The Morgantowner: Calhoun County, West Virginia

Today, Tuesday, July 12, will mark four years that Joe and I have lived in Morgantown. I set out to visit one county per month within three hundred miles of us, and last month I visited Cabell County, West Virginia, my forty-eighth county. This month's county is Calhoun, West Virginia. The county seat, Grantsville, is 115 miles southwest of Morgantown, far enough that I might stay overnight. Our budget being what it is, and with summer's late sunset, I thought I would go and come back. The county's population is only about 7,500 and Grantsville, the county seat and largest town, has fewer than 600 souls living there. I visited Monday, which looked to be the best weather of the week.

Calhoun is what people think of as the "real" West Virginia, off major roads, the smaller state roads following rivers and creeks with tiny villages along them backing up to the mountains. Most of West Virginia is more urban than this. Calhoun County is fifty-second of fifty-five counties in West Virginia in population.

I left home at 9 A.M., and I was in Grantsville by 11:30. I like how obvious small towns are. There is the courthouse, the post office and the library, all within a block of each other, and a Main Street, with whatever stores there are. I started at the library, and asked the pleasant young woman what she would do with a day in Calhoun County? She seemed flummoxed by the question, but she suggested getting a sandwich at the market across the river (the Little Kanawha, as it turns out), then going to Calhoun County Park and sitting out in the nice weather on a picnic bench. There were two chain fast-food restaurants in town and a little local restaurant, where I would have eaten had the librarian recommended it. I walked two blocks up Main, and found a dollar store and a chain drug store. There was also a locally-owned drug store, and a chain auto parts place. While there is no historic district, there are a few historic homes. Named for U.S. Grant, the town didn't exist before the Civil War. I did notice thriving mimosa trees in peoples' yards, like my father planted on the front lawn of our house in Baltimore. These trees are native to Asia, and while there are a few in Morgantown, they are damaged or die back if the weather gets too cold here. There were also flowering bushes that I rarely see in Morgantown. My impression is that the winters are unlikely to be as cold as Morgantown's.

The people I saw were pretty much West Virginia stereotypes. I didn't see anyone who was not Caucasian. There were a lot of overweight people, tattoos, pick-up trucks. The used car lots featured Pontiacs and Saturns from the 1990s. I saw maybe five Confederate flags displayed throughout the county. People lived in old bungalows, mobile homes, and a few suburban-style comfortable-looking houses. There were abandoned buildings including an imposing stone former school building along the river, and vacant barns. This is not a wealthy area. The few people I spoke to were polite and kind.

I took the librarian's advice. On State Road 16, the main north-south road in the county, just over the bridge from Grantsville, is a Foodland Market, crowded, with a deli counter. They sell a brand of fried chicken, make sandwiches, and had some prepared lunches. The lady at the counter was concerned about my indecision and asked if I needed help. I picked up a complete lunch box and a peach, wanting something fresh, and headed for the park.

I took a side road before the market and found a boat ramp and fishing spot down the river. I snapped a pic of the river and headed back down 16 to the park. I parked off the gravel road by a shelter with benches where I ate lunch. It was getting warm and humid by then. Much of the park looks like reclaimed mine land, a hillside with grass and no trees, and a barren playground. Closer to the river there is a forest, and the pavilion I picked was on the edge of it. My lunch box had a turkey and cheese sandwich, a bag of barbecue chips, two cookies, and a bag of Capri Sun drink. I skipped the bread, but ate everything else. I took the clamshell packaging home with me, as there was no place to recycle. The trash cans had heavy covers on them to keep wildlife out. There is a trail in the woods, and I walked just far enough in to get a picture. The bathrooms were outhouse-style with no running water. Ick.

I headed south on Route 16, thinking I should have gotten gas in town. I saw a convenience store with gas pumps, but the store was closed. I passed through several villages, some with natural gas facilities, a few with small stores. Eventually, I reached US 119/US 33, a two-lane road that cuts through the middle of the county. I found the one National Register spot in the county, an octagonal church along 119/33, just north of 16 near Millstone.

I was worried about gas, but kept on, moving out of Calhoun County to Clay County. I finally found an Exxon station/convenience store at the I-79 intersection. The gas was more expensive than most places, and I couldn't get the pump to work. It kept asking me for my rewards card, which I don't have. The woman in the store (Smiley's) came out to help. She called me "Honey." I was in a foul mood. I have boycotted Exxon since the oil spill in Alaska. And I was in Clay County, where a clerk called two women applying for a marriage license "an abomination" and got away with it, and the school superintendent said he would not follow the Obama administration's guidelines about letting trans kids use the bathroom they wanted. The woman only saw that I was distressed and probably correctly figured I was overtired and maybe dehydrated; I'm sure she didn't know the rest of it.

Gassed up, I took the Interstate home, 120 miles, arriving just after four, in time to sleep an hour and a half before dinner.

Update Wednesday- I've been corrected. The clerk who harassed the two women getting a marriage license was in Gilmer County, not Clay County. Gilmer is just east of Calhoun County; Clay is south. Thanks you, Brian Powell.