OLD BARNS CONTINUED.

Saturday last, as Jim and I made our way around the Motherlode taking barn pictures, we ran into my old friend, Don Cuneo. I told him we were going to Calaveritas for pictures and though this isn’t an old barn, it is definitely an Icon of the gold rush. Don’s sister, Louise Cuneo Greenlaw owns the gold rush era Costa Store. You can still see the lettering on the front of the building. Her house is partially visible on the right.

The west side of the Costa Store shows the various layers of history, from the old hand made adobe bricks near the roof, to the modern replacement bricks put in at some time to shore it up.  Mostly gone plaster that at one time covered over the brick evidences another time in history.

Louise’s house was once a gold rush brick building, too, with some brick and enlarged with a native rock foundation on the left.  It has been modernized with a wood frame house on the old foundation long ago. I have wonderful memories of parties, mostly fundraisers in this lovely old garden hosted by Louise and the barbeques or meals cooked by her brother Don, who was the chef and owner of the Black Bart Inn hotel and restaurant for more years than any of us can remember. Their brother Fred lived just across the creek from the Costa Store. Fred, the oldest Cuneo brother, is gone now. And, another Cuneo brother has a similar building at Jesu Maria. A very public spirted family, Don served a couple of terms as Calaveras County Supervisor, and President of the Historical Society, to name a few of his volunteer projects.

Across from the Costa Store is a beautiful, well kept barn. I don’t know who owns any of the barns of Calaveritas we photographed.

On this one, I particularly liked the old vine covering, turning color in the fall. Double click it to enlarge it for a better look.

An old miner’s shack, also shored up as the adobe brick or rock foundations gave way or caved into a basement. Ratty old siding covers the wood, showing a past attempt to preserve the old house.

We saw three or four old foundations where the buildings finally gave up, probably torn down for their wood.

I admire that the new owners try to preserve some of these relics of the past. The back part of this building is holding up.

But the front and both sides are propped up with lumber. This building is probably not used.

Many of the old shacks people use as storage buildings, like this one, built on flat ground.

Calaveritas Livery Stable is still intact.

We drove along and found several still working ranches using the old barns, like this one.

And, this one. I find it interesting that California barns have a similarity in style that is different from barns in Pennsylvania Dutch country, for instance.

This old barn shows the peak and loft with a hay hook. Still in decent shape. Couldn’t see any signs of use. I know the loft was a wonderful place to play when we were kids. (At someone else’s barn.)  The hay was pitch forked down for the cows and horses. Some barns had animal stalls below the loft, others did not keep animals where manure soiled the hay barn, especially in California where weather isn’t harsh. We began anew on Sunday and did more barns. I think the only thing missing from the picture is an artist set up with an easel to paint. Many are worth painting, in my opinion.

TYGART LAKE STATE PARK, W. VIRGINIA

Instead of giving Clarksburg a second look, we decided to head for Grafton, W.Virginia which is the turnoff point to Tygart Lake State Park. At only 20 miles, it saves the longer drive into the Appalachian Mountains where stops are few and shoulders narrow.  I enjoyed seeing old barns and shooting them from the window,


They are kind of an endangered species.

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Road signs warned that the road was rough. And they were worse than this in many places.


No mention of an extremely narrow one-way to get to the park entrance. One car wasn't quite close enough to the curb and it was almost a choice between, should we hit the car or ruin our mirror on the telephone pole? A three-inch clearance is scary, but we scooted by.


The road into Tygart Lake was rough as well.


And the distance was supposedly 3 miles off the highway. Well, if you count the first sign of human activity it might have been 3 miles.  Navigating hilly, hair-pin turns, with a few  peek-a-boo peeps of the lake and marina through the trees; at least two miles of cabins, then, finally, we find the camp ground. Three miles?  Nope!


The "good" spots, and  few of them, were taken. Not exactly level as you can see this guy has four boards under one wheel and he tried for five under the other.


This is hill country, nothing is level here.


This sign is sort of mystifying since all the garbage cans are open without covers? Raccoons can easily pull over a plastic can and check out our garbage. So far, we've seen a wild turkey, deer, ducks and a chipmunk.


It took an hour to get set-up for the night because the terrain is uneven, narrow, and difficult to maneuver with recent rains adding deep muddy ruts.  But, it is, in the end, wilderness, and beautiful and peaceful.


These older campgrounds were never built for such as we. We have no right to complain. Adversity is what makes you remember, and we won't ever forget our trip to Tygart Lake. Kind of makes me remember how critical we, of Murphys, are of flatlanders moving to the mountains for the clean air, and rural atmosphere, who then complain about lack of shopping and narrow, unmaintained roads.  Same thing. We do have to keep things in perspective and remember you give up certain creature comforts when you are on the road. For me?  Gladly. It is a great lifestyle.

CROSSING INTO KENTUCKY.

We crossed into Kentucky on Highway 79/68  at Guthrie where we were greeted by a huge spotted cow with sunglasses on. There was a time I would have asked Jim to stop so I could take a picture of such and unusual sight. Before I could think twice we were looking at a life-sized pink elephant. Nope, didn’t stop for it, either. This is green, green grass of home country.
We hope to see some bluegrass before we leave the state, and a race horse would be nice. Currently, we are in Bowling Green, a name that intrigues. and  is catchy enough to excite a song about it. Remember the lovely Bowling Green by the Everly Brothers? Named for other places called Bowling Green, possibly. It’s origin is uncertain. But, what is certain is it sits on the Barren River, the area is lush and an 1830′s  report about agriculture mentions a turnip 32 inches around, and a beet weighing nine and one half pounds. Zounds!!

I saw enough barns to remind me of barn photos I’ve taken, all from the window of the car or motor home and unedited.

A barn and a real cow, too.

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There is something honest and endearing about an old barn, this one with a brand new roof is going to last for a while. And, they are getting scarcer then hen’s teeth. I should yell stop when I spot the next one. Maybe make it a point to photograph a barn from every state we pass through.

THE BEST LAID PLANS

Traveling as much as my partner and I do is an art. Finding a dump station precisely when needed, getting your vehicle needs attended to, planning events during hours and on days facilities are actually open. Finding recycling centers is particularly challenging. Then, you assume the weather man is correct and that Google Earth maps are accurate...Yes, its much like being a detailed travel agent, except its done on the fly day by day.

  For instance, Friday night we sat at the table above, in the Great Smokies National Park, sweltering in the heat, with a cool wash cloth across our shoulders and a beer wrapped in a foam holder wishing it would cool down. Our plan was to hike the Roaring Fork nature trail Saturday with a cooler weather prediction and only a 20% chance of rain. Except, it poured during the night, our campsite was lush and wet, the grasses and bushes as high as our chest. Neighbors hung out their ground cloths and tent to dry.

 We decided to move on and get the oil changed in the motor home in nearby Newport before getting up on the Blue Ridge Parkway.

We never did figure out what went wrong and why the route set by Google led us astray from 321 to 70, or maybe it was the highway department. But, the rolling hills of the Tennessee countryside were green and peaceful with little traffic on a Saturday, and I just took pictures of old barns as Jim trustfully kept driving and driving and driving.

It was definitely the long way around. But, we reached green, green, Greenville. Its also Green County, TN. It was late and we didn't get to see the Andrew Johnson home or museum. He was President after Lincoln, a southerner who didn't exactly settle things after the Civil War as equally as Lincoln had planned to.
The barns ARE lovely. I couldn't always get them in passing, but they were numerous and different.

Of course, its Jim who finds us a safe place to stay at the end of the day and unhooks the Bronco and sets us up on  level ground. He knows where to shop and what stations he can get into and out of for petrol.  He researches the way before us and  gets us ready for the next destination or activities if there are interesting things to do and see on the way.  He never moves without checking his tires and considering our safety. Its an art. So, I salute Jimmy the Artist, and my three daughters on Mother's Day.
(I know he'll laugh loudly when he learns I consider him and artist.)