Tom Moses’ Trips – West Virginia, 1885
“When we three [Thomas G. Moses, Henry C. Tryon, and John H. Young] were working together there was a constant stream of talk, not always about art. Tryon was very fond of an argument: one instance: In painting a rock in the water, the wet part of the rock, being so much darker, forms a sharp line on the top of the water. Young and I had always painted a light line – Tryon proved to us that the line was dark and water threw a shadow on the rock. He would lie on his back for hours studying the light coming through the eaves of a red maple. At that time of year the color was fine. He succeeded in making a very effective sketch; the undertone was fine and the cool, grey lights were very effective.
Rattle snakes were numerous. As it was getting rather cool for them, they would get out in the open to warm up. Tryon and I were climbing over a big rock that had been split open, one-half of it rolling down the mountain side. At the base of this rock was a ball of rattlesnakes that was at least eighteen inches in diameter and contained at least twenty-five old and young. A small pebble caused them to break apart and there was an awful squirming for shelter.
On one of our trips we came across a rough, little cabin where we stopped to get a drink. It was occupied by a family of the peculiar type of mountain whites – tall, fair and very gaunt but very hospitable. They invited us to dine. There was something frightful in the desolation of this place. In the front of the cabin was a door yard of wet clay where one or two gaunt hogs were wallowing. Beyond was a stagnant pool surrounded by hundreds of acres of charred, ghastly trunks of burned trees, and beyond these again the pine forests stretched, unbroken and black on every side, covering range after range of mountains until the low grey sky shut down and barred them in. An unspeakable monotony, a feeling of despair, hung over the black and grey landscape. There was not a flower, a waving stalk of corn nor the twitter of ad bird. There were, year after year, only the stagnant pools, the hogs and the enormous, still, sullen forests. Children came and lived a life of indolence, had very little schooling and passed out at an early age, the world no better for their having lived.
The small cabins, nestled against the side of a big rock or hemlock for protection, were, as a rule, very crude. The logs were a good size and carefully chinked with a clay that dries hard; rough stone chimneys, no windows possibly enough air sifts through the chimney. These cabins usually contain two rooms and a small ladder leads up for a person to stand upright, but room enough to put several children in. As it never gets very hot during the summer, it is not hard on the children.
We saw several looms under a shed attached to the cabin. Many of the mountain women are expert weavers and are kept busy, not only on their own clothes but those of the neighbors as well. There are enough sheep raised to furnish the wool for the necessary clothing and no more. The small gardens produce enough for the wants of each family. The men manage to raise enough tobacco for their own use, and as both men and women smoke and chew a large quantity must be grown.
Most of the corn is made into “Moonshine” – what little is left is used for food. With all the poverty and desolation we heard no complaint. We regretted that we were unable to make a linger stay for we were beginning to be deeply interested in the country.”
To be continued…
