Bearly There

We've had a lot of bear sightings in our area recently. Some neighbors have spotted bears not far from my house, and about a month ago I'm pretty sure a bear dumped out one of my planters and then threw it across the deck. 

Bears have left their mark down the road at Polecat Creek Farm, too. On the power pole on our property, there are some deeep scratches.  A few strips of wood have been pulled off.

A nearby roadside pole at the corner of our property also bears some scratches.

Here's a closer look:

And two even closer looks: 

Apparently bears like scratching posts. How nice of Appalachian Power Company to provide them.

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What Was Once

. . . The Wilson James Wright Farm Is No More

Less than a mile down the road from me, the rabid clear-cutting so popular lately in Franklin County has revealed what used to be the Wright Farm. The cemetery and what's left of the house and barn are now exposed—and their remains now expose a way of life that's gone.

 

In the picture above, the fenced cemetery is in the foreground.  To its right, in the background, is the barn's roof. To the right of the barn is what remains of a two-story farmhouse.

Only a few graves are in the little cemetery. This was the easiest to read:

 

I'm not sure what kin Ina J. Dudley was to the Wrights. A daughter, perhaps? The parents graves are side by side. The father's stone is leaning.

 On the stone inscribed "Father," most of the information has worn smooth.

The mother's stone is only slightly more readable.

Outside the iron fence is a small plot.

Little Nelson Wright was born sometime in 1922 and died in 1923.

It looks like someone has been removing lumber from the farmhouse, but its framework is still visible.  To the left of the farmhouse, a chimney stands. No doubt that marks the spot where the kitchen once was.

 

The house isn't very far from the barn, so it was convenient to tend the stock. Also, the closeness no doubt made it easy to keep an eye on things.

 

The barn, at least from a distance, still looks sturdy.

 

But the farm itself is no more. 

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UPDATE: Thanks to ancestry.com and the Franklin County Genealogy Facebook group, I now have more info. The Wrights buried in the cemetery are Wilson James Wright (1860-1940) and Ada Ammon Dudley Wright (1864-1921. They were married 16 October 1885: Here's their picture:

Ada's death certificate was signed by their neighbor, Dr. George O. Giles, who lived second house from where I live now.

 

Ina J. Dudley was their daughter, the wife of S. T. Dudley. She and her husband lived on Jamison Avenue in Roanoke.  Her death certificate:

 

Nelson Wright died when he was only seven months old of "cholera infantum." He was the son of Charles William and Ethel Lee Brooks Wright. Charles—known as Will—was the son of Wilson and Ada. Nelson's death certificate:

Wilson and Ada had eight children: Ina J (1887), Elmo S. (1889), Annie W. (1891), Claude Leonard (1893), Henry Joseph (1895),  Gladys B. (1898), Charles William (1899) and Early (1901). No wonder they had such a large house.

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The Wright Cemetery can be found online here: https://www.findagrave.com/cemetery/2644492/memorial-search?page=1#sr-180592932

Pawpaws 2015

The pawpaw harvest down along Polecat Creek this year wasn't very good—nothing like the 2013 harvest.  Last week, I rode the 4-wheeler down to the bottom to see what I could find.

There are plenty of pawpaw trees, but very few had any fruit. And the fruit had ripened a few weeks earlier this year than in previous years. Maybe the hot summer and the recent dryness had something to do with it.

Even the few pawpaws I could find weren't very big. Some trees didn't have any.

Consequently, the whole harvest was maybe two dozen, and not all of them were good-sized. This is it:

If you've never before eaten a pawpaw, it's a custardy fruit. You cut it in half and spoon out the contents, taking care not to swallow the numerous seeds.

 A pawpaw tastes a little like a banana, but a lot better.

Maybe next year we'll have a better harvest.

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The Little Cart That Could

The road that is my life is getting a bit rougher than it was. I used to walk the woods on my farms, but increasing age and diabetic neuropathy now prevent me from doing so. If I can't walk well, though, I can at least ride—thanks to my golf cart. Last week, my husband and I took the cart to Polecat Creek Farm to see what I could see. How would the golf cart do on rougher territory than a golf course?

Actually, pretty good. It crossed the branch without hesitation, so we rode to within sight a corner to where the Smith Mountain Hounds horse trail crosses the creek. We didn't go as far as the crossing because, even in dry weather, the corner of the field is marshy.

But how would the golf cart pull a hill? Here's where the hillside trail bends into the undergrowth and goes to the old cabin site.

Partway up the hill, I looked back.

We had to stop on a steep place because some branches needed to be cleared before we could go to the top.

A few trees had bent over the trail in the recent high winds, but the little cart went under them just fine.

Again, I looked down at the field we'd left. Over a half-century ago, a farm road went through here, but now there's no trace.

And here we are higher up, but still not at the top. To the right (and out of sight in the picture below) is a large deep pit where tobacco was once cured.

The little cart is halfway to the top field—and near the old cabin site.

What's left of the porch is to the left; the fallen chimney is to the right. The chimney fell about 15 years ago. A few of its rocks are now in my flower beds.

Here there be dragons—or at least a fallen tree that looks like a dragon.

The little cart kept climbing. Soon we saw a view of the top field over the cart's windshield. 

As we approached the field, the rear view mirror reflected the trail behind us.

On the other end of the field, we crossed Bar Ridge Road to get to our corner field.

Just past the corner field, we started down the trail under the power lines. I've ridden a horse down this trail many times and the four-wheeler a few times, but this was the first time I'd ridden a golf cart down it. This trail is rocky and rutted, but the little cart made it.

Finally we reached the bottom beside Dinner Creek.

Spanning Dinner Creek is this tree with a hole in the middle.

A few hundred feet from the holey tree, a bridge spans the creek. This bridge, which cost $60,000 for  VDOT to construct, was built two years ago to replace a bridge that kept developing holes.

The little cart rested beside our picnic area . . .

. . . and then carried us up Blacksmith Road toward where we parked. The land on the left is ours.

The trees along the trails and road weren't very colorful. Most of the leaves had blown away during several days of high winds and the leaves that were left had a burnished look.

Despite the lack of fall color, it's nice to have a way to travel the trails again.

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Last Morning of Summer

On the last day of summer, George and Jim-Bob breakfasted on the deck.

They have  lot of cat-work to do, so they eat hearty.

 Inside, Dylan and Tanner napped in the sunlight.

Fortunately, no one was rocking in the rocking chair.

Tanner even naps recklessly.

Down the road at the farm, hay that was baled yesterday dried in the morning sun.

But something moved near the bale. See them?

How about now?

Something else moved through the tall grass, How many can you count?

Looks like a lot of critters were out and about this morning.

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