Autumn Leaves...Better Late Than Never

Fall came to town rather late this year. We had a lot of leaves fall from the trees before any color set in, but a couple of weeks ago, the colors all burst, and they've been generally resilient. For both Ms. B. and me, fall is our favorite season—mainly because of Halloween, but the colorful leaves come in second place. Our part of Martinsville—which includes the Druid Hills, Forest Park, Mulberry, and Lake Lanier neighborhoods—is beautiful and has some intriguing history. A couple of my favorite stories are about Sam Lion, a slave who, in pre-Civil War days, escaped from the massive Hairston plantation, of which this area was a part, and found shelter in the nearby woods and caves until he was caught and executed (some time ago, I posted a brief summary of this legend here). Another is the legend of Frankie, a horse that lived back in the days when the Hairston family owned this land. His barn, and the bridge from which he fell, was literally across the street from us even when I was a kid (that story can be found here).

 

There are a few crude, natural trails in the woods around here, as well as the remains of a roadbed that hearkens back to the Hairston Plantation days. These woods are among the last remnants of old growth in the city, and I hope that they'll be preserved at least for the rest of my lifetime (and better if far longer). The scenery in the image above is just down the street from us, and one of those old trails is reputed to be one that Sam Lion himself cut through the valley way back when. It's one of my favorite places to go walkies, especially since I have so many fond memories of wandering as well as riding my bike (and friends' motorcyles) on the trails back there. (I'm sure the neighbors back then didn't much appreciate the racket we made.) The trail goes through the woods behind the house where my best friend, Frank, lived in our adolescence, and I have particularly fond memories of those times—largely because Frank and I frequently watched Dark Shadows together, and we loved to fantasize about the ghosts, vampires, werewolves, etc., that might actually inhabit these woods....

 

Since the weather was beautiful today, I took a nice walk through that valley, which runs between Sam Lions and Cherokee Trails, a couple of our nicest residential streets. I didn't run into any ghosts, vampires, or werewolves (well, it was daytime), but I suspect they're still out there. There is still a lovely creek, or at least there is when we've had enough rain to keep it flowing. Right now, there's a bit of water in it, but the little stairstep waterfalls along its course are sadly dry. Below are a few of the photos I took on my trek. Of course, my phone camera doesn't quite capture the depth of the colors, but maybe you can get an idea from these.

It's not out of the question that the golf ball in the right-hand photo is one that I hit down there from friend Frank's backyard way back when. Many, many years ago, when my brother and I smoked cigarettes, the hole in the tree served as an ashtray (I know, I know, how degenerate). Anyway, I do have to wonder how many hundreds of cigarette butts went down that hole...

This creekbank is pure clay, and when Frank and I were kids, we'd dig it out and sculpt kaiju figures.

Have a frightening fall season!

Halloween Party Horrors, Ghosts, Legends, & Cryptids

Joe, Suzy, Jennifer, Jamie, Scott, Samaire, Mark W., Kim W., Kimberly B., Terry, Beth;
the Front Man is behind the camera

The Front Man

'Tis done! Brugger and I put on our annual Halloween Party last night, which was—as expected—crashed by a plethora of frightful fiends. Sadly, several folks who'd anticipated attending weren't able to, but those who did, at least by my reckoning, somehow survived. There was cheese and there was meatballs (alas, no caviar), and long tall glasses of wine up to h'yar. Yes, we did have that and more. I think it's safe to say that no one left the premises hungry or thirsty.

We had a fun Halloween horror trivia contest — 13 questions about horror movies, books, and stories. I made most of the questions pretty easy for the layman, but a few of them required a bit more than casual horror knowledge. At least a couple of people correctly answered the question "Which 1982 horror classic featured the famous line, 'You've gotta be fucking kidding me!'" Go Suzy and Joe!

Now, I started out as the Front Man from Squid Games, but after a while the heat in there began to get to me, pretty seriously, so I changed into last year's slightly more casual costume, which still hung in our entryway closet (see below photo with Brugger). Temperature-wise, this provided some relief, and it also made it a hell of a lot easier to consume wine and vittles. In case I didn't mention it, we had lots and lots and lots of wine and vittles.

Some of us stayed up till the wee hours yakking about scary things, both real and unreal. Sadly, the real is overshadowing too much of the far more agreeable unreal. All in all, we had a fine time. Needless to say, the better part of this morning was spent on restoring the casa to habitable condition.

Horror trivia! Suzy, Joe, Beth, and Jamie won prizes.

This afternoon, I attended a presentation about the ghosts, legends, and cryptids of Martinsville and Henry County, given by Garrett Channel, who is the executive director of the Salem (Virginia) Museum. He provided a lively, very enjoyable talk that was perfect for the season. He related the legend of Sam Lion, a bit of local (very likely embellished) history, which I wrote about a few years ago (here). After his presentation, I talked briefly with him about my writing and interest in such creepy legends, and he told me he actually used my blog as one of his references. Well, I find that kinda cool, particularly since I use both the real and "altered" folklore of this area as a basis for many of my stories and books (most recently, The House at Black Tooth Pond).

As an added bonus, I ran into my seventh-grade American History teacher, Ms. Kerry Tillery, who lives up the street from us. She is a most wonderful person, and I'm so glad she is still around. It's always a pleasure to have the opportunity to talk with her.

"Castle Rock," I call it. I have a geocache here. This was supposedly a part of the original
"Sam Lion's Trail" of local legend.

The Legend of Sam Lion

This remnant of one of the Hairston family’s old farming roads still lurks in the woods near my house.

I have posted links to this story before, but an editing project I’m currently working on brought it back to my mind. In Martinsville, VA, where I grew up, there’s a long, winding road in my neighborhood called Sam Lions Trail. As a youngster, I had no clue — or much curiosity — about the name’s origin. However, a local legend (with a couple of different permutations) explains the road name’s history. The most commonly told story goes as follows (condensed by yours truly from articles in The Martinsville Bulletin):

“The story of Sam Lion is a 175-year-old narrative of brutality and deadly revenge between a slave and his overseer. While several minor variations of the tale exist, the principal character has been immortalized in Martinsville by having a road — Sam Lions Trail — named after him.

“Sam Lions Trail is in the Forest Park neighborhood, an area of about 750 homes in the southeast part of the city. In the mid-1800s, this 1,050-acre tract belonged to the Hairstons, a prodigious family of farmers and slave owners who were headquartered at the Beaver Creek Plantation (now off Virginia Highway 108).

“The story goes that Sam Lion, the son of an African chieftain, was brought to this country, along with about 150 other slaves, and bought by one of the Hairstons. As the slaves started to walk from the auction stand, the hot, tired Prince slipped and almost fell. “Watch it there, Sam!” came the harsh voice of a red-headed overseer named Red Tupper. From then on, the Prince was known as Sam. Legend has it that the slave acquired his last name because he acted nobly and with the courage of a Lion.

“The Hairstons had divided their land into sections, and they sent Sam Lion and other slaves to clear one of the biggest tracts. Instead of climbing the long, high hills to get to work, Sam Lion cleared a path around them.

“Red Tupper was a cruel overseer, notorious for beating his slaves for little or no reason. One day he beat Sam Lion. Lion, knowing little English, responded, ”If you beat again, I kill.” Tupper merely laughed. But the next day, Sam Lion stopped to pick up a chain he had dropped, and Tupper hit him with a whip. Lion straightened up and roared, “Didn’t believe?” The slave then picked up his axe, swung it, and killed his overseer. Lion fled into the nearby woods, and for the next three years, he lived off the land, sheltering in caves and watching for signs of anyone searching for him.

“Eventually, some of the locals happened upon Sam Lion while he was sleeping in a cave. He was taken to jail, found guilty of murder, and hanged in the public square.”

Over the years, some have claimed to have seen the ghostly figure of Sam Lion roaming the woods in Martinsville’s Forest Park neighborhood. Me, I’ve never witnessed any such apparition... dammit... but as one who loves history (particularly local history), I find it both sobering and intriguing that the woods, creeks, and trails where I played as a kid — and still frequently haunt — provide the backdrop of this grim legend.

A hillside covered in clusters of huge boulders along what historians believe was the original trail cut by Sam Lion. I’ve always called it “Castle Rock.” Several years ago, I placed a geocache here, which bears that name.