Sunday, November 30, 2014

Laboratory Cotton Mill, repurposed

...or where I get my name. Now a wedding site, reception/dance hall, convention center, this mill once was home to lintheads who carded and spun the cotton grown throughout the area. My grandfather worked his whole adult life in this mill, an employee of the mill owners, who share the same last name. These are some pics of the mill, snapped with my phone, and some pics of the rail trail across the river. When I was younger, I watched the train traverse that route. My father remembers riding the train to town (Lincolnton, NC). Now it is a hiking trail, and my father, brother, sister-in-law, her son, etc., all helped our grand-nephew, Hunter, with his Eagle Scout project: the instillation of two benches, placed at choice locations along the rail trail from which the hiker can contemplate the scenic South Fork River. It was a labor of love, truly, and I am so proud of Hunter for envisioning and executing the project! 

Laboratory Mill

Looking down-river over the dam
The mill dam
One of the Rhyne houses overlooking the mill
Trail head
The trail and conservation area, courtesy of Paul, Jr. and wife

 One of Hunter's benches!
The view from this bench...spectacular!

Rail cut
Bug sighting!
In the cut

Souvenir from the cut

 South Fork River

Bug enjoying the second bench...
The rapids below...
The road goes ever on and on...

For more about the Laboratory Mill and its current status, click here!

For more about the mill's history, click here!

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Cold Warrior

The Moskva in winter...
Iron water painted by snow.
She and I, bundled, tangled,
Nursing our warming tryst...
Gushing...all that the Moskva
In winter is not...fluid...
Lusty nights, scant daylight
By which to come up for air.

No cares we had that season
Hidden in the teeming city...
Not pretty, but the trains
Always ran on time, afraid
To do otherwise...people died
For such oversight, did they not?
In our little kvartira, the sting
Of secret police was forgotten.

Come spring, she begged
To stroll in Novodevichy,
To gaze upon monuments
Mute, some new, many old,
All cold stone, stark reminders
Of the fate awaiting us:
Ruby cheeks fade to gray,
Hands, hearts, all wither.

Too soon the fateful day came
As I knew it must...duty called.
A coded note, blind dropped
A single line, a chilling phrase...
My glaciated heart crumbled.
Russians don't do happy endings,
She once told me...prophetic...
She barely felt the needle's prick.

A twist on Magpie Tales. For more takes on this prompt, click here!