Editor’s Notes: Underground movements
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Every once in a while I get a chance to peruse some of the other Mountain State newspapers with which I have become vaguely familiar through the West Virginia Press Association. This week, I stopped at a story in the Morgan Messenger headlined "Nationally significant cave in WV permanently protected."
That was all it took to spring a flood of memories about my dad and the spelunking phase he explored when my sister and I were just old enough to tag along. What knocked the floodgates all the way open was a mention in the story of the book "Caverns of West Virginia" by William Davies.
No way, I thought. That was the book. I did a quick search and there on my screen was the blue-covered and very academic book I remember watching my dad tote around with him all over the state while he used maps (yes, big folding paper maps and directions from old guys at rural gas stations) to track down the ones he wanted to see in person.
With my patient mother in the passenger seat closing her eyes when the turns got especially twisty, and me and my sister in the back seat wavering between excitement and asking for another Dramamine, we wandered all over the state looking for the entrances to caves. Some of them probably hadn't seen much human traffic since Davies wrote his book back in the 1950s.
One stands out in my mind because it was one of the few for which it was necessary for us to wear helmets, carry multiple sources of light and give Mom a return time. (I wonder how many books she finished in the passenger seat while she waited for us to return from adventures over the years.)
Dad talked about a certain kind of bat that was supposed to be in the cave. Years later he worried that a disease he was hearing about in other states would make its way to threaten them. (White-nose syndrome has, indeed, made its way to West Virginia's bats).
On that trip, after having been told approximately 1,000 times to both watch where I was walking AND watch my head, I stepped in a puddle I hadn't seen, and in jumping back from the sudden wetness in the dark, banged my head. My sister laughed so hard that she banged her head.
And I remember distinctly that my dad's reaction was not "Are you guys OK?" but rather "Great. Not going to see any bats now."
We did, as it turned out. They're adorable.
Those were also the adventures on which I learned about caves being a relatively steady and comfortable temperature all year long. There must have been some wintertime trips -- maybe even Christmas break -- because I recall not being cold until we emerged and hiked back toward the car.
I'm certain we were staying in a motel room near Seneca Rocks.
And I have an oddly vivid memory of picking "Caverns of West Virginia" up off the little table in the hotel room and noticing that it felt very cold. So I put it under a blanket.
After looking at me for a minute like he wondered where he'd gone wrong, Dad asked why I had done that. I explained that I wanted to warm up the book before I held it to read. He shook his head and gently explained to me the book would have to be producing its own heat (like humans do) for the blanket to make any difference. A blanket's job is to hold in heat, not warm something up on its own.
Strange thing to remember learning, right?
But there are lots of memories from those trips. Disney would call them "core memories."
I remember learning a large enough garbage bag could be used as a sled on a steep enough hill in the right kind of snow. I also learned what it felt like to "sled" over tree roots in that set-up.
I remember being so infatuated with "The Karate Kid" that I insisted on wearing my karate gi pajamas to bed as often as Mom would let me get away with, even when we were on the road. So the picture of us that was taken at a Blackwater Falls cabin surrounded by snow includes me proudly wearing my pajamas -- well before bedtime.
You know what I couldn't tell you about that year or two? What gifts were wrapped up under the tree Christmas morning. No idea. I'm sure they were nice, fun, thoughtful toys, books and clothes; and my apologies to anyone who may have helped Santa get them to me.
I understand now the kind of planning (and, yes, some expense) that went into dragging two kids along on those adventures that have turned out to mean so much. Compared with whatever Cabbage Patch doll or PC Jr. game floppy disk that was appreciated at the time but has been long forgotten, those experiences were priceless.
I know a lot of you are busy looking for the perfect ways to help Santa this season -- and that's fine. But don't forget about experiences and adventures that might mean something more to the young people in your life. They'll treasure those for a lifetime.
Just, you know, don't forget the helmets.
Christina Myer is executive editor of The Parkersburg News and Sentinel. She can be reached via e-mail at cmyer@newsandsentinel.com