Fallingwater and into West Virginia

A few years ago I was home along with Laz, our cat, while Kevin was at his residency at Goddard. I was getting reports of impending Hurricane Sandy and I was nervous. Kevin was often unreachable at Goddard given Vermonters wise-- and annoying-- fights against cell phone towers. I get it. The birds and I thank you wise citizens of Vermont. And yet when Kevin was largely inaccessible I was impatient.

I finally got word that he would be home and it seemed, in advance of the storm. I made preparations according to panicked news reports. When Kevin saw, he laughed. Having grown up in Hurricane-prone coastal Virginia, he were used to storms and didn't worry much about them. My brow furrowed.

The storm was intense. When it had passed over, I finally relaxed but Kevin sprung into action. He began removing fallen debris and checking out the streets and neighbor's properties. I was stunned. He knew how to be present and useful, but his timeline was the direct opposite of mine.

This is often the case.

When we travel, I love to read about where we're headed so I have insight and imaginings to place alongside the reality of our experience. Kevin likes to move into something new without any prior impression and then learn deeply afterwards.

When we elected to head to an off-the-grid cabin in West Virginia, I saw that our Ohio Valley destination was only an hour outside of Pittsburgh. I created a route out that included a stop in Fallingwater, the Frank Lloyd Wright design.

First, I picked up The Women by TC Boyle. I loved this novel told through the perspectives of Wright's various companions. When Kevin and I arrived at Fallingwater I had a rich imagining around where Wright was in his life, the various influences on him, and his famous ego rising up against his patrons', the Kauffmans.

Kevin on the other hand, was taking it all in for the first time. A true American artist. Design that was neither of our favorite in actuality, but we loved the urge to be located in the landscape, to find integration.

After touring Fallingwater, we continued our trek west to Pittsburgh. We passed through Squirrel Hill and the Strip, admiring the rivers, before heading further west and into "Wild and Wonderful West Virginia." Yes, we absolutely played John Denver as we passed the state line.

I knew that we had to bring in all potable water for our three night stay, along with bedding, towels, and our food. As is our pattern, I had meal planned, prepared, and packed. Kevin had done far less, but as we climbed up the farm's drive and stole deeper into the woods, he was a far more valuable asset.

 

We hiked 3/4 of a mile into a secluded camp site where we found our temporary home: a one room cabin with a screened-in porch. For cool nights, a wood burning stove. To bathe, a bucket hoisted in an open air shower. Water to wash up around the camp site was pumped from a little seep downhill.

I unpacked what we had brought. Kevin rolled up his sleeves and chopped wood.

I read Appalachian Southern Gothic novels and set that experience against my own quiet reality. We rested in the quiet space between us.