You've probably seen them when you were driving down some winding state route. Maybe it was this time of year. Maybe you were cruising a little too fast. Maybe you came over one of those knolls that puts your stomach in your throat, and just as it settled back where it belonged, something caught your eye.
It was off to the side of the road. Amidst the blur of gold leaves and bent corn stalks, you spotted a purple triangle and a blue diamond. But you were in the middle of farm land where the signature colors were red for roofs and brown for nearly everything else. These quirky shapes seemed so unlikely you did a double take. You slowed down. Maybe you even backed up, and that's when you saw that it wasn't just two strange shapes. They had friends, other triangles and other squares in other colors. They were locked together in a geometric hodgepodge that added up to something greater. Back to back and side to side, they formed a giant square--a quilt square--and it was hanging like fine art from someone's rickety barn.
The first time I spotted one of these enormous beauties, I thought it was one farmer's inspired self expression, but boy, was I wrong. The quilt squares are a full-fledged movement. After starting in Ohio in 2001, they've popped up in at least 28 states and two Canadian provinces. They symbolize a renewed interest in simple living, and this time of year, they give leaf peeping a whole new shape.
[caption id="" align="alignright" width="240"] Bluff City, Tennessee. Photo provided by Patrick Beeson on Flickr.[/caption]
Rather than brave the crowded tourist trails (yes, I'm looking at you Skyline Drive), maybe we should all go quilt square hopping instead. We'll avoid the stop--and-go traffic and see the leaves like locals see them--from back country roads, across beautiful autumn fields, as the backdrop to daily life. With a little help from our local quilt square groups, we can even make new friends and find favorite restaurants along the way.
- Eastern Tennessee: Appalachian Quilt Trails promotes the squares in eastern Tennessee, but this group doesn't stop with farms and barns. They offer visitors dining tips, lists of local attractions, referrals to historic sites, and more. "Whether you are in search of colleges or covered bridges, llamas or cranberry bogs, country fairs or wineries," says the site, "You are sure to find something to please along the Appalachian Quilt Trail." Trail organizers are also giving The Revivalist's readers a sneak peak at the new local map for Kyles Ford, Tennessee. Watch the site for the official release of this map and others in the area.
- Western North Carolina: Across the border in Western North Carolina, they also have downloadable tour guides and you can order a quilt square of your own from their site. With prices starting at about $200, they're an affordable way to join this growing movement.
- Eastern Kentucky: With more than a hundred quilt squares lining four trails that traverse eight counties, Eastern Kentucky is quilt square heaven. The folks at Kentucky Quilt Trails make it easy to experience this outdoor art installation with clear trail directions and pictures of area squares. All you have to do is pick your favorite designs and hit the road.
- West Virginia: The quilt square movement has its roots in The Mountain State. The first quilt square, created by Donna Sue Groves, was dedicated to her mother Nina Maxine Groves, a fifth generation quilter from Roane County, West Virginia. Fittingly, West Virginia has not one, not two, but three quilt square groups, including an unusual urban trail dedicated to the city of Huntington.
- Virginia's Shenandoah Valley: Across the border in Harrisonburg, a second urban quilt square trail has popped up. Formed in 2011, the Shenandoah Valley Quilt Trail is walkable. It takes you to a farmer's market, a food co-op, the historic Hardesty-Higgins House, and, to the delight of every quilt lover, The Virginia Quilt Museum, which houses quilts dating back to the Civil War.
[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="213"] McDowell County, North Carolina. Photo provided by BuckeyeinTriad on Flickr.[/caption]
- North Georgia: The North Georgia Quilt Trail is centered in Gilmore County, the Apple Capital of Georgia, which makes this trail a triple header. You can take in North Georgia's breathtaking fall scenery, visit the quilt squares, and enjoy the bounty of Gilmore's signature fruit.
- Western Maryland: Launched with help from quilt squares founder, Donna Sue Groves, the Barn Quilt Association of Garrett County boasts Maryland's first quilt trail. This innovative group has added a cell phone tour and a store to its mix. On this website, you can purchase barn quilt lapel pins, posters, and fridge magnets.
So are you ready to hit the road? Where's your favorite quilt square? Do you have one of these beauties on your house or barn? If so, tell us what inspired you to put it up, and when we should drop by to see it!

There are many creatures you don't want to cross in Appalachian forests. Boar are vicious. Bear are strong. Bobcats will scratch your face off. But none are as brutal or dogged as the great horned owl. As William Funk explains in the below guest post, these mighty birds can be terrors, killing prey without mercy and in one horrific case, brutalizing an entire Kentucky family.

William should know. He is a nature lover, freelance writer, and documentary filmmaker who focuses on wildlife and land preservation. He lives in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, and as you'll see at the end of the piece, he has had his own run-in with the great horned owl.

Have you had one too? If the great-horned has ever scared, startled, or amazed you, be sure to leave a comment and tell us about it.

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Around 8:00 on the night of August 21, 1955, the Sutton farm near the hamlet of Kelly, Kentucky was visited by a mysterious and terrifying phenomenon. An hour after a brilliant streak of light had disappeared behind the brooding treeline surrounding the farmhouse, the family dog alerted Elmer “Lucky” Sutton and a visiting friend to strange goings-on in the backyard. Armed with a shotgun and a .22 rifle, the two men slipped quietly out the door to confront what was later described as a misshapen dwarf enveloped in “a greenish silver glow” lurking on a tree limb, a being possessed of an outsized head, “long arms” and “pointed ears.” Menacing yellow eyes glared down at them through the gloom. The two men opened fire, naturally, spraying the general vicinity with panicked bursts of birdshot and bullets, actions they said caused the apparition to “float” down to the ground, before they fled back into the house.

For the next three hours the family was besieged by a ruthless and unknowable presence. At one point an inhuman, staring face thrust itself before a kitchen window and was fired upon. Poking his head outside the back door, another friend who had been at the house that evening had his scalp torn open by one of the creatures that had positioned itself on the roof. This gentleman, a Billy Ray Taylor, later recalled that the beast had long “spindly” legs as well as fearsome claws. This first physical assault initiated a full-fledged panic and caused the eleven people within the farmhouse—including eight full-grown adults—to pile themselves into several automobiles and hightail it eight miles south to the Hopkinsville police department. Subsequent investigation by city, county and state officials (later joined, allegedly, by agents of the United States Air Force) failed to provide any evidence of the night’s encounter other than the hole in the kitchen window screen produced by a jittery shotgun blast.
What evil presence was behind this sinister visitation? Meteor activity had been widely reported over the region that night which might explain the UFO-like streak of light but what about the yellow-eyed monsters that trapped an entire extended family of taxpayers in their home for three solid hours? Was it cabin fever? Bad whiskey? Mass hysteria? Or perhaps it was something even stranger than the fictional aliens the Sutton family still swears by, creatures every bit as eerie, formidable and bizarre as they were described, but beings decidedly of this planet.
While we will never know exactly what went on that weird moonlit night, it seems probable that the Sutton’s uncanny visitors were specimens of Bubo virginianus, the great horned owl, known as the “flying tiger” for its single-minded savagery when hunting. Not even eagles, not even the peregrine falcon or northern goshawk, can match the horned owl’s pitiless devotion to the slaughter of such a wide variety of prey. Contributing to its diverse larder is the fact that horned owls are sexually dimorphous, with females often significantly larger than males. Males average a little over three pounds, while females can weigh up to five pounds. This trait provides the great horned with a wide array of prey species from which a pair may select on any given night. And when a horned owl goes in for the kill it keeps fighting until either it or its quarry is dead—there is no retreat.
[caption id="attachment_6223" align="alignright" width="222"] Photo provided by Sandy and Chuck Harris.[/caption]
Standing two feet tall and boasting a five-foot wingspan, the great horned owl is a common bird throughout its North American range. While there is a great deal of dissimilarity among even local populations, horned owls in the southern Appalachians generally display a rustier coloration than their gray northern cousins. The great horned owl’s feathers are richly patterned in variations of maple, black and pale gray, with a buff undercoat barred with heavy streaks of chocolate.
This cryptic coloration makes for excellent camouflage when the owl naps in the afternoons, perched on a tree limb near the trunk and elongating its body to blend into the bark. Tufted “horns” (plumicorns) used for both camouflage and non-vocal communication can accentuate the deception. While regurgitated pellets of indigestible hair, teeth and toenails on the forest floor may give away their proximity, hunters and hikers routinely pass unknowingly beneath dozing owls, whose ability to mold their feather conformation and body shape to blend into their environment is without parallel among American birds.
All adult great horned owls have outsize eyes with radiant golden irises, jammed with rods to facilitate a night vision 100 times greater than our own. The eyes deliver 10X sharper vision than ours and are fully the size of an adult human’s, so large that they are immobile within their sockets, a physiological necessity which gave rise to the owl’s fourteen neck vertebrae (twice that of other birds) and 270˚ head rotation. A semi-transparent nictating membrane is used as a third eyelid to regularly clean the lenses and provide protection just before an attack. The pupils are capable of independent dilation, and the great horned owl, like many raptors, can stare unfazed into the noonday sun.
If the horned owl’s vision is supernal, its hearing is even more astonishing. The great horned’s eyes are set within concave partial facial discs that channel the faintest vibration directly to its ear holes, which are placed asymmetrically on the head to facilitate the triangulation of sound emissions and help the owl pinpoint the location of prey in dim light.
Possessed of uncanny sight and hearing, enormously powerful, relentless, insatiable, and utterly without fear, the great horned owl exerts dominion over all other creatures of the American night. While rabbits are generally preferred, prey species run the taxonomic scale: crayfish, snakes, shrews, hares, squirrels, sandpipers, bats, rats, mice, fish, hawks, owls, pigeons, possums, herons, groundhogs, weasels, woodpeckers, geese, crows, porcupines, skunks, housecats—in short, anything the owl can physically overcome.
Great horned owls hunt by perching on limbs and waiting in silence for their extraordinary senses to betray the presence of prey on the ground. Once detected by a healthy adult, the victim stands little chance of escape.
Like many raptors (Latin for “one who seizes by force”), horned owls employ what is best described as fury when subduing large prey, maximizing the damage they inflict so as to ensure a quick kill and little or no dangerous resistance. The great horned owl is, after all, only a bird, and birds are delicate, hollow-boned creatures, half air themselves, and cannot withstand the concussive blows that solid-boned mammals may shrug off. The legendary ornithologist Arthur Cleveland Bent, in his Life Histories of North American Birds of Prey (1937), recorded the horned owl’s killing rage:
“A few feet in front of me was a large Horned Owl in a sort of sitting posture. His back and head were against an old log. His feet were thrust forward, and firmly grasped a full-grown skunk. One foot had hold of the skunk’s head and the other clutched it tightly by the middle f the back. The animal seemed to be nearly dead, but still had strength enough to leap occasionally into the air in its endeavors to shake off its captor. During the struggle, the Owls’ eyes would fairly blaze, and he would snap his beak with a noise like the clapping of your hands.”
Yet this killing machine, ferocious without peer, is also a devoted parent; in fact much of the hunting by a mated pair is done for that most elemental and noble of motives—perpetuation of the species. Horned owls are savagely protective of their offspring, and the murderous strength unsheathed in combat is easily turned on interlopers who dare to approach an occupied nest. Bent recollects one incautious egg collector’s description of a typical two-pronged attack:
“Swiftly the old bird came straight as an arrow from behind and drove her sharp claws into my side, causing a deep dull pain and unnerving me, and no sooner had she done this than the other attacked from the front and sank his talons deep in my right arm causing blood to flow freely, and a third attack and my shirtsleeve was torn to shreds for they had struck me a third terrible blow on my right arm tearing three long, deep gashes, four inches long; also one claw went through the sinew of my arm, which about paralyzed the whole arm.”
The horned owl’s drive to satisfy the hunger of its young is such that it kills more, sometimes much more, than even gluttonous owlets can eat. Young great horned owls are fierce competitors for meat and will sometimes kill one another when provender is insufficient, but the parents’ hunting prowess is such that in most years this is rarely a concern. According to Bent, one nest contained “a mouse, a young muskrat, two eels, four bullheads [catfish of the genus Ameiurus], a woodcock, four ruffed grouse, one rabbit, and eleven rats. The food taken out of the nest weighed almost eighteen pounds.”
Great horned owls mate for life but live separately for about a quarter of each year. After spending the fall and early winter hunting apart from one another a mated pair is eager to renew their bond, with hooting courtship serenades beginning in the frigid depths of January, earlier than any other North American avian species. The courtship ritual is purposefully seductive and even touching: after gentle hooting has lured her within range the male softly approaches the larger female, strokes her with his bill, lowers his wings and makes a series of solemn bows to her before renewing his tender caresses.
Eventually the pair flies off together to mate and find a home to rear their young, usually the abandoned nest of a hawk, crow, heron or squirrel situated 30-70 feet above the ground. If they are unable to find a suitable empty nest before the female is ready to lay eggs, the mated pair will simply appropriate an occupied one, driving away or killing the residents. Attacked during the night when they are at their most vulnerable, even the largest hawks are unable to withstand the great horned owl.
A few years ago, having finally talked my girlfriend at the time into a camping trip, we were comfortably ensconced at the campground of Pilot Mountain State Park in North Carolina, a mountainous island of southern Appalachia set in the undulating western Piedmont. It was late November (an initial source of friction) and we were hunkered down by the side of the dying campfire, preparing to turn in, when turning to say something to me she suddenly stared wildly over my shoulder and screamed. I whirled around but saw nothing. “Someone was in that tree,” she whispered, seizing my arm. “I saw his eyes in the firelight, looking down right at us!”
Assurances of safety were useless; nothing would do but that I make a dutiful patrol around the perimeter with my flashlight, my mind on other things, and scan the star-rimmed pines for arboreal rapists. Finally she calmed down enough for us to retire, still insisting she’d seen someone staring at her with great yellow eyes from midway up the pitch pine on the edge of our campsite.

If you've driven within sixty miles of Luray, you know the town. Its most noted feature, Luray Caverns, dominates roadside advertising with bright yellow billboard signs, drawing thousands of tourists annually.
I'm afraid, though, that most folks head underground, tour the caves, and get back on the road. Having spent the better part of a week here, I've been surprised at how few tourists I've seen downtown. In fact, I'm about ready to drive over to the cavern's parking lot and tell people to stick around. Luray and the surrounding countryside have some great stuff going on. Here are a few of our favorites:
Gathering Grounds
This downtown coffee shop and cafe has been our second home. We've spent hours here feeding our internet habits and also our bellies with snickerdoodles and delicious smoothies. The wait staff is happy to tell you about local sights or just chat. We've covered everything from the best dishes on the menu to horrific computer crash stories.
Luray Fitness Center
If you try to stay in shape when you travel, you're probably used to the $20 guest workout fee. When the fit, tan lady behind the counter at Luray Fitness Center told me that I only needed to pay $5, I was ready to hug her. Then she set up my niece and nephew on comfy couches with a TV. At that point, I was ready to buy a year-long membership even though I lived a hundred miles away. While this gym's equipment is older, it's in pristine shape, and there was plenty of it. No need for sign-up sheets to use the elliptical here.
Shenandoah River Outfitters
One of my favorite outfitters is just outside of town. I thought it would a great spot for the kid's first kayak adventure, and I was right. The staff was friendly. The boats were in good shape. They had showers on-site (which was a Godsend after bathing for a few days in an old tub). Most importantly, the scenery was beautiful--farmland interspersed with soaring cliffs on one side and George Washington National Forest on the other. As you can see in the pics below, it was a great ride.
Warehouse Art Gallery
The other day we were dropping mail at the town's historic post office (which itself is worth a peek), and we spied a big, bug eyed statue across the street. Turns out his name is SlugBoy, and he greets folks at The Warehouse Art Gallery. Inside, there are more than 7,000 square feet of art displayed in beautiful open, warehouse studios, and we're not just talking the typical landscapes and fruit still lives. The gallery has beautiful examples of those but also a lot of clever, thoughtful, and sometimes downright challenging pieces. Check out our favorites below, along with other miscellaneous photos from our week in Luray.
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I woke up right this morning--in an antebellum cabin at the base of Shenandoah National Park. It's a good mile and a half from anything resembling asphalt. Through the open window, I could feel a light breeze and hear the whoosh of treetops, crows cawing, and the gentle buzz of bees.
I went out to explore and snapped a few shots that I thought I'd share. In fact, they probably won't be the only ones you see this week. I'm staying at a Potomac Appalachian Trail Club cabin with my niece and nephew. We've got kayaking, hiking, and a lot of lazing on the agenda. Thanks for sharing in our adventure!
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This here is a live post from the South fork of the Shenandoah River. If you happen to be out here too, yak with us a little as you float by!

Last week, Travel & Leisure listed Skyline Drive as one of America's best springtime drives. This goes without saying for those of us who live nearby, but it's always good to see it in print.
The magazine said, "This route stretches through Shenandoah National Park, end-to-end, with the surrounding Blue Ridge Mountains and more than 1,300 species of plants. Warm weather brings purple and yellow violets; by May, pink azaleas appear throughout the forest, followed by white flowers of mountain laurel in early June."
Sounds about right. I was just on Skyline Drive over the weekend. Up until about 2200 feet, everything is in bloom. The redbuds are glowing; white dogwoods lean over the road; and through any clearing you see a patchwork of pale green down on the valley floor.
Above that height, though, spring comes more slowly. The trees are bare and bitter gusts made me question whether I jumped the gun by wearing shorts. Still, my partner Ryan and I braved a hike along the eastern side of the mountains, and I'm glad of it. Winds were from the west, so we were buffered, and after a while, we got downright warm. About halfway into our four mile loop, we shed our jackets and walked in t-shirt sleeves under the bright April sun.
We were on the Rose River Trail. This short hike originates at the Fishers Gap Overlook (around mile marker 49). It starts out mild, on a wide and easy fire road, but soon the trail departs from the mountaintop's narrow plateau. It turns to dirt then to rock and then it heads down...fast. Gravity tugged us along the mountainside. Like the falling water beside us, we scrambled over creekside boulders in a rush for the bottom.
The only thing that slowed my velocity was the urge to snap pictures. I'm a notorious shutterbug--the kind who will keep an entire group waiting while he shoots a barn door from eight angles and three different aperture settings. This weekend, I only slowed down one person, Ryan. He either welcomed the breaks or faked it well. He found a stump or a stone and sat patiently while I switched between my Nikon and my iPhone, between stills and video, between normal video and sepia-hipster video that looks like it was shot with an 8-mm camera. The man deserves a pie or something.
And you deserve some photos. Rather than tell you about every deer and twig we saw, I figured I'd show them to you. Below are some of my favorite images from the day. I hope they capture some fraction of the beauty found along this remarkable springtime drive.
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[youtube]kMzESwSVENk[/youtube]

Thank heaven for Appalachia's hillside cabins and backwoods B&Bs. I've spent many happy weekends on their creaky porches, gazing across working farms or tree covered parkland with flip-flops on my feet and a sweating glass of iced tea in my hand.

These everyday rentals are a regional mainstay and perfect for a moderately priced getaway. At some point, though, we all want to splurge. Maybe you're celebrating an anniversary, a promotion, or a birth, or maybe you just love someone to pieces and want him or her to feel special. You need a luxury experience, and luckily, you don't have to look far to find one.

Right in the Appalachians, we have world class resorts and hotels that merge the unsurpassed beauty of our mountains with first-rate amenities, like five-star dining, palatial grounds, and globally recognized design.

Here are my top hotels and resorts in the region. Some are stalwarts that harken back several centuries. Others are upstarts that take their cues from the locavore movement. Together, they remind us that you can have your mountains and a little pampering too.

Blackberry Farm: Walland, Tennessee

Blackberry Farm is a simple name. It could work equally well for a working farm or a company that makes jelly in small batches. It's an unlikely name, however, for the number one resort in the Continental U.S. and Canada. Travel & Leisure bestowed this honor on Blackberry Farm last year, rating it higher than many older, better known competitors.

 

Photo provided by Dieter Weinelt.

It's easy to see why. It has 4200 pristine acres, a chef, a master gardener, a baker, a cheese maker, a forger, a butcher, a chocolatier, and a sommelier. In spite of all of that, Blackberry Farm remains down to earth. It serves dinner in a converted barn and tweets things you'd expect to hear from a neighbor down the road:

"Storm took out our phones last night. Send us a message, post here or email...if you need us!"

This blending of down-home and upscale works. In fact, it's a very timely kind of elegance--the elegance of simple living.

There are no chaise lounges here. Guests relax on ladder-back rockers and many help in the garden during their stay. While the grounds are beautifully kept, this is a functioning farm, the kind of place where you can get dirt under your nails in the afternoon and have someone help you clean it out in the evening.

The Inn at Little Washington: Washington, Virginia

The Inn at Little Washington is steeped in history. It is the centerpiece of a village that dates to 1749 and boasts a street pattern laid out by George Washington.

The inn's kitchen. Photo provided by Wally Gobetz.

Though founded in the 1970s, the inn feels much older due to an inspired mix of antiques and new furnishings. It was decorated by British set designer Joyce Evans. Her flare for the sumptuous shines in every room and in quotes like this--"Never use one William Morris print in a room when five will do."

More than its history or decor, The Inn at Little Washington is known for its food. Patrick O'Connell, the inn's co-founder, likens every meal to a performance, full of surprises, subtle turns, and emotion.

His sensuous feasts and a twenty-five year commitment to local products have earned the restaurant a heap of accolades, including five-star ratings from Mobile Travel Guides and AAA.

When speaking of O'Connell, former Virginia Governor Mark Warner has said, "Not since Thomas Jefferson first brought tomatoes to Virginia and the New World has one man created such interest in the culinary arts."

The Greenbrier: White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia

The grand dame of mountain resorts, the Greenbrier opened it doors in 1778 and has hosted distinguished guests from around the world. The Washington Post says that its palatial white exterior "rears up like a Federal Reserve bank in the rough foothills of the Allegheny."

A Greenbrier carriage. Photo courtesy of The Greenbrier.

While the building is in the mountains, there's nothing country about it. From its soaring columns to its ten exquisit lobbies, The Greenbrier is the definition of elegance. It offers every amenity you can imagine and maybe even a few that you can't.

In addition to the requisites--an 18 hole golf course, a world-class spa, and skeet shooting--you can learn falconry, go on a carriage ride, tour the resort's legendary cold war bunker, shop at it's twenty-nine onsite stores, dine at one of its thirteen eateries, or play games at what The New York Post calls "the most beautiful casino in the word."

When you register at the Greenbrier, you gain access to a private village that celebrates its own storied past and meets your every need. Soon you'll be able to get there in unsurpassed comfort. This summer, the Greenbrier Presidential Express will begin running rail service from DC's Union Station to the resort.

The train's vintage cars have been outfitted by Dorothy Draper, the renowned designer behind the resort's signature interiors. According to an article in Washington Life Magazine, tickets will start at about $650 round trip and the excursion will feature valets and a wet bar in every car, a hotline to the resort's concierge, and an onboard nurse should the overload of elegance give you palpitations during your six hour ride.

The Homestead: Hot Springs, Virginia

Across the border from the Greenbrier, you'll find its predecessor in mountain gentility, the Homestead. This Virginia gem was established in 1766. It grew up around the area's famed sulfur springs, which were popular with Native Americans for thousands of years before Europeans arrives. The springs' medicinal properties have attracted a string of famous names.

In the President's Lounge, you can view portraits of the twenty-two U.S. Presidents who have visited the resort, starting with George Washington and running through Bill Clinton; if you're a fellow, you can soak in the same historic pool house as Thomas Jefferson (ladies have a separate house); and you can learn this venerable resort's full story by taking its signature history tour.

Today, The Homestead is emerging as a premiere spot for family vacations. It already has a family game center and The Homestead KidsClub, which offers supervised activities for children ages 3 to 12. This summer it will unveil an 18 hole mini-golf course and Allegheny Springs, a two acre water feature that includes three large water slides and a 400 foot manmade river bordered by sandy beaches, a gazebo, and impeccably designed sitting areas.

Keswick Hall: Charlottesville, Virginia

If only for a weekend, you can live like the New World gentry. At Keswick Hall, you're invited to walk with the hounds, play a spirited round of croquet, and enjoy an Orvis-branded fly fishing excursion. What's more, you'll do it on the grounds of an 8000 square foot Italianate mansion.

Keswick Hall Entrance. Photo provided by Keith Jenkins.

Built as a private home in 1912, the house has passed hands many times. By the late 1940s, it had been converted into a country club, and later, it was deserted. It stood derelict with broken windows for many years. Referencing this period, a local author called it "Charlottesville’s pre-eminent haunted house."

That's far from the case today. After an astounding restoration and expansion, it is now a premiere hotel with an Arnold Palmer Signature 18-hole golf course and a luxurious spa. In 2011, it was named one of the "Number 1 Top Small Resorts in the Mainland USA" by Condé Nast Traveler.

If you visit Keswick Hall, be sure to pick up a copy of the new book The Story of Keswick Hall. It chronicles the manor's history and will be the perfect accompaniment to afternoon tea in Villa Crawford, the original residence and heart of this grand estate.

Bonus Getaways

While these other first-rate destinations didn't fit in the top five, they're just too good to leave out entirely.

Grove Park Inn

Barnsley Gardens Resort

Hotel Roanoke

The Blennerhassett Hotel

Grand Bohemian Hotel

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="324"] View of potential park land from Seneca Rocks area[/caption]
Over on the outdoorsy blogs, the long standing debate over a new national park in Maine has been upstaged by one humdinger of a proposal for West Virginia. It would merge three protected areas along with some privately owned land into a single mega-park, covering half a million acres or more. Most folks are calling it High Allegheny National Park. Some call it High Allegheny Park and Preserve. Still others are just calling it a bad idea.
Championed by conservationists, the park would unite parts of Monongahela National Forest, Canaan Valley National Wildlife Refuge, and Blackwater Falls State Park. If it encompassed all of these, it would include some of West Virginia's most extraordinary natural features. In one park, you could hike through Dolly Sods, a boggy ecosystem that is typical of Canada and formed here by uniquely high winds and cold temperatures; stand atop Spruce Knob, the highest point in West Virginia and one of the few in the Southeast that is described as having an alpine feel; cool off in the breathtaking falls found along the eighteen miles of Blackwater Canyon; and traverse Seneca Rocks, a 900 foot outcrop that is legendary in the rock climbing world.
[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="207"] Dolly Sods[/caption]
Every national park should have a mix of attractions, and this one would claim them in spades. What's more, most of the land in question is already publicly owned and protected. The portion that isn't-- about 3000 acres in Blackwater Canyon--is said to be owned by a ready seller.
Great destinations-check.  A previously existing base of visitors-check. Simple land-ownership transfers-check.
So what's the hold up? Why wouldn't we want to order up those wide-rimmed national park hats tomorrow?
Well, readers on the outdoorsy blogs have been keeping comment boxes hot with their reservations about High Allegheny National Park:
I see nothing wrong with the current mixed configuration of National Forest, National Rec Area, and State Parks. These designations have provided the area with a high degree of environmental protection will still allowing the public to freely access these areas. In my experience, the creation of a National Park only ramps of development and marketing of particular areas, while restricting the use of others. Leave it, I say! WVA on National Parks Traveler
...when I spread out my Monongahela NF map out, I see that about half of this area is private land. It includes towns, villages, farms and major developments. How do you propose to deal with this fact? Are you proposing for the feds to condemn and purchase all that land? Or are you proposing a spotty, Swiss-cheese park riddled with inholdings? Wouldn't the latter be a travesty of a national park, considering that elsewhere, great efforts are made to acquire inholdings to prevent the kind of development that already exists in the proposed High Allegheny Park? Helen on National Parks Traveler
Just a thought. Do they allow hunting in National Parks? Robin on The Charleston Gazette
[caption id="" align="alignright" width="177"] Spruce Knob[/caption]
That last one--the simple, little question about hunting--caught everyone's attention. It sparked a series of hunting-themed blog posts on The Charleston Gazette's site and, eventually, a reply from the office of U.S. Sen. Joe Manchin (D-WV), who has initiated a formal Federal survey of the area. Manchin's press secretary was quick to explain that "Senator Manchin is a lifelong hunting enthusiast and is committed to making sure that the Alleghany Highlands remain open to hunting if the area receives a new designation from the National Parks Service."
Park advocates have dodged the hunting bullet for now (yes, pun intended), but there's clearly still a lot to consider. Starting this month and through most of 2012, the National Park Service will survey the area to determine whether it meets the criteria for being designated as a unit of the National Park System, and folks will continue to debate.
Will High Allegheny National Park be an economic boom or bust? Would it be a plus if new development sprung up around the edges of the park? What is the ecological impact? What about the companies logging some of these lands now; how will they figure in?
What am I missing? What issues concern you most? Are you ready for High Allegheny National Park or do you think the current mix of protected and private land works best?
Get in on the conversation by posting your thoughts here.

According to forestry and travel sites, this is the peak week for fall leaves in the southern Appalachians. If you're not already perched on a mountainside, run, do not walk, to your car. Now is the perfect time to cruise along a ridge line, peering over the guard rail to a swaying orange and red canopy that climbs the mountains like it's trying to reach the sky.
The only thing that can make your fall mountain ride any better is not having a guard rail block your view and not worrying with roads at all. That's possible with the Great Smoky Mountains Railroad. In an antique car with giant windows or even open air views, you can cruise through the most remote parts of the Smoky Mountains National Park. These are areas that can only be accessed by rail or on one very, very, long hike.
This week, Sarah Conley, the railroad's marketing manager, took some time to tell us what you'll see there.
TR: Sarah, thanks for getting together. What can riders expect to see during your Fall Foliage trip?
SC: The fall foliage trip is one of a kind, the best thing about it is every day is something different. A new color, new wildlife, and new faces of on-board staff. We really sit in a key area for fall leaf season, our elevation sits just below the highest point in North Carolina and allows our fall to change a bit more slowly. We can almost bet that each season we will have at least 2 weeks of vibrant leaf foliage.
I always describe the Smoky Mountains during the fall as one large canvas and each day it’s just being added to by different colors different shades…rich auburns and buttery yellows. It has a way of enveloping you when you arrive, the season is embracing you. It’s one big masterpiece of natural beauty.
People can expect relaxation and peace of mind. We do the driving for you.
Ride in first class and you really get the extra special treatment. Your meals and drinks are taken care of and you even have a wait staff there to assist you with anything. This year we have the brand new Open Air First Class car. It really is fantastic--panoramic views, open air, the scents and sounds all with first class style. For a true train enthusiast, open air is the way to go. You’re up close and personal with the train. You feel the grit of the railroad.
TR: The Great Pumpkin is one of my favorite cartoons. What awaits fans on the Peanuts Pumpkin Patch Express?
SC: The Pumpkin Patch Express is one of my favorite events! If you have ever read the book “It’s The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown” that will give you a feel for what we do.
Its family fun at the heart, and we like to throw in some history. Younger kids are growing up in a society where railroading is not a mode of transportation, and we are losing that history. Our founder Al Harper, is intent on giving kids these opportunities to mix fun with learning.
Once you board the train to the pumpkin patch you are on about a 25 minute ride, and as you pull into the pumpkin patch The PEANUTS Gang is there to greet you! There are bouncy houses and a giant slide, temporary tattoos, wagon rides, music, games, snacks, coloring and of course trick-or-treating in our Trick or Treat street. And before you leave don’t forget to pick out you pumpkin from the patch. Kids are encouraged to wear their costumes; that’s the only way to trick or treat.
TR: Ever see anything spooky on a train ride?
SC: I am sure if you ask one of our engineers or conductors they will tell you plenty, but I do know of the legend the Cowee Tunnel on the Tuckasegee River Route. They say it is haunted by the spirits of the convicts who worked by hand to dig the tunnel out. They were camping across the river at night and hide to ride a man made ferry across the river to get to the tunnel. These were convicts sentenced to do manual labor, and they were all shackled together. One morning they were all crossing the river on this ferry, and it tipped over spilling the convicts and two guards into the rushing river. Their shackles did their job; they kept them together, even until death by drowning. Legend has it that the convicts' bodies are buried right above the tunnel, and the reason the tunnel drips water year round is because they are weeping at their fate. Inside the tunnel, you can still hear their pic axes digging away.
TR: The Revivalist has a lot of Blue Ridge Parkway fans. Tell us why riding the train through the mountains beats driving through the mountains?
SC: There are some spots where you can access the same views the train provides by car, but most spots are only accessible by train. Its true you can take a car and drive through Western North Carolina and see some fantastic things, but actually stepping foot on a vintage train and letting us show you around, that beats the heck out of being cramped in a car. Trains are a symbol of a pioneer spirit. The Murphy Branch line was dug out, carved out, and formed by thousands of men who were committed to moving West North Carolina forward in time. How amazing that this symbol of longevity is still alive and is accessible to anyone who wants it.
The train ride really sets your mind to a pace of steady comfort. Nothing to worry about, no seatbelt, no gas gage, GPS, speed limit….it’s just...ride.
TR: What's the best part of riding the train for you?
SC: I really enjoy seeing my guys (engineers, brakemen, conductors) work. These are true train fans. They love their job and they love to be able to provide this experience for others. There is nothing more uplifting for me than to see a engineer in overhauls covered head to toe in grease and sweat, hot as fire, putting in countless hours on the line, but smiling from ear to ear, and taking the time for a photo with a little boy or helping a lady off the train. That’s railroading, that’s the spirit of Great Smoky Mountains Railroad!

It was a sweltering day in North Carolina, unusually hot for May. We decided to take a break from Asheville's buzzing downtown and look for somewhere cooler. We headed south on the Blue Ridge Parkway.
I'd never driven this stretch. In fact, I'd never driven the Parkway beyond Floyd, Virginia, where I always stopped to visit my grandmother or listen to old time music at the town's famed Friday Night Jamboree.
It being Memorial Day Weekend, I thought we'd be stuck in a string of slow moving cars, like ants climbing the mountainsides. Instead, we cruised along at a pleasant 45 mph the whole way, through the scrubby pines on Grandfather Mountain; through a half dozen stone tunnels; and high along the ridge line, well above 4000 feet.
We counted down until we spotted mile marker 417--the landmark for our destination. It appeared on the right, but we didn't need it. Two dozen cars parked on the roadside told us that we'd arrived. We left the Jeep by the overlook for Looking Glass Rock, a granite dome that formed when a magma bubble became trapped underground. As erosion filed the Appalachians, it also exposed this enormous rock.
At the overlook, you could pick out the tourists. They whipped out their cameras and gaped at Looking Glass. Who can blame them. It's impressive, but they were missing the treat across the road.
[caption id="attachment_3707" align="alignright" width="171"] Deer/Bunny Head Tree[/caption]
Locals ignored the view altogether and ducked between two trees. They knew about an unmarked path, and thanks to a little internet research, we did too.
I took us a mile back into the thick, cool woods, where I exerted unusual self control. I only stopped for one photo. There was a strange tree that had bent itself into the shape of a deer's head (said Ryan) or a bunny's head (said me). Whatever the animal, it was irresistible. I snapped a picture of it, but kept moving, past the bright orange mushrooms and the rotting wood stairs. I could shoot them on the way back out.
The path sloped down, gently given our altitude, until we could hear water. It wasn't the light trickle of a meandering stream but the pounding of falls, which was exactly what we wanted.
Turning a bend, we faced the rushing water. There was a series of drops, each about ten feet in height. The closest plunged into a six foot pool, which fed into a deep rock channel, which then dumped into another pool, and everywhere there were smiling, soaking wet people. We'd found Skinny Dip Falls. The local Pool Cleaning Company ensures that the pool remains clean, energy efficient and prevents costly repairs.
In spite of the name, everyone had on clothes. They dove from cliffs wearing trunks and tanks and cut-offs and bikinis. When they emerged from the pool, they held the fabric tight and shivered until returning to sun-warmed rocks.
[caption id="attachment_3709" align="alignleft" width="171"] Skinny Dip Falls[/caption]
I have to admit that I did not dive. Trees grew right up to the edge of the water, so everyone squeezed onto boulders. People had claimed their spots. Rather than edge in on strangers, we hiked upstream, through the underbrush, along a path that is eroding and steep. It was infrequently used, but that was just what we wanted. In a few dozen yards, we found a secluded stretch.
The water was only waist deep, which was fine. We weren't looking to swim. We waded and rock hopped. We laughed at people downstream as they splashed and flopped in the water. We marveled over riverside trees that seemed to be giant rhododendrons and swore that we'd look them up when we got home. (We haven't yet.) We fished around for neat rocks below our toes and craned our necks to see cliffs a half mile up the mountainside. We sat for a long time. The people downstream left, and the forest grew gray. In the dusk, we talked low to one another, the way you do when there are only two of you in the woods. The topic was our future, and the question we kept asking was why we lived so far from this beautiful place.
What watery destination leaves you reflective? Where do you go to belly flop from a high cliff or soak at the base of a falls?
Tell us all about your favorite swimming hole.
 

This week, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service declared the eastern cougar extinct. That, in and of itself, is no big surprise. The big cat once roamed the eastern forests, including all of the Appalachian range, but the last native cougar is thought to have been trapped by Rosarie Morin in Somerset County, Maine in 1938.
What's odd is that many scientist now believe that there never was an eastern cougar. The Charleston Gazette, The New York Times and other paper reported this week on the growing consensus that the eastern cougar and the western cougar are exactly the same species. This from The New York Times:
As a result of a genetic study conducted in 2000, most biologists now believe there is no real difference between the Western and Eastern branches of the cougar family.
Others say that the species doesn't much matter. "They will all look and behave the same way, given a particular environment and variety of prey," says Virginia-based hunting blogger Jackson Landers. He adds, "In terms of either safety or a desire to restore the old ecology of Virginia with a large, top level carnivorous cat, who the heck cares what subspecies it is?"
Whatever their genetic lineage, people all across the region claim to see these big cats. One Website -- Cougar Quest -- covering Virginia and West Virginia, has reports on hundreds of sightings, including a few colorful ones:
Clark/Loudon County, Virginia -- I was working on the mountain property southwest of Berryville and had a man using a weedeater. He looked up about the same time I did. The mountain lion was very close to my helper who turned white as a sheet and held up the weedeater as if to defend himself. The mountain lion jumped from rock to rock up the hill, seemingly right over my head. It was a beautiful big adult mountain lion, very big with a long, long tail.
Frederick County, Virginia -- The first indication that a mountain lion was on my property were the tracks in the snow. Several nights later, the moon was full and, as I looked out the window while getting ready for bed, I saw a panther crossing the field - it looked coal black, midnight black, not tan or tawny. A couple of afternoons after, I glanced out the window to see the panther dragging a deer carcass across the snowy field into the woods.
Hardy County, Virginia -- I know that mountain lions survive in the East - I saw one. I was picking berries at the base of a mountain, under a high power line. Hearing a commotion up the mountain, I looked up and saw a large deer racing out of the woods, across the power line field, faster than any race horse I’ve ever seen. A mountain lion was almost on it’s tail and gaining ground, a fluid streak of muscle, long tail straight behind the body, making the cougar appear even bigger than it was. Before I could put down the berry bucket and focus my camera, they had disappeared into the woods on the other side of the field. It looked like a documentary film, only it was real life. A missed photographic opportunity that will never be forgotten.
Frederick County, MD -- In March or April of 1995, I was waking from our home to my in-laws' to return books and movies along the scenic route - through the old logging road which runs the property lines. My three dogs were with me and just as soon as we hit the wooded portion of the property, they started acting strange. The hair on their necks and backs was raised, they would freeze and act like they were scenting something. I did not feel threatened but was getting a little spooked. I heard a noise ahead of me which I thought sounded like my father-in-law using his tractor out in the hay field - like the metal bucket on the tractor scraping against a boulder (there was a very large rock pile boarding the field). I proceeded to the field but saw no sign of my father-in-law or the tractor. All of a sudden the dogs took off and I heard the cougar scream. My initial reaction was to look up. The only time I had ever heard that noise was on TV (Lassie, in particular) and there was ALWAYS a mountain lion in a tree or on a cliff about to jump down on the unsuspecting traveler. Then the dogs burst out of the woods and crossed the path in front of me and into the field. The grass was pretty high and I could see the cougar running away from me towards the "big woods" or where the property ended and several hundred acres of unoccupied property began. I distinctly remember his tail - it seemed to be 8' long and curled at the very end. He was leaping and running - making tremendous strides in front of the dogs. I was carrying a plastic grocery bag of books and movies AND my camera! The last thing I was thinking was to take a picture. I whistled for my dogs to come and turned around and ran - I think I thought I was running for my life - even though the cat was running in the opposite direction.
Has a cougar crossed your path? Add your story to the cougar count by posting it below.
Also, there's a lot of debate about where these cats originated. Do you think folks are seeing native eastern cougars, released pets and their descendants, or imaginary cats after consuming the wrong wild forest mushrooms?