Oak Mountain Echoes

Lost Roads
Nature seems to hate all kinds of roads;
It wants them bent and folded, strewn with rocks,
Then quickly covered up with undergrowth,
And makes sweet gum and pine shoots spring up bigger,
Faster, where there used to be a road.

There used to be a road across the mountain
That cut the farm in two; round a steep bank,
A wagon trail branched off up the Grape Hill
And stopped at the spring, beside a double oak
With one trunk straight up, one trunk bent out sideways
By a hundred years of climbing, swinging children.
One year the last of the old folks left the farm;
They were there first, the old ones, and they clung
To what their hands had built, until their children
Moved them to homes that were only far from home.
For a while the sun shone bravely, the rain fell,
The wind blew round the buildings playfully,
Shouting to lure us back if we were listening;
Nobody heard, and nobody came. The land
Was rich but rocky, and grew rockier.
Its rudimentary roads uphill and down
Soon lost their edges and began to merge
And blend into the landscape. When your roads
Begin to go, you’d better hurry up
And do something about it; but we lagged,
Quarreled and talked, and cursed the four wheel drives
That could still navigate the main road’s length,
In spite of all our big no-trespass signs
That soon were shot full of holes. Deer and fox hunters
Enjoyed the place, we heard, especially
After the buildings burned out of their way.

The buildings burned, all traces disappeared;
The old house, new house, smoke house, chicken house,
Log barn, plank barn, cabin, spring house, all
Except some chimneys and foundation stones—
Soon these, too, sank and were buried in the briars.
Meanwhile our lives grew brambly as the land;
The old ones, then their children, died and sank,
Till very few were left who knew for sure
There used to be a road across the mountain
That cut the farm in two.

Pages 9-10 (copyright 2001 Joanne R. Cage)

1st prize, State, 1996.

Note added Monday, Apr. 27:

Grandma Ella Isbell owned the 40 acres on the mountain. At some point after Vettie got married, Grandma gave her the land but didn't give her a deed to it. I think Uncle Earl had already built the house with the big stone chimney, and lived in it briefly. Gordy and Reed built the house for Vettie, on the opposite side of the main road from the old house. Both of these houses had two large rooms, with a long narrow kitchen across the back. Uncle Earl's had a large covered front porch.

~

Then when Annie got married, Grandma gave half of the place to Annie. She said all the land on the east side of the road belonged to Vettie, and all the land on the west side of the road belonged to Annie. Of course, this infuriated Vettie. More and more insults appeared to exacerbate the injury: The grape vineyard, the storm pit, the cornfield, the spring, and another garden spot that Vettie had cultivated, all were on Annie's side of the road. Vettie felt that all she had left were her house, the barns, two fields and the orchards, although Annie said it didn't make any difference, Vettie could still have access to the spring and all.

~

Vettie's constant raving and complaining led Grandma to give Annie a different place closer to town, and Annie moved away. Eventually Gordy bought the whole 40 acres from Grandma and had the deed put in Vettie's name. This prompted Reed to remark, "They didn't even put my name on the damned deed."

~

Vettie sold five acres to Mr. Lowery, who had formerly lived on top of the mountain at Mr. LeGrand's place, and he built his log cabin with all the fancy stonework. He had helped Vettie start her vineyard on the Grape Hill.