On the Crooked Road

After Lexington on Friday we make it to the Crooked Road, Virginia's Heritage Trail stretching across the southern expanse of Virginia. We were on our way to Galax, but Floyd was right in its path.

This tiny town hosts its own really bit bluegrass festival each summer (which we missed several weekends ago) but the real reason I wanted to stop was this gem--the Floyd Country Store which we had heard about from several friends.

This little store in this tiny town packs a big punch inside--a full-service ice cream and deli counter, bulk candy barrel buffet, and the Friday Nite Jamboree for which they clear out the store merchandise and host a weekly bluegrass concert.

It's hard not to feel sentimental about America in this sort of setting, and I kept thinking about all the Norman Rockwell paintings that could be staged here in the relatively small space of this little store. A guy from the Washington Post even photographed us all cozied into our booth where we were listening in to the music.

After listening to some jam sessions outside the store on the street, I realized that things were just getting started for the night. We passed the county court house as we walked down main street. I am a sucker for statues of confederate soldiers always poised so solemnly as if guarding the dignity of their land, so I paused to read the inscription. 

"Stoop angels, hither from the skies;

There is no holier spot of ground

Than where defeated valor lies, 

By mourning beauty crowned."

Isn't that so horribly sad? The more I learn about the Civil War and the plight of Southerners, particularly Virginians since that is the perspective I hear most, the more tragic that conflict becomes in my mind.

We camped just off the Blue Ridge Parkway. That night it thundered and rained for several hours into the early morning and I was so thankful for a watertight tent, for sleeping kids who didn't wake up with all the noise and flashing lightning, and for time that our kids get to practice getting along.

In the morning, it was onto Galax to the Old Fiddler's Convention, the longest running fiddling contest in the country. Since 1935 they have named one top fiddler, and in the years since then they have expanded the competition to banjos, guitars, bands, flatfoot dancers, and folk singers.

 We got there early, and chose to place our chairs in the back rather than sitting in giant grandstand behind the lower area. Within a few hours it had filled.

My favorite thing about the folk song competition was hearing so many great tunes about spirituality, lovers, snakes, and the wind. 

We left when the flatfoot competition was in full swing which seemed wrong in principle (but it was getting late and we had a long road ahead of us). I love flatfooting because of the variety represented in the performers--old men and young, little girls and grandmas, thin and chubby--but everyone was enjoying themselves up on stage for the forty bars or so that they were able to stomp and shuffle as the band played. 

I imagine that the Southern Highlands represent the easternmost boundary of Appalachia. I look forward to going back to camp and explore the wilderness areas there closer to the Cumberland Gap.