In July of this year I took a trip to my mother’s hometown of Buckhannon, West Virginia. It was a personal pilgrimage of sorts. I had only been to Buckhannon once (and very briefly) during the summer of 1978. That was the summer between my father’s retirement in 1977 after working over forty years with the Soil Conservation Service in Elkton, MD, and his death in May 1979.
We had gone from the annual Slifer family reunion in Boonsboro, MD on an extended excursion out to Pittsburg, to visit my father’s baby sister, Doris (who was the last of the eight siblings to pass away, in the fall of 2020), and from there, we drove through Martinsburg, WV and stopped in at my mother’s brother Roderick’s. There, I met my cousin, Kathleen, for the first (and I think, only time). I have memories of her playing the piano.
After that, we drove to Buckhannon, and to Elkins, WV (I “think”). Wherever my mother’s oldest brother, Robert, was then living–that’s where we went. While there, I met his grandson, Tommy. I have pictures I took on this trip in 1978, and for me, it felt the nearest thing to some type of family vacation as I had ever experienced growing up.
I recall going to the Reger Chapel, and I recall my mother stopping in at a neighbor’s house that must have been someone who had known her family. I didn’t understand a lot of the conversations, nor who these people were, nor where we were, nor why. We may have even visited any remains of one of the two Linger Family homeplaces, but I don’t fully recall. The things I most remember about that trip were how hot it was, stopping to look at mountain views, sleeping in motels (this was not typical) and some very personal things that a young, teenage girl might be thinking about and dealing with on such a trip with long car rides and conversations with (or in front of) both of my parents (my father, in particular).
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There’s been a lot going on in my personal life (and that of my sons) during the past one to ten years and several happenings this past spring piqued my curiosity about my mother’s hometown, early family life and upbringing. I decided to take a solo journey and discover what might be there in the hills of West Virginia for me to explore.
It was an amazing trip between July 1st and 4th. I made some new friends, attending church at the Reger Chapel, explored that town and surrounding areas, met with a couple of local historians, and more. I intend to go back again, in conjunction with some of my personal writings and interests, but especially because it is only about a five hour trip and such a beautiful getaway.
As usual on a trip, I took too many things I planned to do. While I did accomplish some writings/drafts, note-taking, picture-taking, and more–I certainly didn’t achieve all I imagined I might in those three days.
I did, however, find time to use the water-soluable crayons and art paper I brought. These are no ordinary crayons! I have a set of Caran d’Ache (the biggest set one can acquire) that I purchased around 2003 for a pricey cost. I bought a set for my son, Jonathan, for Christmas around 2015 and I vaguely recall the price being around $150. (Take THAT–Crayola!)
I’ve not used them as often as I would have hoped (nor hope to yet do) over the years. I’ve not quite got the knack of how best to use them. A water-soluable (watercolor) crayon is one that goes on regularly (somewhat) but when wetted, is supposed to produce watercolor effects. Since I have years of experience as a watercolorist, I have not found that the opacity or many other characteristics of the medium (they also make water-soluable colored pencils) are as clear to me how to best utilize.
For me, they seem to hold their best quality in easy transport for outdoor landscapes (en plein air) and used to quickly capture a basic drawing/color structure. I find that even when wetted by brush or fingers (as I did in the hotel bathroom and can be seen in the first part of my video below) that a smooth, transparent texture is not to be achieved. So, I keep trying to work with the linear qualities that the pre-drawing/sketching lends itself to.
This painting, “Mountain Daisies of West Virginia,” underwent a number of playful and for-consideration–intermediate transformations. In my home studio, I used regular watercolor in layers, and then acrylic paint, guache (an opaque watercolor) and even black marker by the end. I felt inclined to do a bit of a “Van Gogh” fleck-dash patterning in parts, with outlining.
Overall, I was pleased with the result.
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Getting back to my personal experiences that weekend, I selected the particular scene Sunday afternoon of that weekend. I had attended the little Reger Chapel that morning, and then planned to take a drive out to the old Weston Hospital (now the Trans-Alleghany Lunatic Asylum) that afternoon. The date on my video seems to be wrong–it was July 3 that I was actually there.
Anyway, I started by following Brushy Fork Road out past the church, enjoying the beautiful views. I really can’t recall whereabouts I pulled over and decided to sketch–whether it was a neighborhood entrance off of this road or off of another road. I had set my GPS to the location in Weston but headed out for somewhat of a scenic route, thinking I’d eventually find my way there via back roads.
The hills and mountains of this area are different, visually, from those near me in Pennsylvania and in western Maryland. I found them more green, more steep in appearance but also easily accessible from fields quite close to roads (if one would have wished to just walk upon one) and especially, I found the views quite breath-taking.
To know that this was the place my mother experienced and saw from the time she was three years old (she was taken away from her home and raised by a spinster aunt around her birth, as I understand things, and was returned to this very large, dysfunctional family with 9 older siblings that “she did not know” and I assume, also had not had contact by her own parents) into her early adult years made some kind of connecting impact upon me.
One thing I had intended to do, as part of my personal, spiritual journey, was to find a place to leave a special rock I’ve had in my possession since my mother’s death in 2001, and to return to Pennsylvania with a different rock. In the Bible, the idea of ebenezers of sorts is mentioned a number of times in Old Testament writings.
Awhile back I did a writing here, that seems to be a mish-mash of a number of musings at the time, which mentions aspects of this trip in July. Included in that blog piece is the following YouTube link I made, about finding a place on Monday, July 4 to throw my rock into some small creek area on Stone Coal Road.
What I discovered on that Sunday afternoon drive the day before (on July 3) at this little pull-off I made intending to take in the view, surprised me. After getting out of my van and walking around briefly, I noticed some rocks on the ground. I thought to myself, maybe I can bring back one special rock for my spiritual purposes (yet a new ebenezer, of sorts) that is acquired from this actual area of my maternal family roots.
As I looked down and selected a nice-sized rock, I also noticed something I considered very special.
I noticed a single daisy flower blooming in this area. Literally, it was the only daisy springing up in the rocks/grass that I could see in the near vicinity. All else was plain grass.
I had an aunt–a dear and godly woman–named Aunt Daisy. She was married to my mother’s brother, Stephen Edward. She also had grown up in Buckhannon and gone to high school with my mother. Of all the sources regarding stories and information about my mother’s younger years, I received the most from this aunt.
I remember a number of visits with her, each time I’d come through Frederick, MD in my 20’s, 30’s and 40’s…where I’d sit with her and talk. Just her and I, sometimes, in those later times. Often the conversation turned to my mother, her condition, and other matters. And just like I would also ask my closest aunt and uncle on my father’s side for family stories and answers to questions (we should all be doing this with the older people in our lives–and listen intently–while there is opportunity), there were many things I would ask (sometimes maybe more than once) about my mother.
I think sometimes we like to hear the stories and comments repeatedly. Each time, they set themselves within our mind. While my Aunt Daisy did not (or maybe could not or, I now wonder whether she would not, for certain possible reasons) fully satisfy my curiosity, she certainly told me some of the most interesting information. I do notice in family genealogy that she married into the Linger family in November 1945. The idea that she may in fact known quite a lot more than she directly told me–especially as a new bride, perhaps–about the events of April 1946 in my mother’s life, seems quite plausible. It would only be my speculation as to why, if she in fact knew more than I was ever told, she did not reveal all.
I do believe she felt both willing and obligated to provide answers to some of my questions. On the other hand, perhaps what I wonder to be some dark family secret–the way my mother was treated by these other three siblings (Robert/Carter/Mabel) specifically–perhaps in fact, it was so not-talked-about that truly she did not know any more than she told me.
I will never know, perhaps. The interesting thing Aunt Daisy told me, and was one reason I went to Buckhannon, was that my grandmother (Mary Effie) was known as a troublemaker. She said that she would “go into town and cause trouble, and that for that reason, my grandfather (John Curry) kept her pregnant.”
I got to wondering this past summer, what did this Mary Effie Linger do, that caused her to be known as a troublemaker. Truly. A number of things led me to seriously ask that question. For very particular reasons, in my mind, anything was possible–including even she was involved in some type of witchcraft! While chatting with one historian in town, wondering whether witchcraft in that area was a thing during that time, or gambling and other vices, she did point me toward another local who specialized in such folklore. But, she said that I was seeking information that was “not documentable.”
I did have a conversation with a woman at a gallery on Main Street in Buckhannon about some of the things that brought me on this personal trip. Her mother had been a nurse at the old Weston Hospital and she recalled being taken there once in the 1970’s and expressed that what she saw as a young girl was horrific. She also commented that for a woman to be known as a town troublemaker during the early 1900’s might likely meant that she was outspoken. She speculated that maybe my grandmother was a woman who didn’t stay in her place.
This was an interesting thought, and it was interesting to see some of the storefronts that existed during that time and try to imagine my grandmother (from photos in my mind’s eye) walking into shops and “causing trouble.” I must wonder, since the gift of gab seems to typify most Lingers I’ve ever met (including myself!) whether it involved that. But, specifically, I wonder to myself whether she may have been in some type of personal distress in the home situation (or, surmising in-between-lines written of family history, my grandfather may have forced such frugality that she attempted obtaining necessities on credit? Just a speculation..) that she couldn’t contain herself.
I speculate that perhaps while in town she divulged personal family distresses to neighbors, townspeople or otherwise, possibly thinking they might somehow help her. I could see that, perhaps…
I had (and have) every reason to believe that there are some type of spiritual, generational curses that have been passed down through the family. Recently, I read something in the Carter Family genealogy that was written by my great-grandmother (Margaret Jane, whom my mother was named after, and was the mother of Mary Effie) that caught my attention. Perhaps the story told does speak to/allude to ill-wishes (cursings) intentionally inflicted by family members downward toward other family members. Someday, when I have time, I will tackle that blog piece with my thoughts and the specific story.
For now, I will say that my current conclusion (which may never be prove-able) is that poor Mary Effie was not some kind of troublemaker per se…I’m thinking a lot of thoughts about my grandfather, John Curry, and potential effects on her and their children. And..to their children’s children…
My parents were much older and both of my mother’s parents died well before my birth. My mother’s mother, Mary Effie, died when my mother was seventeen, a senior in high school. Her father died about seven years later in 1948, right around the time my parents married.
I find it surprising that in a family of ten children (my mother the youngest sibling) that portrayed itself a certain way, that seemingly these three years of my mother’s early life seem to be some silent, dark chapter of the John Curry Linger Family, which I have only ever known of from my mother herself, and from this aunt.
Amazing.
And to think, I had driven to Buckhannon out of curiosity and desire to explore some things, and somehow found myself standing before a breath-taking view and seeing a single daisy in bloom. I do believe that Jesus gives me signs from nature–I suppose I’m the kind of soul to notice those particular God-Winks—and this felt significant!
And the rest here…is the history of how my painting “Mountain Daisies of West Virginia” came to be! (Note: I put all the daisies in from my imagination, in the foreground of the overlook spot that I sketched from).
In the end, it got a colorful triple matte, teal frame, and extension of daisies painted on to the border.
I like it. And, I hope that eventually this original piece will find a lovely home!
“Mountain Daisies of West Virginia”
24 x 29 inches, framed
Mixed Media on Paper, With Painting Extended on to Matting
This piece is available to purchase for $975, which includes shipping within the US
Prints of various sizes, and note cards, are available on My Etsy
Below, I recently came across a letter I had saved from my Aunt Daisy,
and had actually put a star on the front of the envelope.
She (like many women of that time) was a faithful letter writer.
I have a small sampling/number of letters saved that she wrote me during college, and beyond.
I loved my Aunt Daisy–she was a traditional home-maker and
seemed to hold her family together so well.
And, like other aunts of my father’s side, she made time for me.
She seemed to clearly recognize the various impact that my early years had left upon me,
and stepped up to the plate as one of the meaningful family members
that expressed care, concern and interest.
As I read this letter again, I notice how skilled she was
at the art of acknowledgement and encouragement.
With all the sound-bite relationships we now have on social media,
we could all learn from her example.
Thank You For Reading
Please Feel Free To Express Your Thoughts Below
