad departure. A few caches along the way—including one at a beautiful little park in Danbury, NC, which involved an enjoyable vertical ascent to a scenic point overlooking the Dan River.

This evening, our friends, the Albaneses, invited us over for dinner and a movie—Case 39, starring Renee Zellweger (to whom Joe refers as "Sphincter Face," an epithet that I gotta tell you, however rude, resonates madly). A most entertaining horror flick, and this little gathering made for a pleasant welcome back to Greensboro.

I hope those of you who drop in here have a wonderful New Year, such as it is. And if you don't stop in here, well, just never you mind, since you're not seeing it anyway.

Click on the images to enlarge.

The View Cabin, a short distance through bear-infested woods
from the Stonewall Bed & Breakfast

This random picture adorns the wall in the rest room of the main house at the Stonewall Inn
(along with a newspaper article about the sinking of the Titanic). I don't know what
this is from, but I love it. (Late addendum: an Ansel Adams photo of artist
Georgia O'Keeffe and Orville Cox at Canyon de Chelly National Monument, 1937.)

Fun folks with suitably blood-hued vintages at Chateau Morrisette

Brugger took this shot of us in the mirror at the bar at Chateau Morrisette.
I rather like it. Along the trail in Rock Creek Gorge Old farmhouse back in Rock Creek Gorge. Surely, the very site of HPL's "The Whisperer
in Darkness," transplanted from Vermont to Virginia

The first sunset of 2012 as seen from the View Cabin