A Winter Walk

Tom and I awoke to another snowy day out here on Copper Ridge. Not inclined to drive anywhere (see previous post!) we decided to take a walk. Our destination was the old house in this picture which I posted last week. It was once home to Andrew and Alba Penley Ervin, who had a family of ten children in this little valley. Alba was a second cousin to my grandfather, John T. Penley, and a sister to Vick Penley, the grandmother of Doretta Templeton Peters, the wife of my Uncle Glen.

Since moving here, I've looked out so often on this old house, and was curious to see it closer. Yesterday, Tom got permission from the owner of the property, who comes daily to feed the cows pastured there, for us to walk down.

It snowed lightly most of the day, and we had a beautiful walk down the dirt road. In the picture below you can just see the back of our house and garage over the roof line. Andrew and Alba were married in 1898 and probably moved into this house shortly thereafter. It is typical of many of the old abandoned homes in Scott County, with two stories in the front, and one at the back. It was built of log with a stone foundation and stone chimney.

Not far from the house is this spring which comes right out of the mountainside. It is likely why this spot was chosen for a home.

Here you can see the logs underneath the wooden siding. In several of these houses we've seen, there are two rooms downstairs, and two rooms up. The kitchen is built onto the back with a separate fireplace.

The stone foundation is visible underneath the back porch.

As we were looking over the house, the cows came down to look us over. Very likely, they wondered if we were going to feed them. We ducked inside the house while the cows got used to the idea of us invading their territory. And pretty soon, they had encircled the whole house and we could hear them bellowing all around us. It was pretty wild!

Now, I don't consider myself a city girl, but I've never really lived in the country either. It's always been small towns for me. So to be suddenly surrounded by a small herd of cattle, was a new experience. And I got quite a shock when this big boy looked in the window at me.

Not anxious to wade right out into the middle of the herd, we decided to look around inside a little while, in hopes they might get bored and wander off a bit.

Here is a photo of the mantel and fireplace in the big room downstairs, with a closeup of the coal grate in the picture below. I want to find one of these to bring home and clean up. I loved the one at Aunt Monnie's house.

In one of the rooms there was a mattress stuffed with straw, pictured below.

Eventually, the cows moved off a little and Tom went out first, just in case some of the new mothers were a little protective of their calves. They all watched every move we made, wondering I suppose, just where in the heck we had their hay. Curiously, the big bull who looked in the window, stayed the furthest away from us, around the side of the house.

The others just watched us. The two below crossed to the salt lick.

This new mother looked around the side of the house, checking to see if it was safe for her little one.

She must have decided we posed no danger, as her calf soon came right up.

The one below was one of the first to come investigate us.

And as we walked back up the road, the herd followed along in the pasture, fussing at us the whole way. I got the impression they were annoyed that we got them all excited about dinner and then didn't feed them. The cows are very restful neighbors. They take each day as it comes, staying down in the ravine you can see above, till the sun comes out and warms the hillside. Then, they make their way up the paths to graze or just lie in the sun. When Ron comes to feed them, they go at a run to meet him, bellowing, "Hurry, hurry, we're hungry!" Like all young'uns, the calves scamper around in the sunshine or the snow, and then hurry back to Mama.

I'm glad they all came down to the old house to see us. I feel like I know them better now. And maybe they like watching us as much as we like watching them.