Heaven, No Almost About It

Saturday, Fuzzy and I got up early and packed the cooler, radio, little camp stove, and Zeke and headed back out to Arden. Words don't really do the place justice, so here are a few pictures:

The Road to Arden. Also, Very Long, Slightly Scary One-Lane Bridge to Arden.

Morning at Arden.

Crawdad! This guy was actually trying to get away from a little water snake that was coming after it. The snake went to hide under a log when I came up with the camera.


This little guy didn't hide from the camera, though! When I was growing up in North Carolina, we used to catch little green snakes all them time. This is the first one I've seen in West Virginia and it made me irrationally happy.

Fuzzy and I sprawled on the rocks, listening to the Coal Bowl (WVU v. Marshall, Go Mountaineers!), reading novels (Edward Abbey for him, Denise Giardina for me), and eating junk food. I fished with a new lure, catching a wee little rock bass. The Kingfishers did much better. We talked about bringing our hypothetical children out to the rocks, wading with them and getting them tiny polarized glasses so they can see the fish beneath the water.

And for those few hours, it was exactly the West Virginia I dreamt of two years ago in my moldering Louisiana apartment.

Hork

Oh man, I just cooked some pasta for Fuzzy and I, and in amongst the steaming penne were little, creamy white larvae. I don't consider myself squeamish. Hell, when I was a teenager, I skinned and defleshed a red fox my neighbor had shot because I wanted the skeleton (of course I wore rubber gloves). Growing up in North Carolina, I remember the cereal regularly being buggy, and I'll eat food that's been dropped pretty much anywhere except directly in the litterbox. But the sight of those juicy little critters was just the push I needed to start making my own pasta.

Just be glad my camera wasn't handy.

Blissfully Laborless Day

Pants rolled up as far as they'll go, I wade into the Tygart Valley River, watching bass dart under blackrock ledges and early brown sycamore leaves light on the surface. I want so badly to swim. The river is wide here, between Hell's Gate and Devil's Den, and the hills rear up sharp. I want to live here. Not in a cabin on the bank. Here. On this slick rock with the water rolling over my pale feet.

We're going back to Arden next weekend, only this time, I'm taking my bathing suit and the camera!