One particularly cold afternoon in late October, I was locked out of my mother's house. I actually had a key to the house, but she had left and slammed her storm door shut in a rush and it locked--itself, she says. Anyway, short of breaking the glass to open it I decided since I had the camera in the jeep to take off and do some picture taking. We'd figure out how to get in the house later.
This house is blue. Yes it is! Now it is a worn, denimy blue. At one time the bright Caribbean blue was a neighborhood shocker. The house sits close to the mouth of Bufflick Road, beside a creek, across the road from a straight up and down hill.
It bustled with activity a few short years ago. Now it is empty and abandoned.
Can't you just see an old truck sitting on that hand built, rather rickety looking ramp?
And the handiness of the outhouse...
The barn is not an elaborate affair, but surely held all the equipment that its owner needed to store.
All the rusty implements left hanging on the side indicate that the elderly gentleman of the house probably met his demise first. Or so it seems to me.
Anything that was left of any value would have been picked off quite easily as the house sits right next to the road. This remaining pile of rust held great photographic value though!
It was extremely cold and damp there on the creek bank, but I am sure it was a great place to be in the summer when the water was running freely and the trees were providing shade and natural air conditioning.
I love old places like this. These people were never rich with monetary value, but their lives, hard work and morals gave them a wealth of character that we see little of today.
As I was racing the dusk of early evening I had to rush through the photos. There was an eerieness in the approaching darkness and the hush of the late autumn woods was very loud.
Across the road from the house and just on the bank above me, I saw this woody, winsome, post smile and knew that somewhere someone was glad I was documenting their little piece of heaven.
There was a pervading, foul odor of death hanging in the air around the lower end of the house. This smell had added to the feeling of unease around me. I jumped in the jeep and headed back the way I had come. Glancing to my right I saw what I had missed on the way in...and naturally I had to stop and get a shot of it.
Otherwise you would have never believed me!
Yeppers, this is what parts of West Virginia is about...shotguns and roadkill. I didn't get close enough to find out what killed them, but really did wonder why someone had taken the time, and bother to drape them across the fence. I didn't want to hang around long enough to have someone drive by and wonder why I was wondering!!!
There are some real rednecks living up Bufflick...
