Tag: slide transfer

Slide Show: Rosie Handy’s place.

There is a spot on County Road 693 in Montgomery County, Virginia, where the road follows a sharp ridge, with drop offs on either side down to a tight meander of the Little River. I drove that road for the first time in April, sometime in the late 1970s, on my way to the village of Snowville, where there is a bridge over the river, and access for collecting insect and water samples. As I came around a bend that day I was astonished to see an entire hillside covered with brilliant pink phlox (Phlox subulata). 

I had to stop. And I met the owner of this remarkable display. Rosie Handy was already in her late 80′s when we first talked. She lived alone, and she made a very meager living selling her phlox. Over the years we became friends. I would stop by whenever I was near, she would invite me in for coffee, and a chance to marvel at her arrowhead collection. In those days she still walked fields near her home ― always after the first hard rain after plowing ― looking for arrowheads and points. I even have a few knapped pieces of quartz that she gave me, though she never parted with her better finds, and she never told me where her best collection sites were located. We were friendly, but she kept her secrets. 

We made a habit each spring of visiting when the phlox was in bloom. It became a favorite spot for cold-weather early spring picnics, or a place to take visitors from out of town. Her field was perfect for growing phlox: scoured and rocky, with a slope to the south. The visual impact of a pink half acre (0.2 ha) is hard to describe. Our friends always marveled. 

I don’t remember what year we made a trip and found her gone. If there was an obituary in the Roanoke Times I didn’t see it, and we never read the Pulaski or Radford papers. And there was no one I could ask how she fared. I’m sure we spoke of family connections, but I don’t know whether she had kin to care for her, or if she died alone. 

When I pulled these slides from their box I went sleuthing on Google Earth to be sure I could still find her house. But even that seems to be gone. You can see for yourself. The house and field would have been at  37° 2’22.53"N /  80°33’3.16"W. There is a much newer house there now. And I can see the contours of the old field, though the land has obviously been groomed and graded, and the phlox is gone. My question to those new homeowners would be, why would you want a boring green lawn when you could have had carefree pink, if only for a few weeks each spring?  

These images are digital captures from Kodachrome 64 slides, taken during blooms in April and May, 1978 – 1982.

Slide Show: Rosie Handy’s place.

There is a spot on County Road 693 in Montgomery County, Virginia, where the road follows a sharp ridge, with drop offs on either side down to a tight meander of the Little River. I drove that road for the first time in April, sometime in the late 1970s, on my way to the village of Snowville, where there is a bridge over the river, and access for collecting insect and water samples. As I came around a bend that day I was astonished to see an entire hillside covered with brilliant pink phlox (Phlox subulata). 

I had to stop. And I met the owner of this remarkable display. Rosie Handy was already in her late 80′s when we first talked. She lived alone, and she made a very meager living selling her phlox. Over the years we became friends. I would stop by whenever I was near, she would invite me in for coffee, and a chance to marvel at her arrowhead collection. In those days she still walked fields near her home ― always after the first hard rain after plowing ― looking for arrowheads and points. I even have a few knapped pieces of quartz that she gave me, though she never parted with her better finds, and she never told me where her best collection sites were located. We were friendly, but she kept her secrets. 

We made a habit each spring of visiting when the phlox was in bloom. It became a favorite spot for cold-weather early spring picnics, or a place to take visitors from out of town. Her field was perfect for growing phlox: scoured and rocky, with a slope to the south. The visual impact of a pink half acre (0.2 ha) is hard to describe. Our friends always marveled. 

I don’t remember what year we made a trip and found her gone. If there was an obituary in the Roanoke Times I didn’t see it, and we never read the Pulaski or Radford papers. And there was no one I could ask how she fared. I’m sure we spoke of family connections, but I don’t know whether she had kin to care for her, or if she died alone. 

When I pulled these slides from their box I went sleuthing on Google Earth to be sure I could still find her house. But even that seems to be gone. You can see for yourself. The house and field would have been at  37° 2’22.53"N /  80°33’3.16"W. There is a much newer house there now. And I can see the contours of the old field, though the land has obviously been groomed and graded, and the phlox is gone. My question to those new homeowners would be, why would you want a boring green lawn when you could have had carefree pink, if only for a few weeks each spring?  

These images are digital captures from Kodachrome 64 slides, taken during blooms in April and May, 1978 – 1982.