Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Charleston, West Virginia

          The drive from Harrisburg to Charleston was the longest distance between capitals so far. Although I had been warned in general to avoid interstates in favor of more scenic drives, I decided to take the highway for this portion. At least in the case of I-79 south, the interstate proved to be wondrously scenic as well. I dipped into valleys and rolled over hills as the afternoon carried me west. I traveled through tunnels that carved paths through the base of mountains. Each turn in the road revealed a new rainbow of vegetation, sky, and clouds. The scenery was so pleasant that the ride seemed to take no time at all, and before I knew it, I arrived at West Virginia’s capital city.
            The hotel I had chosen a few days before was just two highway exits before downtown. It wasn’t lavish, but very clean and comfortable. It was at check-in that I experienced my first taste of southern hospitality. The kind woman behind the desk looked me in the eyes, smiled, and called me ‘honey.’ To some, this may not be a huge deal, but as familiar as I had become with the anonymity of the higher population density of New Jersey, it was like a breath of fresh air. I immediately felt welcomed and appreciated, and I was in a considerably better mood for the rest of the evening.
            It was getting late and I was unsure of where I should go for dinner, so I went to Harding’s Family Restaurant next door. It was less than an hour before closing time, so I was a little nervous when I walked in and half-expected to be treated like an inconvenience. Much to my surprise, the waitress was just as welcoming as the lady at the front desk, and could not have been friendlier. It occurred to me that my apprehension comes from growing up in the Tri
-State area, where it is an unspoken rule to avoid going to any restaurant too close to closing time for fear of being treated poorly. Once again, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief to be in an area where hospitality and kindness comes before personal convenience. Sure enough, my meal was excellent, and I returned to my room with a renewed faith in the compassion of the human race.
The next morning I returned to the same restaurant for breakfast, feeling optimistic after my positive experience the night before. It was mid-morning and the place was packed. I ordered a standard breakfast of eggs and bacon, and when the waitress brought the meal over, she took a look at the bacon, and asked if it was crispy enough, because she could bring it right back if I would like it a little more done. Again, I was surprised by how attentive she was. I have never had a waitress make absolutely sure I was happy with what I ordered before moving on to her next table. She did not have to make the effort, but I could tell that she really wanted me to have an enjoyable meal. After eating, with a full stomach and a positive attitude, I set out for Charleston.
I drove down to the Capitol building, just a short distance from my hotel. It was situated in a square that was about three city blocks in size. The complex housed a memorial for the major wars of the twentieth century, the Capitol, the State Museum, and various other state government buildings. In the front of the State House, which faces the canal, a large statue of Abraham Lincoln surveyed the street with wise serenity. The inscription read, “Abraham Lincoln Created the State of West Virginia by Proclamation and Signature.” And beneath that, “West Virginia Joined the Union June 20th, 1863.” When I see any depiction of Lincoln, I always get the impression he is about to say something incredibly profound. This statue was particularly moving, because without him, neither the ground that I was standing on nor the building behind his frozen form would be a part of the state of West Virginia.
            As I learned from the two friendly women at the tour information desk, there were no guided tours available that day, but I was free to walk around as I pleased. I soon discovered that they were doing some sort of painting or restoration work in the Senate chamber, and I could not see any of it at all. The House of Delegates Chamber was traditional for a State House, not overly decorated, and quite unremarkable. The rest of the building, at least what I saw of it, was a simple reflection of its state. The inside of the dome was painted a plain royal blue with skylights at the top to illuminate the rotunda. An enormous chandelier with countless lights hangs from the center of the dome, and I could only imagine the ordeal it must be to maintain and clean it, let alone replace a light bulb. The walls were of plain stone without much decoration, and although the dome has the same dwarfing effect that most do, it was not particularly appealing.
             I left the State House and walked down a shaded sidewalk to the State Museum. It turned out that that West Virginia State Museum was far more informative and interesting than the State House itself. There one can learn about West Virginia’s unique path to statehood during the Civil War. The people of Virginia wanted to secede from the Union, but the communities in the western portion of the Commonwealth felt differently. With Lincoln’s approval in April of 1863, West Virginia became its own state two months later, shortly before the Battle of Gettysburg. It is the only state that formed by seceding from a Confederate state. Because of the political nature of its formation, and its location, West Virginia reflected some of the deepest cultural divisions over the Civil War and its history. Despite this turbulence, many citizens in the region were adamant in their wish to remain in the Union.
            The culture and attitude of West Virginians is also evident in their state motto. In Latin, Montani Semper Liberi means ‘Mountaineers are always free.’ Joseph H. Diss Debar, the same man who designed the state seal, suggested it as the state motto. It is difficult to think of a phrase that could better encapsulate the ideals of West Virginians; rather than be forced into seceding from the Union to perpetuate the practice of slavery, West Virginia became its own state in order to claim its independence and that of its African American residents.  It is an impeccable example of American autonomy that the rest of the nation should be proud of.
            After exploring both the Capitol and the museum, I was ravenous. Just a block away from the Capitol Complex was a restaurant called the Bluegrass Kitchen. As I walked around the building from where I parked, I noticed a sign in the window that read, “West Virginia is No Place for Hate.” For me, it summed up everything I had learned about the state thus far. In one of the most tumultuous times in our history, West Virginia felt so strongly about the rights of people, the importance of equality, and the value of maintaining the Union that it seceded from a Confederate state. Other southern states had similar divisions, like East Tennessee and central Texas, but only West Virginia broke apart over it.
            It was the late afternoon and the restaurant wasn’t very busy, but there were a few tables of smiling people enjoying their meals, laughing, and conversing with each other. Modern paintings decorated the walls, each one composed in a slightly different style than the last. Right behind the table I was sitting at, there was a handwritten list of titles and their corresponding prices. The ceiling seemed unusually high for a restaurant, and had a kind of industrial pattern to it. None of the individual elements of the room seemed like they would go together, but somehow there was harmony that is difficult to describe. It was a perfect example of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts.
My mind was still turning over the discoveries of the day, and I was somewhat absent minded when the waiter came to the table. He must have picked up on my mood, because he was not very talkative either, but he was kind and professional. When he returned with my soda, and I ordered the chicken tostada, he suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, good choice! That’s my favorite! I eat way too many of those.” He smiled, looked me right in the eyes, and laughed in a very real and uninhibited way. I felt like we shared an authentic moment of familiarity, almost as if I had made a new friend that easily. To me, that moment encapsulated all of the interactions I had experienced since entering West Virginia. It was as if every person I spoke to was a friend that I hadn’t met yet. I could definitely get used to this.
            After a very satisfying meal, I was walking out of the restaurant just in time to see a band setting up. I was disappointed that I missed the show, but the time constraints of my travels demanded that I move on. Dragging my feet back to the car, I spotted a young man sitting in a little red car with the back seat loaded to ceiling with drums, and I asked him if he was playing at the Bluegrass Kitchen. He chuckled and said that he was going to a practice session nearby, and that he used to play with this one band regularly, but they broke up years ago. He explained that an owner of a local venue begged them to do a reunion show for Halloween. A sheepish grin crept onto his face, and I wish him luck for the show.
I hit the road, turned up the music, and headed toward Kentucky. The setting sun smoldered above the horizon, lighting up the countryside with golden rays. As the day came to a close, another state welcomed me into its borders.
           
To see the entire photo album for Charleston, West Virginia


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