Deb and I visited Fairy Stone State Park, just down the road from Goose Point National Forest. We camped at Goose Point, the grounds were a lot nicer and less expensive, but the State Park had all the hiking trails. The state park visitor center had enlightened us on what Fairy Stones are, and where to hunt for them. Returning to our campsite we met Art and Crystal. They had the site across from us, and were on their six-week maiden voyage with a new camper.
By now I was sold on the idea of looking for some Fairy Stones, and invited Art and Crystal, to join us. So off we went to “The Pit Stop”. Oh the excitement of the hunt. Our mining operation consisted of pushing dirt around with a stick, and talking about our faith walk’s, gratitude for good health, and life in general. I found some Fairy Stones, and like seashells, I practiced catch and release.
Art and Crystal are also considering full time RVing. So we had a lot to talk about. It’s always interesting meeting new campers, and to learn about their travels. The four of us made a small circle and lifted each other up in prayer for safety, continued good health, and an abundant life. Then they were gone, but not forgotten.
Fairy Stones are formed about seven miles underground. As the mountains began to rise up, it brought the fairy stones to the surface.” The crystals form into little tiny “bricks” that, under pressure, twist in 60 degree or 90 degree angles, forming crosses.
Mr. Adams was a real live mountain man. He claimed he was not a bad kid growing up, not really. He never went to jail because of anything he did. It helped that Judge Vick was a gambler, and liked betting on anything and everything, including high school football. It seems Mr. Adams was a pretty good player back in his day.
Mr. Adams did not like the school principle. It had something to do with him buying a window air conditioner, and not treating his staff with the same comfort. Mr. Adams thought that was, “Just not right.” He and Lawrence Long Feather put two sticks of dynamite under that unjust window air conditioner. Early one morning at 2:00 am there was a very noticeable boom, and a hole in the side of the principles office. In fairness Mr. Adams said he felt bad when he heard the expected boom, because someone may have been passing by, and hurt by the flying bricks. They were caught, and Judge Vick let them off with a warning reminding Mr. Adams that being a senior, and not on the football team next year, he won’t be needed anymore.
Mr. Adams liked the mountains and fly fishing. Fisherman would come down from up north and pay him for his guide service. Mrs. Adams would drop them off, and retrieve them the same day, or several day’s later. Each time she would ask, “How did it go?” “Just fine.”
When Mrs. Adams read in the local paper how he and his client, an outdoor enthusiast/reporter were chased from their fishing hole, and treed by a bear. He had some explaining to do.
Mr. and Mrs. Adams had some history, that’s for sure. We talked about God, rights and wrongs, young love, and old love. For thirty years they were the administrators for a self-sustaining youth farm that took in troubled kids. They raised large amounts of trout, and sold them at market, along with other farming operations. During a cold spell to break the mononitany and pent up youthful energy, Mr. Adams took a couple of hundred trout from the fish tanks, and put them in the swimming pool. At breakfast he asked the kids if they would like to go fishing? The idea of fishing in February was out and out crazy talk. “Well I’m going fishing for lunch today, if you want to go, meet me by the kitchen at 10:30.” The kids talked about the experience for weeks afterwards. Eventually the state of Virginia stepped in, and forced citified water with fluoride and chlorine upon them, and the trout farm ended. Deb and I prayed with Mr. Adams, thanking God for Mr. and Mrs. Adams love for children, and Mrs. Adams patience for Mr. Adams. The weekend was over, and Sunday morning Mr. Adams and his camping party was gone, but not forgotten.
Every Friday night musicians and cloggers get together in Floyd for a good time. I liked the canned Possum.
Edwin Mabry, a jack-of-all-trades (chair maker, miner, blacksmith, and farmer) built his mill in 1910. It is the most photogaphed feature on the Blue Ridge Parkway. It was evening when we visited, not many people, but not much light either.
Note: Water trough provided cool water to help with condensation of vapors. I’m not promoting alcohol, I just think this is very ingenious.
Rock Castle Gorge Trail
We hiked part of the Rock Castle Gorge Trail. It is located between Floyd, and Mabry Mill.