Whispers from the Hills

The young boy, with his belly full of pancakes, walked down the back steps of the house and across the yard to the path to begin his excursion. It was mid summer in Greenbrier County and he was bathed in the warmth of the sun which presented itself with low humidity. All seemed right with the world and he looked at the hills in the distance and was glad that he had been born there to see such sights and have such beauty surrounding him.

Work was something, he wasn’t sure what, but it had no place in his life now. This was the time for being a boy, for growing and playing basketball, making gravel shooters, BB guns and riding his bike. Time to feel the breeze in his face when he rode his bike delivering the "Grit" every Friday or Saturday depending on when the papers came in to the post office.

The grass, tall and over-growing the path, tickled his legs as he walked down the familiar route. Just before Folden’s service station, he went up the little hill and past the familiar little mountain of empty oil cans on the left where they had turned the earth brown as oil leaked out. On past the station and across Baker Street he strolled in front of Blake’s store. He crossed the road there and headed south to the State Fair Ground’s entrance.

He saw the steeple of the ARP church where he went each Sunday. Entering the gate he looked to his left and saw the row of horse barns all lined up as if at attention. Their tin roofs shone in the sun. Their faded whitewash weathered and flaking off would soon receive a fresh coat in time for the fair. Only a few horses were housed there now, but in another six weeks, the barns would be full. He turned right and headed to the cattle barns which were the destination for his performance. Entering the north end of the long barn, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the darkened interior. In the corner he could see several hay bales stacked neatly and began to arrange them so he could climb from one to the other upward to the rafters. He climbed up the hay bales and reached and pulled himself up and onto the rafters. He envisioned himself climbing the rope ladder like they do in the circus. Now he stood on the little platform. He looked at the 2 x 4 which was now a steel wire high above the circus floor. It suddenly became very quiet; nothing could be heard except what he thought was a faint drum roll in the distance. With his arms outstretched he stepped onto the "wire." There, he had begun, and there was no turning back now. In his mind he could see the crowd below who had come to see his performance. They sat on the edge of their seats as he put one foot in front of the other and the "wire" began to bow as he approached the middle. One more step and the bow became straight again. The crowd breathed a sigh of relief and the Great Wire Walker continued to the other side. Arriving there, he bowed and acknowledged the crowd as they burst into applause. His confidence building, he stepped onto the "wire" for the return trip. A sudden hush once again fell on the crowd as they watched in amazement. The now familiar bowing of the "wire" told the walker that he was half way and it wouldn’t be long until he would be across. He continued on and reached the platform and the end of his performance.

As the crowd burst into applause, he looked down at all the smiling faces. He bowed several times and nodded to them and thought he had given them their money’s worth of thrills.

With the satisfaction of a job well done, he climbed down the hay bales and exited the barn. He walked around the barn and headed for the fence around the race track. Arriving there, he could see that there was a lone horseman on the track trotting his horse pulling the little two wheel buggy. He had often wondered how it would be to ride in one of those buggies, but it looked awkward with your legs stretched out straight like that. Well, it couldn’t compare to the feat he had just performed anyway. He walked toward the grandstand and picked up a few bottles as he went, placing them in a plastic bag he found along the way. After passing the grandstand, he decided to exit the gate on the west side of the fair grounds.

He walked north along the old road looking for bottles, which meant money to him. One cent for the small bottles and two cents for the big ones. Deposit on bottles was one of his main sources of income, that and his "Grit" paper route. The "Grit" was delivered only once a week, but bottles could be found anytime.

Turning up Fair Street, he walked to the new road and then to Blake’s store. He cashed in his loot and bought a candy bar and a coke and still had a few pennies profit left for his pocket.

He felt rich and decided to go on home and maybe shoot some baskets and for sure he would ride his bike later. It had been a good day there in 1950 and all was well in Fairlea, WV, the most beautiful place in the world, as far as that 10 year old boy was concerned.