By 1990 our weekend forays into West Virginia had become a frequent topic of conversations with family and friends.
We had also had our first son and he and our dog accompanied us on our adventures. We were still taking our cues for weekend destinations from “land for sale” ads in the newspaper and areas that people would suggest to us. Then an invitation came along that would change the course of our search, and our lives, forever!
Jim had befriended a man named Victor while they were working together on several projects under construction. Their lunchtime and on site conversations had led them to a discussion about our interest in country property. As luck would have it, Victor, and his wife, Sally, had a weekend getaway in Hardy County, West Virginia! They had a friend who was having a log cabin built up on a high ridge above their place. Victor was sure that Jim would enjoy seeing the building site and the “kit” materials that had recently arrived from a log cabin company in Maine. So he and Sally invited us to come spend the weekend with them and check it out.
Victor and Sally’s place was a cozy little A-frame structure with electricity and running water on a small, heavily wooded lot. It was in a little rural “development” of sorts. Their neighboring A-frame structures were a little ways apart so they had privacy, but it was still apparent that theirs was one of many within this planned community. It was similar to what a tent campground feels like when you have a site with privacy but are still aware of your fellow campers! We really enjoyed the hospitality of our hosts and the creature comforts of their little retreat.
It was yet another experience that informed our ideas of what we were and weren’t looking for in our own place.
We all headed up to the log cabin building site on Saturday morning. The road going up to the site was winding and narrow. There were several “switchbacks” and hairpin turns. The treacherous nature of this route turned out to be very fortuitous for us! The driver of the semi tractor trailer that had hauled the load of logs down from Maine had not attempted this last part of the journey. He had simply dropped the “kit” at an agreed upon location at the bottom of the mountain and been on his merry way home! It had been up to the owner of the kit of logs and the building site to figure out how to get one to the other. He found a local man, named Dee, who was a heavy machine operator and he contracted with Dee to provide the service to load the logs onto a smaller axle truck and haul them up the winding road to the building site.
While Dee was working to get all the logs transported out of the valley and up onto the ridge - he and the log cabin kit owner had several chances to talk and get to know each other. Amongst the various things they discussed, Dee shared that his Grandfather had died the previous Winter and that the family had decided to sell off the majority of the acreage of their 750 acre farm. Dee gave the log cabin owner several of his business cards and told him that if he knew of anyone looking for land he should give them one of his cards and have them give him a call. Jim and I grabbed at the chance to have one of these cards and were excited about contacting Dee.
Over the next few weeks Jim left several messages on Dee’s answering machine. We waited, rather impatiently, to hear back from Dee. The call that eventually came was from Dee’s mother, Gloria. She apologized for how long it had taken for someone to call us back but assured us that things were indeed moving along toward the plan of selling off most of her family farm. She told us that the surveyors had been out and that the family was waiting for drawings resulting from the survey which would indicate parcel sizes and configurations. We got a general description from her about where the farm was located and told her that we were very interested in taking a look at the place. We set a date for our visit.
It was in this very first phone call that we got our first directions to what would become Runaway Ridge. They went like this….
- Come through the park
- Come up the hill
- At the top of the hill there will be a hard switchback to the left - take that
- At the end of the state road there will be a road at the base of the gas line - take that
- C’mon over the road ‘til you come to a fork
- There’ll be a diamond shaped sign on a tree on your left - take that road
- You’ll come through a few gates once you get to us
- Once you’re up top, you’ll see the house
- C’mon in, we’ll be waitin’ fer ya
I had scribbled all of this on a piece of paper as Gloria recited it to us. No distances, no suggested amount of time, not even many “landmarks” described but it sounded pretty simple. Remember, this is the early 1990’s. No cell phones, no GPS - just paper maps and a willingness to stop and ask directions from locals if you needed to. We struck out on the day we’d agreed to meet with excitement and anticipation.
The day was rainy, dreary and foggy. We got to Lost River State Park and began following Gloria’s cryptic directions. At the switchback, Dee’s name was actually written in spray paint on the rock wall so we were very sure we had at least picked the right road for the first turn. The fog would lift in some places and be thick as the proverbial pea soup in others. We weren’t going very fast both due to the weather and lack of knowledge (and view) of the road. So we didn’t have a very good sense of how far we were traveling. We each must have suggested to the other at least once that maybe we should turn back. But, when we would consider the directions and what we had already seen, we couldn’t think of any place where we could have made a wrong turn. So we continued on.
At this point in the story, Jim usually tells his audience that at the time he could hear the “Dueling Banjos” tune from Deliverance in his head. We did indeed have the feeling that we were heading into the sticks. Just when we were both about to lose our nerve, we saw the diamond shaped sign with the Fitzwater name on it, nailed to a tree on the left side of a fork in the road. As the famous Yogi Berra said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” So we did.
After going through a few gates (as Gloria had correctly stated) and up a pretty steep, narrow road, we came to the last “rise” in the road and a gigantic sky opened up in front of us. The fog was gone, there was a beautiful clear blue sky and we felt as though we were being given a sign that good things were to come. Once we were on an open, level farm road we did indeed easily spot the farmhouse and headed for it.
We pulled into the yard in front of a modest frame house sitting on a gentle knoll in the middle of rolling pastures. There was a large barn to one side and a few large trees around the house. The whole scene had a nostalgic feel. Just as we had gotten out of our car, the screen door opened with a rusty spring squeal and a woman’s voice called out to us - “Git on in here, I’ve got beans on the stove fer ya!”
This was our introduction to the Wade Fitzwater Farm and the family connected to it.
Jim and I sat with Gloria and her husband Arnice in the dark paneled front room and ate green beans. We listened to Gloria tell us about growing up on the farm. Wade was her father. She hated to see the acreage go to people outside of the family but she knew she couldn’t keep it up. We shared a little bit about ourselves with them and told them we were very interested in seeing as much of the property as we could that day. We all got in our Jeep Cherokee, with Jim driving, Gloria in the front passenger seat acting as tour guide and navigator and Arnice and I in the back. We drove all over the farm with Gloria sharing its history with us through family stories and her personal recollections.
By the time we dropped Gloria and Arnice back at the farmhouse later that day, Jim and I both knew that we were hooked. Something about the place had already begun to sink its teeth into us. We could feel the length and depth of Gloria’s family's commitment to it. It called for others to bind themselves to it too and to plan for its future. When we said goodbye, we knew it was only going to be a short time before we would see Gloria and Arnice and the Fitzwater Farm again.
