So, we’re all tired of reading the news, freezing our collective asses off, and generally enduring dickdom. So I’m going to wax nostalgic today.
Way back in 1988, I didn’t live in Colorado. I lived in the Eastern Panhandle of West Virginia. My family had fallen upon hard times (sort of a repeating theme with my family), and we relocated there from the Tidewater area of Virginia, to stay with my grandparents. At that time, I was about 18.
Virginia itself, was a bit of a culture shock. Having grown up here in Colorado, I lived in the whitest part, of the whitest state. It was quite different for me to be the minority for a change. But, having been raised by old hippies, I thankfully missed out on the racial BS.
It was also weird being around this much water. I have a river in my back yard now, but it certaily isn’t 5 miles wide. It was here I got introduced to commercial fishing, which was a great job for a youngish teenager, and probably the only time in my life I was ever in decent shape. At that time, one did not need a license to drive a boat, so I got to terrorize the Pagan River in a little 40 HP skiff.
So, off to West Virginia we went. Perspective is a funny thing. My grandparents said they lived in the mountains. Google Earth says this area is around 500 feet above sea level. The biggest hills I could see were maybe 2000 feet. I live in a canyon now, and I’m at 5500.
That being said, it was a beautiful area. The Potomac and Shenandoah rivers come together, forming the Potomac that goes through DC, at Harper’s Ferry nearby, which is a big historical thing, as well as just a neat spot. If you’re driving, you can be in 3 states within like 2 minutes or less depending on your foot.
Unique to this area – notice that on the Potomac, the state boundary is the bank of the river, not the centerline. If your feet are wet, you’re in another state.
If you read this far, I want to thank the person that rekindled my interest in an area I haven’t visited for over 30 years. You know who you are.