Ghosts and Old Barns

Behind our farm is a large field that lies fallow in the winter and is planted with corn and hay in the growing season. The edges of it are grown up in weeds and wild flowers. The land slants uphill and meets tree-covered hills at the top of this wide swathe of land. Nearer to the base of the field, just on the other side of our property, is a derelict 19th century barn where stray cats, possums, raccoons, birds, foxes, and sometimes coyotes hangout.  A red-tailed hawk patrols overhead and it’s a good place to see birds. Tall, seemingly random trees enclose the site where the house once stood. It’s a fairly benign place to be in the spring. Not so much on an eerie fall evening.

The farmhouse burned down in the 1970’s and nearly consumed the elderly drunk man who lived there with it, but he was rescued and stayed with my husband’s family for a time. The foundation of the house, an old cellar, and outbuilding remain. Everything’s overgrown and covered in vines. The place has an abandoned look and a decidedly creepy feeling about it. To the point where several autumn’s ago my artist daughter, Elise, and (at that time) 14-year- old niece Elizabeth, and I (at my suggestion) decided to venture across our side of the land to the old barn and take some pictures at dusk. Why not, we thought, feeling adventurous.

We brought a flashlight, our intent being to stay until dark and have Elise take more pics with her camera of–we weren’t sure what–orbs maybe, before venturing home.  Some people believe sites with strong paranormal activity produce orbs that show up in photographs while not necessarily visible to the naked eye. There was just one problem with this plan. We are chicken hearts.

Apparently the old man who lived at that farm until his death  (several decades ago) stored newspapers in the barn. We chanced upon a small fragment of newspaper lying in the grass with the words The Devil printed on it. That rather took us aback. We looked more closely and discovered this snippet came from an ancient review of the horror movie, The Exorcist. But why did only that eerie snippet remain? Is that all it was, a coincidence, or a warning? Who knows, we didn’t hang around to discover. Later, the coyotes came out and we were doubly glad to have headed on home before the chilling howls rose in the darkness. 

Do I think there’s something strange about that place? Yes, but I’m not bold enough to do any ghost hunting. The mystery remains. For now. I might set a story there someday. A paranormal.

***Barn images by Elise Trissel

August in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia

An excerpt from my nonfiction book about gardening and country life,  Shenandoah Watercolors, a 2012 Epic eBook finalist. Available in Amazon Kindle and in print.

We’ve had many misty starts to the day this August. Haze hugs the pond, parting just enough to reveal the long-legged blue heron fishing for his breakfast. There’s a country saying about the number of foggy mornings in August being an indicator for the amount of snows we’ll have this winter––a heap, at this rate.

Dozens of swallows skim over the pond as the sun sinks below the Alleghenies. If I were standing on a distant ridge, would it sink behind me, or the ridge beyond that one?

The water is calm now but was awash with waves during the storm that hit a short time ago. The grassy hill and maple tree are reflected on the surface, silvery and streaked with rose from the western sky. All is peaceful as a soft twilight settles over the valley. Utterly idyllic, until I pause to consider what all of those swallows are after. There must be clouds of mosquitoes.

Here’s another thought, where do all the birds spend the night? Are the woods up on the hill lined with birds perched wing to wing jostling for space on the branches? I’ll bet they make room for the big red-tailed hawk. He gets the whole tree––as many as he wants. It’s good to be king.

Dennis, Elise, and I once saw a magnificent rainbow arching across the sky over the meadow. The magical multihued light streamed down into the pond and gilded the back end of a cow as she stood in the water. It startled us to discover that this was where we must seek our pot of gold. Though it’s apt, I suppose, for dairy farmers.

This is the day, sprinkled with fairy dust and frosted with gold. Go forth and find treasure, or seek it deep inside your heart, at true rainbow’s end.~

**Image of our pond taken by my mom, Pat Churchman

**Image of Hawk by daughter Elise taken up in the meadow behind our house

**Rainbow by Elise

 

August in the Shenandoah Valley–Country Life–Beth Trissel

Another late summer excerpt from my nonfiction book,  Shenandoah Watercolors, a 2012 Epic eBook finalist. Free in Amazon Kindle from August 19th through the 23rd.

We’ve had many misty starts to the day this August. Haze hugs the pond, parting just enough to reveal the long-legged blue heron fishing for his breakfast. There’s a country saying about the number of foggy mornings in August being an indicator for the amount of snows we’ll have this winter––a heap, at this rate.

Dozens of swallows skim over the pond as the sun sinks below the Alleghenies. If I were standing on a distant ridge, would it sink behind me, or the ridge beyond that one?

The water is calm now but was awash with waves during the storm that hit a short time ago. The grassy hill and maple tree are reflected on the surface, silvery and streaked with rose from the western sky. All is peaceful as a soft twilight settles over the valley. Utterly idyllic, until I pause to consider what all of those swallows are after. There must be clouds of mosquitoes.

Here’s another thought, where do all the birds spend the night? Are the woods up on the hill lined with birds perched wing to wing jostling for space on the branches? I’ll bet they make room for the big red-tailed hawk. He gets the whole tree––as many as he wants. It’s good to be king.

**Image of our pond taken by my mom, Pat Churchman

**Image of Hawk by daughter Elise taken up in the meadow behind our house

Ghosts and Old Barns

Behind our farm is a large field that lies fallow in the winter and is planted with corn and hay in the growing season.  The edges of it are grown up in weeds and wild flowers.  The land slants uphill and meets tree- covered hills at the top of this wide swathe of land.  Nearer to the base of the field, just on the other side of our property, is a derelict 19th century barn where stray cats, possums, raccoons, birds, foxes, and sometimes coyotes hangout.  A red-tailed hawk patrols overhead and it’s a good place to see birds.  Tall, seemingly random trees enclose the site where the house once stood. It’s a fairly benign place to be in the spring.  Not so much on an eerie fall evening.

The farmhouse burned down in the 70’s and nearly consumed the old drunk who lived there with it, but he was rescued and stayed with my husband’s family for a time.  The foundation of the house, an old cellar, and outbuilding remain.  Everything’s overgrown and covered in vines.  The place has an abandoned look and a decidedly creepy feeling about it.  To the point where last fall my art major daughter Elise, my 13 yr old niece Elizabeth, and I (at my suggestion) decided to venture across our side of the land to the old barn and take some pictures at dusk.  Why not, we thought, feeling adventurous.

We brought a flashlight, our intent being to stay until dark and have Elise take more pics with her camera of–we weren’t sure what–orbs maybe, before venturing home.  Some people believe sites with strong paranormal activity produce orbs that show up in photographs while not necessarily visible to the naked eye.  There was just one problem with this plan.   We’re chicken hearts.

Apparently the old man who lived at that farm until his death  (several decades ago) stored newspapers in the barn.  We chanced upon a small fragment of newspaper lying in the grass with the words The Devil printed on it.  That rather took us aback.  We looked more closely and discovered this snippet came from an ancient review of the horror movie, The Exorcist.   But why did only that eerie snippet remain?  Is that all it was, just a coincidence, or a warning?  Who knows, we didn’t hang around to discover.  Later, the coyotes came out and we were doubly glad to have headed on home.

Do I think there’s something strange about that place?  Yes, but I’m not bold enough to do any ghost hunting.  I don’t know how those who do have the nerve.