Ancient Ancient Age 10 Year

Bourbon Review #2: Ancient Ancient Age 10 Year

Category: Boutique

Price: $18

Availability: (previously in Kentucky only) Discontinued

Proof: 86, 43% avb

Mashbill: B.T. #2  (higher percentage of rye than the standard B.T. #1 mashbill)

Distillery: Buffalo Trace



     Up for my second review is the Ancient Ancient Age 10 year. And no, thats not a typo. Despite the redundancy, they chose this name for the label because it's....well, more ancient than ancient. Super ancient things tend to go extinct, and that is also sadly true of this label.

      The A.A. brand has been around for the better part of sixty years. It's now being distilled out of Buffalo Trace with three offerings (soon to be two); 1. Ancient Age 2. Ancient Ancient Age 10 Star and 3. Ancient Ancient Age 10 Year. The labels on the bottles look very similar, but the juice inside is quite different. Many people have mistaken the 10 Star for the 10 Year.

     The mashbill used in the AAA 10 year is reported to be the same #2 mashbill used in some of the higher end Buffalo Trace bourbons such as Elmer T. Lee, Rock Hill Farms and Blantons. Don't be fooled by the price tag. Though it suggests "budget bourbon", Jim Murray of the Whisky Bible gave it a 95 out of 100 in 2011. He also said that it was his favorite go to bourbon when he lived in KY.  Jason Pile of Sourmash Manifesto placed it in his superb/outstanding category. Buffalo Trace lists it as there "cult bourbon".

     This bourbon was never distributed outside of Kentucky. My partner in crime sent me this bottle as a Christmas gift shortly after it's discontinuation from Buffalo Trace. There have been circulating rumors for some time that Buffalo Trace was removing this label from the A.A brand. Up until recently, these rumors have been unfounded.

     I decided to cut to the chase and call Bufflao Trace myself. I spoke with Nan Harnice, the Consumer Affairs Associate. She informed me that it had recently been discontinued, and that Buffalo Trace had no plans to bring it back. Reportedly, this decision was made for the purpose of reserving the barrels that would have gone to this expression for blending (small batch) with higher end labels.Upon further investigation, all of the major liquor stores in Central Kentucky had sold out. The cat was out of the bag, and people were buying up the very last of the AAA 10 Year. Fortunately, I was able to pull from some of my KY resources to obtain an extra bottle despite the fast growing extinction of this once cult classic.  

     Since we are on the topic of Ancient Age, I have a story for you. My father-in-law is a life-long fisherman. If you visit his apartment, it will become immediately evident to you upon arrival that he collects, and is passionate about, all things fishing. You would be hard pressed to find a square inch of wall space that is not adorned with mounted fish, vintage fishing equipment brands and even fish pomes.....No Joke! Knowing of my interest in bourbon, he gave me this vintage, Ancient Age plastic mounted bluegill advertisement/home bar decoration. I can't think of a better time to share this lovely gem of a find with you!

     During the course of this review, I changed the status of this bourbon no less than three times! It went from my "Go-To" category, to semi boutique (when I learned that it was only available in KY), to boutique (when I discovered that it had ben discontinued altogether). It's truly sad that this fine expression of bourbon is gone. Honestly, it's difficult to think of another bourbon that delivers as much complexity for the price. If it were sticking around, it would certainly compete for my #1 go-to spot.


   

     Overall: the AAA 10 Year is wonderfuly balanced from start to finish. Rating it on a scale of one to ten, Colonel's Score is between a 7 and an 8. Thats a full step up from last weeks review of the Weller 12 year. The thing that bumps it up a notch for me, is the unique, bright citrus notes both on the nose and pallet. My wife also tried this bourbon and she said, "this would be the perfect bourbon for a topical vacation"! It has a perfectly harmonious blend of sweet, spicy and fruity notes working beautifully together.

     I wish I could tell you that you could run out and grab a bottle, but your chances are slim to none. I'm only glad that I was able to discover and review it before its complete extinction. Ancient Ancient Age 10 Year, gone but not forgotten, R.I.P.


   

W. L. Weller 12 Year

   Bourbon review #1: W. L. Weller 12 Year

Category: "Boutique"

Price: $35

Availability: Annual release

Proof: 90, 45%avb

Mashbill: Wheated

Distillery: Buffalo Trace

     
     If ever I have put a bourbon on a pedestal, before even giving it a sip, it would be this one. This is due to the following factors;

     1. The History (sourced from Buffalo Trace): A true distilling pioneer, W.L. Weller is credited with being the first distiller to produce Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey using wheat instead of rye in the mash bill. Weller’s original “wheated bourbons” became extremely popular, with a softer, smoother taste. They were so popular, in fact, it’s been said that Weller was forced to put a green thumbprint on his invoices and barrels to ensure that customers were receiving the real deal.

     After serving in the War with Mexico as a member of the Louisville Brigade in the 1840s, Weller returned to Louisville to take part in a family tradition of whiskey distilling. After the introduction of his original wheated bourbon in 1849, Weller, along with his brother, founded a very successful bourbon trading company. Weller marketed his product with the slogan, “Honest Whiskey at an Honest Price.”

     Weller’s namesake company eventually went on to merge with Pappy Van Winkle’s A. Ph. Stitzel Distillery to form the Stitzel-Weller Distillery, becoming renowned for such brands as W.L. Weller, Old Fitzgerald, Rebel Yell and Cabin Still. During the 1960's, bourbon sales plummeted. Many of the once reputable, historic labels were farmed out, and eventually became cheap bottom shelf bourbons. For example, Old Crow, Rebel Yell, Cabin Still, among others. W. L. Weller is an exception. It is now being produced out of Buffalo Trace, with efforts to preserve its original quality.

     2. W. L. Weller 12 year is an old, wheated bourbon. This is a nich category within bourbons. Very few types of bourbon are being produced with a wheated mashbill at an age of post 10 years.

     3. Julian Van Winkle III, the face and pallet of the current line up of Van Winkle products, reported in an interview that he chooses Weller bourbon when he's not enjoying his own. This speaks volumes to me!

      If you’re a fan of the Van Winkle bourbons, it’s only natural to be curious about a bourbon like the W. L. Weller 12 year. After all, they both have nearly the same history, mashbill, age, contemporary distillery and quality control. So, what makes them different? It really comes down to warehouse location on the Buffalo Trace property. Now you can see why I was so excited to try this bourbon, and by extension placed it on a very high pedestal.
 

     Overall: even though I was a little disappointed that the Weller 12 didn’t deliver on the level of a “poor mans Pappy”, its still a very nice old, wheated bourbon. I would certainly recommend this bourbon, although it's getting harder and harder to find. Colonel's score 6-7 out of 10.   

 
        


   

Boutique Bourbon

     Over the last few years, I have really gotten into Kentucky Straight Bourbon. Growing up in KY, I always knew about the typical brands such as Makers Mark, Evan Williams and Woodford Reserve. However, I couldn't tell you the first thing about the history of bourbons, boutique bourbons or the difference between a wheater and a rye.

     That all changed one evening in Lexington, Kentucky, when my best friend invited me out to a nice restaurant to try a very special bourbon. The restaurant was Jonathan's at Gratz Park; well known to have one of the finest bourbon menus in the state of KY. We each ordered a pour of Old Rip Van Winkle, "Pappy 20 Year", Family Reserve, wheated bourbon.

     Above Photo: Chet Zoeller and the Jefferson Whisky portfolio tasting at Jonathan's restaurant.
   

     The moment I took the first sip, my eyes involuntarily closed and a huge grin crept up on my face. It was, quite possibly, the best thing I ever put in my mouth. Prior to this, I had no idea that bourbon could even come close to this level. This single encounter fueled a desire within me to learn, acquire, hunt down and collect all things "fine bourbon".

     A few months after this I moved to Fargo, North Dakota. I was a little sad to think that I would be living in a place where I could only acquire "run of the mill" bourbon. Little did I know that I would be moving to one of the greatest spots in the country for assembling a truly prestigious bourbon collection. Its counter intuitive, and I'll explain why.

   

     Twenty year ago, Fargo was a small, midwestern, agricultural town that grew into a mid size city of now 176,296. Because it's roots are agricultural, it lacks the upscale "food and drink" scene that one would come to expect in a city with a more cosmopolitan population. Geographically, Fargo is four hours west of Minneapolis, four hours south of Winnipeg, six hours east of the oil boom, and a few states north of the bourbon belt. Fargo has a large enough population to bring in good distributors. So, what does all of this mean? Basically, Fargo  is where you want to be come bourbon season.  It boils down to one fact; I just don't have to contend with a lot of competition in Fargo. Let me explain this in practical terms. My friend in Lexington might be on a waiting list of three to five-hundred people for a specific limited release! In Fargo/Moorhead, I'm on a list of 35 for that same release.

     Bourbon season, or "hunting season", as its often called, is that special time of year when we bourbon hunters get our game faces' on. This is a small window of time each year in the Fall, when limited release bourbons are distributed. If you wait until the Fall to try and obtain some of these highly prized labels, you've waited to late! Some of these bourbons do not even go to the store shelves.

     Each state is a little different, but let me explain the basic protocol.  The labels go from the distillery,  to the distributor, then on to a liquor store manager's office. The store manager will call folks that are on a waiting list (if you live in a state where they have a list system). Many stores won't hold these bourbons. It's a first come, first serve system. Depending on the allocation, its can be a one bottle to one customer store policy.

     In the case of the 2013 Pappy release in Fargo, they got 15 bottles of Pappy. This means that half of the people on the list did not get a bottle. The entire years supply of Pappy had come and gone in Fargo in 2.5 hours. Seem pretty tough? Remember, Fargo is where you want to be! Compare that to Lexington, KY. My friend arrived at his local Lexington liquor store on the anticipated release date at four AM! He waited in line for eight hours, for his one bottle. He was one of the lucky few. Many more in Lexington were turned away. Not all limited release's are this ferocious.        

     Within my collection, I have two categories; "go to" and "boutique". There are certain parameters that define these categories. I want to make one thing very clear. It's not like I have a "crappy" category and a "prestigious" category. The distinction has very little to do with quality, and more to do with price and availability. If I can find it somewhat easily around town for $30ish bucks or under, then it falls into my go to category. By contrast, if its a limited edition, annual release, requiring a waiting list, or greater than $30 bucks, then it falls into my boutique category. I dont feel so bad to dip into my go to bourbons more frequently, because they generally replaceable. My boutique labels are for special events such as weddings, holidays and anniversaries. All of my bourbons are purchased with the understanding that they will eventually be consumed. In other words, I'm not opening a whisky museum!

     I have learned that one thing is true; price does not dictate quality. There are so many wonderful bourbons out there that are under or around $30 bucks. These labels can be far better, or just as good as bourbons twice their price. Of course, the flip side is that there are expensive bourbons that just aren't that good. How do you sort it all out? To be honest, it does require a fair amount of research and leg work. In order to make these distinctions and formulate opinions, you need to read multiple reviews, get to know store managers, distributors, mark your calendar for release dates, put your name on multiple waiting list, check in regularly, put all of your stores on speed dial, keep a running log of notes and taste, taste, taste!

     Sounds like a lot of work? Not if you enjoy it! You know your on the right track when your local liquor stores bestow you with nicknames. For example, in Fargo i'm known as The Colonel or The Bourbon Guy.

     I would like very much to share some of thoughts on my favorite bourbons with you. I have decided to dedicate a serious of video postings on this topic. It is my hope that you find them helpful. I'm not planning on getting super specific with rating systems. That info can be found easily on line (the whisky bible, sourmash manifesto, whisky advocate). Instead, I might offer a very simple 1-10 scale (1 being the worst, and 10 being the best).  If your not into bourbon, don't worry. I will be returning to my previous blogging format soon. Now if I can only get my video equipment up and running, I'll be good to go!

   

                 
   

The Sadder Songs Session

      If you were in your early 20's during the early 2000's, liked to party and lived within two hours of Morehead Kentucky, then you probably spent a night at Lloyd Woods's trailer. Lloyd was a close friend of mine growing up. He was a college student at Morehad State University during this time. He more or less had an open house/couch/floor policy to anyone with a pulse. My brother was Lloyd's roommate during those days, and therefore an integral part of this scene.

     It was during my brothers extended stay in Morehead, that we started working on a music project. This project included a group of rotating musicians that frequented Lloyds trailer. My brother decided to create a name that we could all work under.  That name was "The Great Went Band." My brother's philosophy for the band was that anyone who passed through the circle of the Morehead scene could contribute to the project. The end result was a circus of a recording featuring a hodgepodge of styles. Though Great Went was lacking in audio quality and narrative, it was a unique opportunity to work with so many different musicians on a project with no rules.

     My favorite Great Went memory was in February of 02, when I lugged an entire drum kit from Hazard to Morehead for a recording session. There was a sense of anticipation in the air prior to my arrival. Lloyd's trailer had become a commune, with a growing fan base of young college students/groupies. Once the word got out around the campus about the recording project, it was only a matter of time before Lloyd's trailer turned into a 24/7 hang out for those wanting to be a part of "something big".

     I opened  Lloyd's front door on that February day, and instantly I was meet by at least six total strangers who knew everything about me. It was like Ringo Star had just walked into the building. This was hilarious to me, because I'm not even a "real drummer". Sure I had taken drum lessons when I was eight, and had only recently picked up drumming again out of necessity during my school of worship. I was like the guy that you would call on in a worst case situation if your official drummer was M.I.A. So, I just put a smile on and played the part. We had a party that night with plans to record the next morning.

     I managed to set up the drum kit in Lloyd's bedroom with the kick drum literally against the foot of his bed. People lined the walls of his bedroom like sardines in a tin can. We would finish a rough take, and people would be grinning from ear to ear, as though they just witnessed the launch of the first Apollo rocket. Despite being completely green behind the drum kit, I managed to turnout some of my best drumming to date. I attribute this to the atmosphere and vibe of the folks crammed into that little bedroom. Its easy to believe your the greatest drummer of all time when everyone in the room thinks you are! These photos are from that magic session.

     In summary, The Sadder Songs session was a fun project with a spontaneous, no holds bars spirit. It was fueled by the enthusiastic college partying scene of Morehead State University. The below link is from that recording session. Enjoy!

http://greatwent.bandcamp.com/track/sadder-songs

Discography

     My first audio recording experience came in the fall of 2000. I was twenty-two and living in Lakeside, Montana. I was a student at a school for worship leaders through a Christian organization called Youth With A Mission. One of our assignments was to write an original song each week. The songs could be submitted as a live performance, or we could turn in a recording. One of my friends had an old-school four track tape recorder with a cheep mic. We all took turns using it.

     For the first time, I began exploring the endless possibilities of multi track recording. I could capture and blend any sound that I heard, weaving it into the framework of a song. Before long, I was climbing up on ladders to record the ambient sounds of steam pipes. I also remember trying to figure out what key the laundry dryer hummed in. It was all fun experimentation. Although my songwriting was rough to say the least, my creative juices were really flowing. I was having a blast! I loved the element of control that recording provided. I could go back and fix a mistake or correct a section of a song until I got it just right. Near the end of the school, I had the opportunity to record in a professional studio with my classmates. It was a fantastic learning experience.

     In January of 2001, my brother moved to Morehead, Kentucky, where he began experimenting with a computer based recording system. When I had completed my worship school, I joined him with the idea of collaborating on a music project. We had both been bitten by the recording bug. It would only be a matter of time before we began working on a full length album.

     It's interesting for me to look back and see how my equipment, recording techniques and general knowledge of recording has changed over the years. Fortunately, its been for the better. I won't write much on that because its fairly technical, and to be honest, boring to read. It would also be redundant of me to simply restate the comprehensive information of each album. All of that info can be found in the liner notes for each project. Instead, my intentions are to give a small chronological overview of each project and included some personal reflection. I realize that there are eight albums, so I will try to keep it brief.

     The first three albums are under the name "Great Went". This name selection was created and used by my brother. This is what he had to say about the name choice. "Before I ever recorded music or played in a band, I had an imaginary band in my head called The Great Went. The name came from a line in David Lynch's Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me when Jacques Renault tells Laura, "I am The Great Went". -Cedric Sparkman.     

Album #1- 2001- Parables: This is an all instrumental soundtrack for a film by the same title. Bretthit Kelley and I fuzed Appalachian instruments like the dulcimer, mandolin and fiddle with middle eastern/Asian instruments such as the sitar, tampura and a variety of ethnic percussion. This entire album was recorded in a one take, one track session. My brother then split the session into ten individual tracks.

  

Album #2- 2002- Great Went: This album was birthed out of the college partying days of Morehead State University. It was a wild circus of a recording project with little to no rules. This is how it functioned; get all your drunk friends together, have them submit songs/lyrics (regardless of the style) and put them on a CD. It was a fun, spontaneous free for all that served to be a great learning experience as well as a musical snapshot into that time period. 

 Album #3- 2003- Man Mountain: One of my favorite projects to date. This is the only album that my brother and I collaborated on from start to finish. My brother created the cover art. All of the songs were written by my brother and myself.

     The album itself is a "concept album" about the larger than life character of East Kentucky native, Silas Bowling. Musically, it's set to the style of jam band/classic rock. Kent Cowell produced the album at his Y.E.S. (Yerkes Experimental Sound) Lab recording studio. He also provided the signature guitar solos, giving the songs a uniform continuity. Though the album has technical issues (particularity with rhythm), it makes up for these with originality. This album was one of the most creative project that I have worked on. Its also special for me because of the unique collaboration with my brother.

     This was the last album under the Great Went title. It marked a turning point  in my musical journey, as I will try to explain.  


Album #4- 2005- The Yerkes Years: At this point I was tired of paying large sums of money to people in order to get my projects produced. The only way to circumvent this is to learn to produce them yourself. The Yerkes Years was my fist solo project, and the first project that did not carry the Great Went name. Because of this, I felt the need to come up with a name of my own. I chose the name Rabbit Fork, thinking that one day I would grow the name into a full fledged bluegrass band.

     Stylistically, I had been moving in a more traditional direction, and this album coincided with the peak of my interest in bluegrass music. At the time I was living in Fargo, North Dakota. During a brief trip home to KY, I recorded with bluegrass musicians. Because my trip home was limited to just a few days, I had no time to fix mistakes or do multiple takes. I had just enough material to put out an EP, with much of the music being more quantity than quality. The lesson that I learned was that despite time constraints, its never worth rushing a recording.

     However, this album did provide the opportunity to work with Jesse Wells. Jesse played banjo and fiddle on this project. This small first  encounter would pave the way for Jesse to ultimately teach me how to play banjo. Jesse's influence would steer my music into even more traditional veins, as I departed the shallow oceans of bluegrass in pursuit of the deeper headwaters of old time.

     The cover photograph was taken in front of my great-grandfather's (Sherman Campbell) grocery store in Yerkes, Kentucky. This building was torn down shortly after the photo was taken.    

Album #5- 2005- Live In Moorhead, Minnesota: This album was released only a few moths after The Yerkes Years. It served in many ways as a live version of The Yerkes Years. The only reason that I truly love this project, is because its the only recording where I can be heard playing with my dad. He is a great guitar player who recorded professionally on many albums during the 80's and 90's with his gospel band, The Cornerstones. Dad's version of Cannonball Rag is my favorite track on the album. Its nostalgic for me because I heard him playing this song countless times while growing up. It also  showcases his talent as a guitarist.

Album #6- 2009- I'm Lost Without Coralee: This was my first traditional Appalachian project.  This was also my first attempt to release a commercial project. By this, I mean that I distributed it to online reviewers and online stores. In fact, County Sales is one of the stores that carries it.   http://www.countysales.com/products.php?product=GRAHAM-SPARKMAN-%27I%27m-Lost-Without-Coralee%27

     The album started out as two separate projects. I had been interviewing my grandparents, as well as recording the traditional music of East KY on the side. Somewhere along the way, I got the idea to combine the two into one cohesive project. I feel that this album ties me, through my grandparents, to my Appalachian heritage. Now all but one of my grandparents are gone. Any time I want to hear their voices again, I just put on this recording. 

Album #7- 2011- Maxi Reynolds, The Very Best: I thought I would try my hand at producing an album. I ended up enjoying this more than I anticipated. I loved having complete control of the creative process without having to worry about the stresses that coincide with being the artist. What many people don't know regarding this project is the plethora of audio formats I pulled from in order to assemble this album. My Aunt Max had sang and written songs over a 37 year period! It took me three weeks just to comb through the endless piles of vinyls, VHS tapes, cassette tapes and CD's. This nostalgic project was intended only for my family.   

Album #8- 2013- The Kentucky Hilltoppers, Live WKIC Recordings from 1949: I again decided to wear the hat of the producer for this project featuring my grandfathers band. I had never before worked on restoring a vintage recording. Martin Fisher of Nashville, TN did a great job with this. The most meaningful part of the project for me, was the opportunity to interview the surviving members of the band. Not only did the interviews inform the writing of my liner notes, but it also gave me an inside prospective that was gratifying. Had it not been for the interviews, a part of my family's musical history would have been lost forever.

     The same folks that picked up my I'm Lost Without Coralee CD are carrying this album as well. So far, it is on its 3rd round of distribution with copies on back-order. I have discovered that there is a niche market for previously unreleased vintage American rural recordings. Bluegrass Unlimited is scheduled to review the album at the end of the month.

     Well, there you have it! I did the math and figured out that I have put out a new album every 1.5 years since 2001. I'm pretty happy about that. I am currently working on an album of mostly original songs that I composed back in 2005, but never put on an official album. This album will stylistically be a mix of Appalachian, Bluegrass and Traditional Country.

     My brother and I have also kicked around the idea of doing a joint project. If this comes to pass, it would be the first time we worked on a project since 2003 (Man Mountain). Albums are very expensive to produce. Because of this, and family obligations, I have had to put many ideas on hold. However, this makes the completion of an album all the more gratifying! Honestly, I have so many projects on the back burner. I'm not running out of musical ideas any time soon!

     Reflection over these projects provides a lot of great memories. It also gives me direction for future albums. So much could be said about each project. For sake of time, I will end this entry. Stay tuned for new projects to roll down the pipeline. If you are interested in hearing any of these albums, you can listen, download, free stream, or purchase them at the following links.

   http://greatwent.bandcamp.com/album/parables

http://grahamsparkman.bandcamp.com/album/the-yerkes-years

http://www.countysales.com/products.php?product=GRAHAM-SPARKMAN-%27I%27m-Lost-Without-Coralee%27  

http://thekentuckyhilltoppers.bandcamp.com/

http://www.countysales.com/products.php?product=KENTUCKY-HILLTOPPERS-'Live-WKIC-Recordings-from-1949'

  

    

  

The Jeremiah Roberts Aadventure

     I think it is fair to say that my dad has always enjoyed history. This took on a heightened level of seriousness in the 1980's when he took up genealogy. The majority of his work in this field was concentrated during the 1990's. His  research lead him to the discovery of my ancestor John S. Sparkman, and John's involvement in the war between the states. It would amaze you to discover how many hours I've spent following my dad around cemeteries, court houses, library's and the Kentucky State Capital. This was all in an effort to document the men who fought alongside John. Much of dads research during these years was compiled for his book "A Sifter Full of Bullets- The Life of John S. Sparkman." 

     My dad joined the Sons of the Confederate Veterans During this time, and soon after became the president of the local chapter. His main thrust within the organization was to set as many tomb stones for the men who fought in the KY 13th as possible. Almost all of these men did not have proper tombstones, let alone military issued stones. Due to their poverty, many of them could not afford manufactured tombstones. They resorted to using large rocks to mark their graves. As one would imagine, this made the locating of these men extremely challenging.

     My dad felt the responsibility to properly honor them for their service and sacrifice.  Upon proper documentation, the US Government will provide a military tomb stone for any US soldier. This also includes Confederates. Over the last twenty five years, my dad and his colleagues have set over 1,300 tomb stones for the men of the KY 13th. Though his work has slowed down recently, it is ongoing. It's a rare week that dad is not in a cemetery, and its a rare month that he has not set at least one stone. Bellow is a photo of my dad dressed in full KY Confederate attire. He wears this suit for special occasions such as reenactments and dedications.  

     During my teens and early twenty's, I went with my dad on many of these stone setting adventures . My dad is not exactly an outdoors-man, so this gave me a unique opportunity to be with him in that environment. It also instilled within me a deep appreciation for my ancestry as well as connection to my home in the mountains. The cemeteries in South Eastern Kentucky are normally located on the highest mountain tops because of the local belief that those "asleep in Christ" would be the first to meet Him in the air upon His return.  Below is a photo of me at age sixteen at a mountain cemetery.

     The following entry was taken from my dads journal regarding a particularly interesting stone setting adventure in 2004. I was living in Fargo, ND at the time, so he sent me this detailed written account. Many of the events in this entry are typical of what you would find on such a mission. I will warn you the tale is long, but worth your time. Midway through some very interesting events unfold. I sincerely hope that you enjoy reading this snapshot of the world I grew up in.   

          THE COMPLETE JEREMIAH ROBERTS ADVENTURE

by Faron Sparkman

     Saturday - June 26, 2004 - Linda worked today at Silk Purse.  Despite a forecast for a sunny Saturday, I woke up to more rain today and the first thing I wondered was - would Tim Harp and I be able to set stones as planned in Breathitt County and Lee County?  It was my wife's turn to work at her interior shop, so when that happens (about once a month) I sometimes get a Saturday free for stone setting.  I was really looking forward to Saturday with the forecast of sunny skies!

      I stopped by the radio station at 9:00 and recorded three Pepsi commercials. Then I drove to Manufacturer's Supply and picked up a couple of bags of concrete mix.  Next, I stopped and got Tim Harp at his house on Sam Campbell Branch and we pointed the truck towards Breathitt County in the rain.  I decided to continue on to Wolfe County for two reasons.  First, I wanted to get to the Wolfe County courthouse before noon and check out all the Ashley land deeds to see what light it may shed on our continued search for William Ashley's burial site.  And two, I needed to visit Bill James and get a copy of his portrait of Captain Henry Swango for our 5th Kentucky Infantry sign. By the time we reached Campton the rain had stopped and the sun began to slowly creep out.  We first stopped at the Dollar Store and bought a new level (Tim left the one I usually keep in the truck at his house) and batteries for our G.P.S. unit.  I couldn't reach Bill by phone or at his new apartment near Evans Crossing in the Methodist Housing Complex, so we drove to the courthouse.  I made my way quickly into the deed room at the County Court Clerk's office - asked for the index to the oldest deeds and soon was taking notes and pulling the books off the shelves.

     We stopped at Wendy's restaurant in Jackson for a sandwich and then drove over to the Breathitt County Library where Tim Harp and I loaded the Jeremiah Roberts stone (5th KY. Infantry - Consolidated) into the back of my truck.  We checked inside the library for Steve Bowling but he was at meeting at Natural Bridge State Park. We then continued on Rt. 52 from Breathitt County towards Lee County.  At Talega, Kentucky on Rt. 52 we took Rt. 708 until we reached Mill Branch Road.   We drove several miles up Mill Branch looking for the Ned Roberts Cemetery where we planned on setting a stone for Jeremiah Roberts of the 5th Kentucky Infantry.  The road changed from blacktop to dirt and there were almost no houses for miles.  We saw no cemeteries and the road continued to grow worse until we came to an unexpected fork in the road. 

     Steve Bowling had written basic directions of how to get to the Ned Roberts Cemetery up until this point, but he mentioned no fork in the road.  He had told me that this too would be an easy stone setting and that we could follow his directions and drive right to the cemetery.  With no one around for miles to ask, we decided to take the left fork.  The road went straight up a mountain.  The farther we drove the steeper and more narrow the dirt road became, but again no houses and no cemeteries.  Nothing.   It took us about a half hour of driving to cover a few miles and eventually as the road continued to show signs of rougher conditions we finally found a turning point and decided to return to the first fork in the road.  All we knew was that we were somewhere on Mill Branch, basically without a clue.

      While returning to the fork in the road we passed our first car.  A young girl about 20 years-old was driving an older red Chevrolet compact and a young boy was her passenger.  The road was only one lane so as we stopped to allow her to pass we rolled the window down and asked if she knew where the Ned Roberts Cemetery was located.  We explained that we wanted to set a military tombstone for a Confederate soldier named Jeremiah Roberts if we could find the Ned Roberts Cemetery.  She smiled and said Ned Roberts was her grandfather and she knew the cemetery very well.  She began telling us how we would have to go to the right at the forks and continue past an abandoned camper, down into the creek, then back up high on the mountain on the other side.  From there she said we would have to walk back down to the creek (there was no road for a vehicle, just a walk path).  After that we would walk until we found an old log cabin in the woods that had been torn down.  She paused and said, "Do you want me to go and show you?"   She could see that I was concerned about being able to find it. I said, "If you've got the time, that would really help us."

      We waited at the forks about five minutes for her to continue up the left fork and find a place wide enough to turn her little red car around.  She then returned and got in front of our truck and as she passed us she said, "Now this road is pretty rough so I'll have drive real slow."   I nodded, I've been driving real slow for 45 minutes.  Just past the forks we passed a small farm but there was nobody in sight - just five big mules roaming around just inside a fence.  Soon after passing the mules the sunlight was suddenly blocked out by a huge cluster of trees as we followed to the left of a rapidly moving creek and alongside huge rock cliffs and caves.  It was really beautiful, like a scene from a place in another time.  The cool darkness of the shade was a relief from the heat of the sun as we watched the water churning up forcefully over thousands of rocks.

      But soon my thoughts changed from appreciating the awesome beauty of my surroundings to being concerned about what kind of road conditions we were about to face.  The girl's little red Chevrolet car angled down a steep bank and into the creek itself which was filled with huge boulders and rushing white water.  I couldn't believe this girl was taking a car into this place. I had my truck in 4-wheel drive of course the whole way but I knew she only had front-wheel drive and just as important was the fact that my truck was sitting up high and her little car was not.

      She tried to negotiate the big rocks by transversing around at different angles.  Sometimes she would run one wheel up on a large rock, slip off, and all but knock the bottom out of her car, but she kept slowly making progress.  I in the meantime was having difficulty keeping my truck anywhere near the center of the narrow, muddy road.  This was made worse by the fact there had been so much rain recently and the dirt road was not only extremely narrow but because of the water was breaking off on the sides to make it even more narrow.  I told Tim this would be a good place for a 4-Wheeler but it was insane for a car - and not even a good place for a truck. 

     With each bend in the creek the road grew worse and worse.  At times we were sliding from side to side across large pools of wet mud, slowing managing our way up and over huge rocks, slamming hard into unexpected deep holes in the water of the creek and then tackling another mountain with tiny narrow roads that were rutted out by deep ruts.  The girl in the car would have to stop and back up and then get the car up to speed before she could make it up the hills with rocks and mud flying into the air.  Tim and the girl's boyfriend got out about ten times to help push her car out of situations with ruts and rocks, as well as breaking down numerous trees and limbs that were across our path.  The narrow road was often saturated on each side with thorns and close green vines and brush that pulled at our vehicles as we made our way forward.   There were several moments when I was pretty tense about being able to negotiate the rushing water of the creek and also I worried about dropping off the side of parts of the road as we continued to the mountaintop.  But almost from beginning we were committed, there was no place at all to turn a vehicle around.  Once through another section of the creek, the young girl and boy left their car just to the side of the creek and told us this was as far as their car could make it and that they would ride in the bed of our truck to a point high on the mountain.

      Eventually, a half hour later, we arrived at that point on the mountain where they signaled we would have to stop.  They jumped out of the truck bed and we learned for the first time their names were Tina Roberts and Ben Estes.  I figured out that the soldier Jeremiah Roberts was Tina's great-great grandfather (the grandfather of Ned Roberts for whom the cemetery was named).  We unloaded the post-hole diggers, bucket of concrete mix, camera, level, G.P.S. device and map of the cemetery.  Next, we took the Jeremiah Roberts stone out of the back of the truck and strapped it to the dolly.  The four of us carrying the equipment began descending a walk path just below where we parked the truck.  This led quite a distance back down another mountain to the creek.  It seemed to me as if we were losing ground instead of gaining, but Tina explained this was the one and only way to reach the cemetery.

      About 15 minutes later we were all standing next to a narrow tributary of the creek.  The water was one thing, but of more concern was the fact that on the other side of the creek were stacked a series of very large logs. There was no way around it, we would have to take the stone strapped to the dolly through the water and then somehow lift it up and over each and every log to get to the clearing on the other side.  That's exactly what happened. With a few quick jerks we splashed through the cool water to the other side and fortunately Tina had led us to a shallow point to cross.  But once to the other side it was slow-going as I got on the bottom side of the dolly and Tim on the top side to lift the 250-pound granite stone with the dolly straight up and over each individual log.  That process was completed and we were once again all four on the ground and the other side of the latest obstacle.

      On this side of the creek the land was a little more level, at least nearest the water.  But one difference was the vegetation.  There was no pathway whatsoever so we began briskly dragging the dolly right through the middle of weed stalks and vines that averaged about five feet in height.  Tim quickly pointed out to me that some of these weeds carried large thorns, some thorns about three inches in length that could easily rip the skin off of you.  So for the time being I forgot completely about snakes and poison ivy and just tried to keep our momentum going while dodging all the thorn bushes on each side of me.  Green leaves of various weeds kept smacking me in the face as we made our way around the base of the mountain.  Tina and Ben were now up ahead of us, removing fallen limbs in our path and serving as our guides.  Once, while Tim and I stopped to rest and laid the stone down on the ground, I looked around behind us in the direction we had come.  That's when I realized how much we were dependent upon our guides, because from that angle to the rear all I could see were the tall stalks of thick green vines and brush.  We could no longer see the creek or even the trail we had descended to reach the creek. Tina at this point turned around to us and said, "This is probably the roughest stone you've ever set."

      Tim and I both reacted with a "probably not" attitude.  After all, I had been on each of the "roughest stones ever set by anybody missions" over the last ten years...Booker Short and Joseph Cobb in Menifee County, Charles Hicks in Knott County, William Arrowood in Johnson County, Riley Webb in Magoffin County, James Carver Allen and William Baker in Breathitt County...all killers that took a whole day each.  So I responded to Tina with, "Can you walk all the way to the top of the mountain where the cemetery is?" Tina said, "It will seem like you're getting to the top several times, but you just keep going straight up.  You can't walk at the steepest part, you'll have to crawl."

      Not the answer I wanted to hear, but I knew exactly what she was talking about!   We had to crawl on parts of everyone of those rough ones I had just thought about.  So at this point in the mission, even though we had driven a long distance just to get to the head of Mill Branch in Lee County from Hazard, and we had taken several hours to find the right road, then slowly had driven up through the creekbed and over a bad 4-Wheeler trail for miles, then dragged the stone for a considerable distance through the creek and over lots of obstacles, I was painfully aware that the worst was yet to come!  What had Steve Bowling gotten us into?  Actually I knew at this point that Steve Bowling had never been to this one.  He received information from a Roberts Family source that simply stated that Jeremiah Roberts was buried in the Ned Roberts Cemetery and he had made a copy of a map showing the arrangement of the various graves within the cemetery.  But I knew Steve had no idea the nightmare we would be getting into!

      We continued dragging the stone on the dolly until we finally reached the old abandoned log cabin that was once owned by the soldier's son, Henry Roberts and later grandson, Ned Roberts.  That was the point where we said goodbye to all remotely level land for good and made a sharp turn to the left and the beginning of an extremely steep ascend up the side of the mountain - straight up.  We were able to get the dolly up only a couple of yards at a time with just the two of us pulling.  As soon as we stopped we were faced with the stone trying to race back down the mountain, and this time there was no third person nearby to "scotch" the dolly for us.  Worse, there was not enough trees on this part of the mountain to grab for.  After about three more serious attempts to strain and move the stone and dolly upwards with all the strength left in us, I knew it was useless.  Useless for more reasons than one.

      No one was more disappointed than me.  I feel like such a failure in these situations when I've put so much time and effort into in, and yet can't see it through.  Had I known what we were getting into, I would have never even considered this one for one second.  Not without a crew and a whole day.  We could have never even found the correct mountain in a million years, especially in the summer time, without running into Tina Roberts.  I was disappointed and even though it was completely beyond my control and ability, I felt anger.  Part of these feelings were because I not only had to face the fact we could not set this stone this day, but I knew how hard it would be to arrange and coordinate a crew to come back later and get it done.  I also knew that we would not have time to set the Cornelius Moore stone we had planned on that day, and I would be getting back to Hazard much, much later than I had planned for.

      First, we obviously did not have the manpower to get the stone up the side of a mountain that high and steep.  Secondly, we still had no idea how far it was to the top, but Tina said it was going to be steep all the way.  She said there were several "flats" that we would come to on our way up the mountain, but as steep as it was at this point, she said it was even steeper near the top.  To make matters worse, if that's possible, it was now 5:30 pm. I've been on these missions enough to know pretty much what we can do and what we can't.  We've taken hundreds of stones up the sides of steep mountains and at times done just about the impossible through sheer will power.  But this late in the day, with just the two of us pulling, I knew we had to call the mission off for the time being.  Tina Roberts was disappointed that I had to make that decision.  For one thing she was concerned that something may happen to stone by just leaving it at this point in the woods.  We were still near the ruins of the old log structure and she said some rough type people sometimes wandered through this area and camped near that site.  They were the type that were known to steal and destroy things and she felt they may try to do something to the stone.  I assured her we could conceal the stone with leaves and limbs and no one would ever know it was there.  That's what we did.  I also explained that I would get in touch with Steve Bowling and Mark Carroll - who possibly could provide us with some more manpower from his R.O.T.C. cadets and connections to other youth programs.  To get this one done, we would need a minimum of four or five people with ropes, and a good early start in the day.  But when I couldn't say.

      We still had to get out of this isolated place in the land that time forgot!  We reversed our steps back down one mountain to the creek and then back up another to where the truck was parked.  Tina Roberts and Ben Estes climbed in the back after I got the truck turned and we took them back down the mountain to the car.  It was a long time getting out of there again of course, with downed trees, boulders, deep mud holes and rushing water, and we had to allow more time for her to accomplish all of this with her little red car.  But eventually we were out of Mill Branch, and back to three miles of gravel road, and then finally the paved road.  We stopped for Gatorade at the first sign of civilization - a mini-mart on Rt. 52 - and then drove from Lee to Breathitt to Perry County.  I dropped Tim Harp off at his house and drove home, arriving around 7:45.

      July 6, 2004 - Tuesday - I finally worked out a date for Mark Carroll to bring his R.O.T.C. cadets back to the scene of the crime.  The next problem was to get word to Tina Roberts and Ben Estes or we would probably be wasting our time plowing through the deep jungle in search of a hidden cemetery.  The problem was Tina didn't have a phone and she had not checked back with me as to when we might return.  I was left with no choice but to make a special trip to Lee County to hopefully catch Tina at home just to tell her.  So this time, alone, I first drove to the courthouse in Irvine to do some research on Confederate soldier Martin Bailey, and then headed out for the garden spot of Mill Branch.  I left the blacktop and returned to the now familiar fork in the dirt road.  Taking the left fork up the hill I proceeded to try and find Tina's house as she had described earlier.  My truck wound around all the narrow passes along the way, but it didn't wind around many houses so there was little chance of asking for directions. Eventually I came to an area where there was a couple of rough looking storage buildings, some junk cars and a little of everything piled along the creekbed and then I noticed two houses not too far apart.  One seemed to fit Tina's blue color description.  I parked in front, went up the steps and knocked on the door but no one was home.  The little red car was absent too.

      Soon after this I caught sight of something quite strange near the house next door.  As best I could tell, a large middle-aged man, who seemed to not be wearing any clothes at all, quickly darted from the front yard into one of the old sheds!  A split second later I saw a woman run back into the house. But by this time it was too late, the man had seen me approaching and I had seen him retreating.  The yard was literally full of chickens and they sounded almost as distressed as I was.  I was not exactly in my comfort zone as I called out something about looking for Tina Roberts.  I wanted to make sure my seemingly legitimate reason for being there was heard over the loud cackling of the chickens.  I also remember thinking it would be difficult to hear a gun being cocked unless the chickens stopped their racket.  And believe me by the look of things that I was a sound I was listening for.

      The man finally stuck only his head around the side of the shed, which pretty much confirmed to me he was naked.  The chickens didn't stop but he finally heard that I was trying to find Tina Roberts.  He said she had gone to town.  I knew that meant she would be gone for the rest of the day, after all it was nearly a day's drive to any town from this place!  It least it seemed that way to me.  I told the naked man I was supposed to meet her to go to the old Roberts Cemetery and that I would leave a note pinned to her door explaining I would be back in the morning.  I quickly left the note and was quite happy to leave that particular scene as peacefully and with as few questions as possible.  I returned home a different way upon an earlier suggestion from Steve Bowling and drove in four-wheel drive straight down a creekbed for a number of miles until somewhere I eventually crossed from Lee County into Breathitt County.

      July 7, 2004 - Wednesday - This morning Tim and I met Mark Carroll and his team of R.O.T.C. cadets, heading out for my third trip to Mill Branch in Lee County.  As planned we drove to the forks and soon met Tina Roberts and Ben Estes waiting in their car. I explained that I had left the note for her the day before after her neighbor explained she had gone to town.  Still not knowing who the neighbor was I chose not to mention his lack of proper attire.

      But then Tina said, "You didn't tell him you were looking for me did you?"  Of course I said I did.  With a concerned sigh she said,  "You shouldn't have talked to that man.  He's a crazy man...He's crazy...he murdered his wife with a shotgun and he's growing marijuana all around his house.  The law is afraid of him.  They won't come up in here." I replied, "Well I didn't know.  I just knew you weren't home and he was, so I thought I had better explain what I was doing.  And Tina...uh...I don't think he had any clothes on." Tina responded, "He's crazy!  He's not even supposed to be here.  He's living on my family's land and we can't get the law to do anything about it. He killed his first wife and he's got some girl living with him, and I'm afraid he's going to kill her."

      I apologized for mentioning her name to the naked man but it seemed at least at this point there was no real harm done, and I had been successful in getting my message to Tina.  I just realized now for the first time that it may have been even more remarkable that I had left that scene yesterday with the naked man and the chickens without some serious trouble.  Somehow I had to get my mind back on the stone setting mission at hand.  I remember thinking but not saying, "Let's get the stone set and get out of here."

      Tina and her boyfriend chose to ride in the back of my truck with the R.O.T.C. cadets.  Although the road ahead remained ever challenging with it's deep holes and big rocks, it was not quite as risky without the little red car leading the way.  We eventually arrived on the side of the mountain to park in the same spot as before.  We removed our same equipment but this time with the addition of an abundance of strong rope and started our hike.  Without the heavy stone in tow we made it much faster to the base of the mountain and soon discovered our stone waiting for us under a covering of leaves.  Mark Carroll shouted out the military commands just as an Army Lieutenant Colonel should, the cadets grabbed the ropes, and with a lot of extra horsepower on tap this time, the stone was jerked with force up the side of the steep mountain quicker than I could imagine.  Before anyone could even catch their breath, Mark would immediately start another "1-2-3" and the next thing you knew the dolly was going up and over the rock cliffs that were practically straight up and down at times.  Tim and I had much different roles this time, he was wielding a machete to cut a path ahead of us and I was the photographer. 

      When we reached the summit I felt like we were standing on Mt. Everest!  I wanted to plant a flag and send back pictures to National Geographic.  No disappointment this time, all smiles all around...Tim, Mark, Tina, Ben, the cadets, and me, all smiling.  We found the spot, dug the hole, planted the stone with concrete mix and took group pictures. I recorded the G.P.S. coordinates for this place just in case another crazy person in the future wants to visit, but I thought it probably won't be visited by the police and certainly won't be visited again by me!
      

     Although I could not locate the actual photo that was shot at the close of this story, I found this one of my dad and crew taken on a similar adventure.  

Twin Rocks

     There is a small place that exists in the mountains of East Kentucky. Untouched by the destructive nature of strip mining, yet so close its unnerving. A place that is pure and original. The creek beds still run clear. You can do a three hundred and sixty degree spin and not see any traces of modern technology. It is Perry County's best kept secret.

  In the 1940's, an Evangelical Free Church purchased a large piece of property called Twin Rocks in a remote corner of Perry County. It was named Twin Rocks because it has two large boulders that mark the entrance to the property. Over the years, the church used it to host christian camp gatherings. However, the church did not change or develop the land aside for building a few small cabins at the base of the camp. This property is as wild and natural today as it was one hundred years ago. The church that I grew up in now owns Twin Rocks. My pastor and his wife live in a small house near the entrance to the camp.

     In order for you to appreciate just how special this place is, you must first know this: East Kentucky is a land torn between great beauty and great despair. The ancient mountains that run through this corner of the state are known as the Cumberlands. Jean Ritchie describes them in her book Singing Family of the Cumberlands: "They rise in long, gently arching ridges, one following another and one beyond another as far as the eye can see. Because of there shapes they have been given local names like Razorback Ridge, Devil's Backbone, and Longbow Mountain. To stand in the bottom of any of the valleys is to have the feeling of being down in the center of a great round cup. To stand on top of one of the narrow ridges is like balancing on one of the innermost petals of a gigantic rose, from which you can see all around you the other petals falling away in wide rings to the horizon."

     Though the mountains are beautiful, their inhabitants have notoriously struggled, effecting the region in negative ways. For the record there are natives who hold down good jobs, have nice houses, automobiles, and a reasonable quality of life. I was fortunate enough to grow up in one of these families. There are also those who fit the bill of the poor, white, Southern Appalachian stereotypes to a tea. These downtrodden folks are raised in a generational cycle of social backwardness, obesity, abuse, are poorly educated, and heavily rely on government assistance. The more rural parts of East Kentucky have larger populations of these struggling people. Twin Rocks is about as rural as you can get. Yet, these folks are not in the vicinity.

     Another negative issue effecting this region is strip mining or mountaintop removal. It's consequences reek havoc on the landscape and environment. I grew up playing and hiking in the mountains. Over the last few decades, each time I've gone home I see another mountain leveled by strip mining. Since the turn of the century, the coal mining industry has been the largest sustainable source for employment in East Kentucky. Strip mining is a more effective means for harvesting coal when compared to traditional deep mining. The coal companies are able to expose an entire seam of coal by literally blowing up the top of a mountain. Though this method proves to be most efficient and economical for the coal companies, it scars the landscape, liquidates regional biodiversity, pollutes the water tables and leaves behind a toxic dust which is harmful to breath.

     East Kentucky is now facing a new future with tighter regulations from the EPA, combined with the cheaper cost of natural gas and renewable energy on the forefront. In 2008, the United States reported 50% of our electricity usage was from coal consumption. Three years later, we consumed 1,003 million short tons of coal which accounted for 42% . In 2012, we were at 40% which is the lowest its been since World War II. It is projected to fall to 30% by the end of this decade. I am happy to see these results, but I am sad for all the folks in East Kentucky who are losing there jobs. Coal companies are currently laying off thousands of employees across the Southern Appalachian coal fields. An already economically depressed region is getting slammed hard. As one would imagine, natives are by in large pro coal. They feel the government's "war on coal" is trying to take away their livelihood. It is a sad and complex situation.

     My final point has to do with the concept of solitude. If you go to any Kentucky State Park, you will find plenty of natural beauty. However, I feel that it takes away from the experience when you have to share the view with three hundred other tourist and onlookers. It seems to be increasingly difficult to find solitude in nature these days. Especially in a relativity populated state like Kentucky.

     What does any of this have to do with Twin Rocks you might ask? Twin Rocks remains isolated from tourism, mountain top removal and impoverished holler dwelling folk. It is not protected by state of federal government. It is completely off the grid even from local folks (aside from my home church congregation). It is in my opinion, an endangered species among geographical locations. I wanted to give you the entire background so that you could fully appreciate how rare it is.

   My parents had told me a lot about Twin Rocks, since their church purchased it earlier last year. My mother, who was sick with breast cancer, spoke fondly of the place. The church was planing to have a special birthday party for her at the camp, but she passed away one day before. While walking the property with my Dad, he couldn't help but think of my mother and how she would have enjoyed spending more time in that environment. The following is an account of my first experience at Twin Rocks.

     It was April the 6th, 2012. I made the two hour trip in from Lexington to Hazard. While in Hazard, I reconfigured my camping gear and picked up a few necessary supplies.  Hazard is not exactly beer capital of the world, so I was excited to find a six pack of St. Pauli Girl Beer. 

     I arrived at Twin Rocks around 1:30pm and parked my car as far up in the holler as I could drive. It was a sunny, April day. The sky was blue with a slight chill in the air. A gravel road gave way to an old wagon road leading up the steep mountain and winding out of sight. It didn't take long for me to locate a camping spot. I hiked about 10 minutes up the twisted road, which was more like a trail, until I came to a clearing by a stream. From there, I could not make out any of the dilapidated cabins or my preachers house. They were much further down the mountain, completely out of sight. From where I stood, woods surrounded me on all sides. The pleasant sound of a mountain stream trickled down a rock bead. I unloaded my gear and made plans to scout out the rest of the property before setting up my camp. 
   

     I have always enjoyed running. One of the best ways to get a good feel for the lay of the land is to run it. Usually, in East Kentucky when you go on runs or hikes you have to know where you are going, or else you might end up on someones property. Folks in the hills can be territorial. Depending on what time of the year your in the woods, you may stumble upon someones patch of pot. That's not a situation you want to be in. Marijuana is Kentucky's number one cash crop with 95% of it grown in the hills of East Kentucky. I have encountered folks with guns in the woods while on hikes, ready to shoot over there patch of money. Its never a comfortable experience. 

     I don't have to worry about that at Twin Rocks. The church owns the entire expanse of property. Prior to my run, I walked back down the mountain to speak with my pastor regarding the parameters of the propriety line. We were in the bottom of the holler. He pointed to the ridge of mountains that encircled the camp and said "you can run the whole ridge line and still be within the property." To give some prospective on this, just to climb to the top of the mountain would take twenty minutes to half an hour moving at a fast clip. I normally run about an 8ish minute mile. Its slightly slower for trail running. I was able to run for a solid hour through the hills and not see repeated scenery.

     The run itself was invigorating. The mountain sides were so steep in places, that I could reach out and touch the ground in front of me. At times it was more like climbing than running. The feeling of trail running takes me back to my childhood. Darting through those same woods that I grew up in is such an interesting fusion of sensations and memories. It is if I am instantly transported back to a ten year old boy who truly believes he is a ninja. After my run, I had to get my tent situated before dusk. I also started a fire in preparation for dinner.

     Everything was in order. It was chilly and getting colder as the sun ball dropped quickly behind the mountains.Visually, I could make out the black silhouette of a distant rolling ridge against the plumb purple sky. The fire smacked and popped in the dry night air. My hands held a warm bowl of udon octopus soup. I sat crouched on a large rock slurping up every bit.

     After dinner, I nursed back a few beers by the flickering light of the orange glowing fire. My banjo provided some entertainment (or harassment) for the local population of squirrels and birds. I ran through a set of songs that would have echoed through those same woods a-hundred years prior. I played and sang until my fingers became unresponsive with numbness and my fire was dying down.

     I retreated to my tent and took out my laptop in preparation to watch my favorite movie, Blade Runner. I wrapped myself under several layers of warm blankets and snacked on M &M's during the show. There is something very magical about watching a movie like that alone in such a location. When the movie had ended, I lay awake in the dark listing to the sound of squirrels scampering across the dry leaves on the forest floor. High above in a tree top, a hoot owl sang me to sleep; his calls becoming softer and dimmer as I faded into unconsciousness.

     The morning after was fairly routine. I resurrected my fire in order to make coffee. I had a granola bar and some dried fruit for breakfast. I packed up my belongings and loaded up my car for the trip back to Lexington. The following is a short video clip taken that morning. The cabins in the clip are in the lower part of the camp where there is generally more development.


     It would be a dream come true for me to someday build a small, primitive cabin high in the hills of Twin Rocks. Sometimes, I catch myself daydreaming about it. The only road to get to my cabin would be a dirt wagon road (too small for a car.) This way, folks would ether have to walk up the mountain or ride a mule if they had belongings to transport. I like the idea of leaving technology behind and retreating back to a simpler place.

     I remember when I was small, we lived in a holler called Laurel Fork. During the winter, sometimes the steep mountain road would freeze over. We would just park our cars at the foot of the hill and walk up. It forced us to get some good exercise, and It was never considered troublesome. The below photo is of a cabin built in 1827 in Knott County Kentucky. My ancestors were born and married in this house. I would love to have a similar construction for my cabin.

     The cabin itself would be constructed traditionally with hand hued logs. It would feature a wrap-around porch, with an awning as I love to sit outside when it rains. The porch would include a few straight back rocking chairs and a swing. These chairs would have Appalachian quilts draped over the backs. Porches are pleasant places to sit with friends and family, play music, or socialize. The interior would feature a central kitchen with a cast iron pot belly stove. This stove would not only be a cooking/baking tool, but also provide heat for the house in addition to the fire place. I would prefer not to have electricity hooked up to the house. Gas lanterns would be mounted on the walls. I would have running water for convenience in order to strike the perfect balance between old world and new. The walls would also be adorned with antique photographs of my ancestors.

    
     This cabin concept includes a small garden for fresh produce. A garden would also give me an opportunity to have an alternative means for exercise, fresh meals and the use of my mule for plowing. I would also love to have an old wash tube behind the house. If you've never taken a hot bath outside on a summer night, then your missing out. You can just soak and sip on a glass of wine. Insects chirp and drone a symphony of sounds while Fire-flys light up the dusky-dark sky.

     I realize that all of this is much to romantic to fit the bill of reality, therefore, I would be happy to settle for 50% of what I wrote. To have a place at Twin Rocks would be fantastic, let alone a mule, garden and all I have described. I am also a little concerned about my churches involvement with the land. I hope that they don't develop it in ways that diminish its natural uniqueness. I have no control over this. I do have a secret hope that it remains changeless. From a far off place, (Fargo North Dakota) I will keep my eye on a remote corner of Perry County that most folks in Perry County have never heard of. Only time will tell the future of Twin Rocks.