The Roots Run Deep

Lisa had a great, honest post recently about being in the pruning season of life. Well this little tale dovetails with that idea.

My Grandpa Andy did a lot of things that left impressions on me. He was quiet, strong, generous and ingenious. One thing he loved to do was grow things. In part out of necesity and in part out of genuine enjoyment, he always provided food for his family from his land.

One especially tasty treat was grape jelly from his own arbors. He and I shared many a morning started with grape jelly and butter on biscuits at the bar in the tiny Anderson kitchen. There we would, as Grandma Andy says, "hatch up" plans for a day full of adventure.

A few years ago, after Grandma had to move from the much-too-distant and delapodated home-place, I made a pilgrimage there. I drove up Blue Creek Road, past the homes of cousins, the Anderson family cemetary and finally to Shrader. You can only travel by car just a few more miles before the hard-road empties into Blue Creek at a place called Coco.

I got out of my car and walked up the railroad tracks to the "swingin' bridge" and over the blue-green waters churning with spring thaw and a recent rain. Then I walked back along a narrow path along the far side of the creek. Then I turned left and into the holler known as Billy's Fork. Stepping on rocks I forded the little stream and up on the bank in front of what remains of my family's once vast ancestral property.

The old home-place sighed to the right as if bored now that few if any still travellers make the trek along the branch anymore. For generations Billy's Fork of Blue Creek bustled with dirt farmers, mountain folk and coalminers and their families. The gate had long collapsed onto itself and the fence fallen. The entire lot teamed with wild, thorny undergrowth. Moving through the lower garden that once was carpeted with sweet potatoe vines took 20 prickly, painful minutes. The upper garden still had a few strawberry plants struggling to hold the tender soil Grandpa had babied into black velvet over decades.

After 45 minutes, I had moved from the front gate to my goal -- the grape arbor. The sight was far from encouraging. After years of abandonment, the grapes had turned to the nearby trees to trellis. I carefully pruned one Concord grapevine back to about 3 feet and then gingerly dug it up out of that sacred soil.

I brought three root stocks to my home in Poca in a 5 gallon bucket wrapped in wet cloths. I planted them in three different location to maximize the chance of survival. I fertilized and watered and watched over them that entire first year.

I love looking out my back door and seeing those vines. Even though I have moved far [physically and metaphorically] from Billy's Fork, I still have a connection to my family's place. My roots run deep...