Love Knows No Color Pt. 22

Shavonda's was even more blunt: "My sister and I went to Jason's class reunion. It was fun, and we met some of Jason's friends. One guy, though, sat in the corner staring at us like he was jealous or something. Come to find out he posted about our table being the ghetto and made cracks about Jason's endowment. Two things: first, boo, you couldn't handle all this dark meat. Second, you might want to get out the micrometer and measure yourself before you make cracks about another man's size. Especially if you never saw what he's working with. Guarantee my husband is twice the man you are, plus maybe another inch or two."

We spent the rest of the afternoon with Kenny and Edie, poking around the area looking for the sites of the iron mines that once dominated the local economy. With most of them long gone, there wasn't much left to see, but it was a nice drive on back roads in the mountain valleys anyway. Eventually, we ended up in Clifton Forge, where Kenny used to live. The town sat in the shadow of Rich Patch Mountain, a long ridge whose name evoked the mining that once occurred on its slopes. On the way back, we stopped at Covington for our traditional ice cream, then high tailed it the 30 miles back to the farmhouse before it melted.

Brittany and Ethan nearly bowled me over as I entered the front door. Even Miracle was excited, chattering "Dada!" and "Mama!" from her playpen as she saw us. Yes, she was talking now, only a couple of words but we'd teach her many more as soon as she could pick them up. I picked her up, much to her delight, as Shavonda and Edie took the ice cream to the kitchen and made everybody a bowl.

Sitting on the back porch, eating ice cream, with Mom. Dad, Grandma, Kenny, Edie, Shavonda and the kids, with my baby girl on my lap, and drinking Grape Kool-Aid with double the sugar, I smiled. Life doesn't get better than this.

That evening, with space available now that the other guests were gone, we moved our duffel bag back into my old bedroom. We'd sleep indoors for the rest of our stay here, except for one more night. Brittany and Ethan had been begging me to take them camping, and it occurred to me that the only place Shavonda had ever camped out with me was here next to the fire pit. So I agreed to take them out one night in the coming week. "I know just the place," Shavonda said, "KR." She was referring to the spot where the railroad crested the mountain, emerging from a mile-long tunnel before beginning its long, tortuous descent to the New River. Our spot. The place where we'd made love, where I'd first felt Miracle kick.

"KR?" I said. "Are you sure? There are campgrounds not far away. You won't get much sleep there. The trains will keep us up half the night."

"Daddy I want to see the trains," Ethan wailed.

"Me too! Me too!" Brittany said, not to be outdone.

"We would have privacy that we wouldn't in a campground," Shavonda purred, "And you know what I do when I get you alone." I was outvoted. KR it was. We'd do that Wednesday night. Tuesday, though, was to be our special day. The day we hiked Mount Rogers to see the wild horses.

Before we went to bed. Mom pulled me aside. "I don't know what you two were up to in the backyard last night, but we didn't get much sleep. After you two stopped, Shavonda's parents started up. You know you are a bad influence, Jason Waite!" She laughed as she walked away.

The next morning, we got up bright and early, dressing the baby and kids. Since Kenny and Edie were staying at his parents' place in the village of Waiteville, we headed there for breakfast before Kenny and Edie left for Pittsburgh. When we arrived, Edie and Kenny were helping Aunt Penny in the kitchen, plates were piles high with French Toast, eggs, sausage, bacon, with milk and orange juice to wash it all down with.

As Kenny and Edie loaded up her car, Shavonda said to Kenny, "Tell Velma I said to leave you alone. I know she loves to ride your ass in the store, but really, she likes you. Don't tell her I told you, though." With hugs all around we saw them off, then spent the rest of the morning visiting my aunt and uncle.

"You know you two are to blame for all of this," Uncle Walt said good naturedly. His eyes were laughing.

"How so?" I asked.

"Well, if you hadn't married Von, Kenny would have never met the bridesmaid." He laughed. "It was all downhill from there. We noticed he wasn't around much on weekends anymore, then he told me he'd been seeing Edie. Next thing I know, he's quit his job, given up his pension, and moved to Pittsburgh. And he says YOU are the one who told him to do it."

"Guilty as charged," I said. "Don't worry, though. He'll find something soon. Jobs are much easier to find up North."

"Oh, I'm not worried. Edie's a sweet girl, and we're glad he's found her. Jason, Von, he's happy now. And we know he isn't alone up there, He has you two as well as Edie. But now I guess we're going to have to plan another trip to the city." He sighed. "No disrespect to you Von. You have a nice place up there, and a good family. But we're not city folks. Never will be."

"Have you talked to them about maybe having the wedding down here?" Shavonda asked. "Edie doesn't really have any family other than her mother. So most of the guests will be from down here anyway. In hindsight, I kinda wish we'd have gotten married down here. It's such a beautiful place and it feels like home to me now. But my family was too big."

Later, we had lunch at the farmhouse. It was Dad's day off, so we sat on the porch talking for a while. He seemed tired. I guess almost 40 years of working in a paper mill will do that to you.

It was a relatively cool day, with unusually low humidity, which meant the mountains were crystal clear, with none of the normal summer haze to obscure the view. Shavonda was feeling the call of the mountains. "Jason," she said. "I want you to take me to the place you went that day you got caught in the rain. I want to see the mountaintop." We gathered up the kids, put on our boots, and started off. Shavonda wore the daypack. Mom had thrown some water bottles and leftovers in the pack for us, along with a blanket to sit on. I carried Miracle, strapped in her sling. She was now big enough we turned her around so she faced forward. That way she could see her surroundings. She cooed and giggled, babbling in a language only she understood.

I figured the climb to the ridgetop would be a good dry run for our expedition tomorrow, since the climb was about 1200 feet to the ridge top, whereas it would be about 2000 feet to Mount Rogers. If Shavonda couldn't handle today's hike, no way would she make it to the wild ponies.

We took it slow because of the children. But they were troopers. I was surprised how little they complained about the climb. Soon we were at the quarry, where we stopped to rest. Opening the day pack, we found Mom had snuck in a huge bag of plain M&Ms, and we sat eating candy and sharing a bottle of water. Thus refreshed, we continued our upward climb.

The quarry was about two thirds of the way to the ridgetop, so soon our climb eased. But due to the spine of the ridge having an upward slope as well, our climb was not over. The hard part was over, but we still were heading upward through the pines and rocks on the narrow ridgetop. I pointed out to Shavonda the various rock outcrops I had passed in the rain a month before.

We soon came to the spot where the lightning had forced me over the edge. Just to satisfy my curiosity, I turned left, instead of right, to see what the north side of the ridge looked like. As I had suspected, it was littered with the broken edges of the rock layers which formed the south side of the ridge. I was glad I'd taken the path I had. Descending the north side would be treacherous, even in good weather. Turning back, we followed the sound of running water, to the spring that spawned the creek I'd followed down the mountainside. With no downpour feeding it, the little stream was peaceful, not the growing torrent I had followed over the edge.

We stopped here, and I introduced my wife and children to the wonders of mountain spring water. Not the kind you buy in stores, processed and chemical laden, but the pure stuff that flowed from the mountain itself, fresh, cool and clear. We filled the empty water bottles with the fresh water, drinking our fill, then refilled them for the trip back home.

"You know," Shavonda said in wonder, "every time you bring me down here, I find something else to love. I can't imagine how you must have felt having to leave all of this behind. It must have broken your heart."

"It wasn't easy," I admitted. "It was quite an adjustment. Add to that the fact that Rose had absolutely zero interest in any of it, and it felt like I'd had my heart ripped out. People down here are different. A lot of the things we see every day in the city, nobody down here would ever do. It simply would never cross their minds. We buy what we need, patch up what we have, and try to live on less than we make. We don't need flashy cars, or fancy things. Instead, we buy things we can use. And we save for a rainy day, preparing for the bad times. Because out here, if you aren't prepared it could be a while before somebody comes to help you. The nearest police station is 30 miles away, and it's in another state. The forest rangers are more useful than the police in an emergency. They're closer, and much better equipped to handle emergencies out here."

"All I know is, we're saving our money and buying some land down here. In 30 years, when we retire, we'll move down here. I can see that while some people don't accept us as a couple, most at least try. Your class reunion proved that." Shavonda was adamant about the future plans. I was flattered. I'd given up much of my life to live in her world, now she intended for us to spend our golden years in mine.

We retraced our steps back along the ridgetop, descending the trail past the abandoned quarry. We arrived at the farm just in time for dinner. The kids were too tired to stay up and were fast asleep before nightfall. The 5 or 6-mile round trip hike had tuckered them out. Shavonda and I also turned in early. We had a big day ahead of us. The weather forecast was hot and humid, in the lower 90s. Getting an early start would help out some, but we were going to be on the mountain during the heat of the day, no way around it.

Waking early in the morning, we found Mom had already packed a lunch for us in the refrigerator, leftover grilled chicken from Grandma's birthday party. There were also several bottles of water frozen in the freezer as well. We threw all of these in the day pack, and threw my camera bag in another pack. No way we were going to experience the horses without taking pictures.

I'd made sure Shavonda was dressed appropriately, wearing her hiking boots, jeans and a white t shirt. She had bought us both straw hats with a chin string, and we wore those this morning. I had to admit the hat looked good on her, like she was going on a safari or something. We stuffed my hoodie and her denim jacket in the pack containing my camera just in case. While the weather would be hot in the valley, one never knew what to expect in the higher elevations. The temperature on top of the mountain would be at least 7 degrees cooler simply due to the elevation change. Add to that the probability of a breeze in the open grassland that covered a significant portion of the mountain, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

Heading west over the mountain, we headed for Interstate 77, passing a large rail yard along the way. I told Shavonda it was Wolf Creek, where many of the trains we saw originated or terminated. The yard stretched about 4 miles along a winding, narrow valley. The two-lane state road was sandwiched between the creek and the mountain, railroad tracks took up the rest of the valley floor.

Upon reaching 77, we turned south, following the highway over several mountain ridges and through one tunnel before reaching 81 at Wytheville. We turned right on 81, following it southwest to Marion, where we got breakfast sandwiches at a drive thru. From Marion we headed south to Troutville, then followed the country road west along the base of Pine Mountain. Arriving at Grindstone campground, we parked the Jeep at the picnic area and headed off in search of the trail.

The trail climbed sharply out of the campground area, passing through tangled thickets of Rhododendron before emerging into a hardwood forest with a few evergreens scattered here and there. After rising steeply for a while, the trail reached the top of a spur ridge which it followed to the main mountain. Following the path anticlockwise around the side of Mount Rogers about a thousand feet below the summit, we eventually ended up at the deceptively named Deep Gap. Little more than a slight dip in the ridge that connected Mount Rogers with nearby Whitetop Mountain, the gap was definitely not deep. We took a break here, and, finding our water bottles still nearly frozen, we followed a short path to a spring. Somewhere along the trail, Shavonda had found a straight tree branch, and she put it to good use as a walking stick.

Neither of us had thought to bring a cup, but we had a couple of plastic bowls in the pack, that we intended to use for lunch. We used one to scoop up the spring water, and drank from it. Unfortunately, it seemed more of the water ran down our faces than made it into our mouths. But, having climbed about 1200 feet already, we didn't mind. The cool water felt good soaking into our shirts. We rested here for a while, Shavonda searching the trees for the songbirds that seemed to be all around us. "How you holding up, boo?" I asked.

"I'm doing fine," Shavonda answered.

Thus refreshed, we continued our trek. At Deep Gap, our path had intersected the Appalachian Trail, and we followed that around the south side of the mountain. Soon, we emerged into the grassland, and shortly thereafter we came to a fork in the trail. Continuing straight would take us to the wild ponies on Wilburn Ridge. Left would take us on a short climb to the summit. I insisted we take the short detour to the left. "You know you'll regret being that close to the highest point in Virginia, and not visiting it," I said.

The side trail soon left the grassland, entering a forest of Spruce trees. We were high enough now that the hardwoods couldn't survive. When the path levelled out at the top of the mountain, I showed Shavonda the benchmark, a small round metal disk set into a rock in the forest. This, the government surveyors had determined, was the highest point on the mountain. At 5729 feet above sea level, we were on the rooftop of Virginia, with only the nearby states of North Carolina and Tennessee, along with New Hampshire boasting higher mountains in the east. Matter of fact, we were probably within ten miles of the place where Virginia, Tennessee and North Carolina met. Finding THAT monument would make another adventure. But due to the forest, there wasn't much of a view of the surrounding mountains. What little view we had was due to the dead trees that dotted the forest. A parasitic insect was slowly killing them off, though from what I'd read it wasn't as bad here as it was in the 6000 footers off to the south. It was a little disappointing. I'd expected a killer view from up here.

Shavonda had made the climb like a trooper, and to celebrate we finished the bag of M&Ms from yesterday, washing them down with the water that had melted in the water bottles. Most of it was still ice, but I knew it would melt soon, leaving us with enough drinking water to last the rest of the day. My intention was to stop at the spring on the way back, and fill the empty bottles with fresh spring water.

"Jason, this place is so beautiful," my queen said with tears in her eyes. "I know you spent your childhood in places like this, but it's all new to me. I grew up in the city. Places like this didn't exist. All we had were patches of woods on the hillsides. And I wasn't allowed to go into those without somebody with me."

I was proud of my queen. She was taking to the hiking part rather well. Next step was to get her used to camping out. If she took to that, I knew a bunch of places in North Carolina I wanted to explore with her. I let Shavonda rest up, and take in the distinctive environment of the spruce forest. As she had done at Deep Gap, she had her binoculars out, looking for the birds that sang in the trees all around us. I didn't rush her. This day was hers, and we had plenty of time. When she was ready, she grabbed my hand, saying, "Let's go see the ponies."

We walked back down the path to the Appalachian Trail, then continued through the grassland to Wilburn Ridge. Large rock outcrops dotted the landscape, remnants of the volcanic activity that raised these mountains so very long ago. It was a very different place than the folded mountains I'd called home. Whereas my mountains had been formed by compression of the earth's crust buckling and folding sedimentary rock layers, these mountains were born of molten lava that seeped to the surface as the land was pulled apart in a giant rift. I remarked how much it looked like the plains of Wyoming up here. "I should have brought the headband and feather from your Hallowe'en costume," Shavonda said, grinning. "You'd look right at home, my Indian brave."

"Me huntum big cats," I joked in my best pidgin English.

Shavonda shook her head in amusement. "Big cats are dangerous," she laughed. "But a little pussy never hurt anybody."

"You offering?" I asked.

"Maybe," Shavonda grinned and my heart melted. It still amazed me how, even after two years of constant companionship, she still had that kind of control over me. Call it whipped, call it sprung, call it whatever you like. This woman had come into my life and quickly taken over my thoughts and emotions. And I'd never been happier in my life. "But first," she continued," Let's find some wild horses before I ride my stallion."

Walking along further, we scanned the area looking for the wild horses. We had gone a couple of miles further when Shavonda spotted something. She raised her binoculars to be sure. "Look, over by those rocks," Shavonda said as she handed me the binoculars. I looked where she pointed, and sure enough there was a small herd of horses grazing peacefully. We'd found them! Now to get close enough to actually SEE them.

I'd already taught Shavonda how to walk quietly in the forest, so as not to alert the creatures that dwelt there to our presence. The same principle also applied here. But in the open grassland, there was an added wrinkle. We could easily be spotted if the horses got wind of us. I had no idea how tame these horses might be. It could be they were so used to hikers we wouldn't bother them. Or they could be wild in the truest sense of the word, and take off at the first sign of danger. I decided to be cautious. Neither of us wanted to spook the herd.

Luckily, they were far enough away that they hadn't seen us yet. We were north of them, so they hadn't smelled us either, since the breeze was coming from the west. Even luckier, just to the east of them were the low rock outcrops that formed the backbone of Wilburn Ridge.

Quietly, we circled the herd to the rocks, then made our way along their far side, just below the crest. Occasionally, one of us would poke our head over the top, just to get our bearings and see if the herd had moved. While the horses weren't staying still, they were not concerned by our presence if they even knew we were there. The leisurely ambled, grazing, as though they didn't have a care in the world.

Eventually, we'd worked our way to where we could get a great view. The herd was maybe a hundred yards from the rocks. We had found a natural depression in the ridgetop, maybe three feet deep and covered in a sandy soil. We could stand in this depression, and, with most of our bodies shielded from view, observe the herd undetected. Downwind of the ponies, I knew they couldn't smell us, but we'd have to be quiet or they'd hear us. I readied my camera, switching to my zoom lens, while Shavonda stood watching them with her binoculars, bent over at the waist, elbows resting on the silver gray rock. Damn, she made me horny, bent over like that.