ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Saturday, July 13, 1996 TAG: 9607150125
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-17 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: MARTI MCCALLISTER SPECIAL TO THE ROANOKE TIMES
I came to Claytor Lake by accident. Sort of. Unless you believe in synchronicity. Which I do.
For months and months I had been looking for the little, out-of-the-way cabin on a river or a creek that I could rent for an occasional weekend. Of course, it had to be perfect. And cheap. And, of course, it didn't exist.
I needed to find it to resolve my grief. It had been more than a year since my parents had sold our family cabin on the Greenbrier River in West Virginia. All my life I had had that getaway. Water. Mountains. Peace and quiet.
Was it possible to experience withdrawal when an escape was taken from one's life? I needed my own space. But it didn't exist, and I had stopped looking.
I hadn't checked the classifieds in the Current for weeks. I don't even remember what I was reading in the paper. Maybe it just fell open. But somehow, there it was.
Never had I looked under "Apartments." I had experienced enough of people walking on my ceiling or listening to my footsteps.
But the classified ad was there. Two bedrooms, a bath and a half. And it had the magic word: fireplace. Before I could give it a thought, before I had considered that this was full-time rent on a full-time place, my fingers were pushing the telephone buttons. And the next day, I was here.
I can't remember exactly, but it took about 90 seconds before I commanded: "I'll take it. Don't show it to anyone else. Please. Can I give you a deposit?"
The apartment (actually the end unit of a town-house row) was me. I had seen myself there before. I had to have it.
There was the balcony and the patio both overlooking the lake, with the mountains on the other side. And a beach. A white, sandy beach. And a fireplace.
But what about pets? What would I do with Pumpkin Drop, the kitty that had appeared on my back doorstep last November.
But Pumpkin would be OK with an extra $100 deposit. A week later, I was here.
I have always accepted synchronicity. When things are meant to be, we know it. When things are meant to be, we accept it. I have a beautiful, new place to live. Water. Mountains. Peace and quiet. Pumpkin haven. Are there really any accidents?
Less than a quarter-mile from my front door is Claytor Lake State Park, my very own walking paradise. Since I moved here in the late winter, I've averaged walking six days a week and I've stopped making excuses.
The park is very quiet at 6:45 a.m. The main roads and paths offer incredible variety and my daily walks have become regular little adventures.
Will I see the deer in the first field this morning? Will the early morning fishermen to be launching their boats? Will the elusive blue heron show itself?
For several weeks, I monitored the raising of the sunken cruise boat docked at the park. I've followed the busy work of several families of squirrels who seem less than impressed by my presence. And I'm eagerly watching for ducklings and goslings to appear, swimming behind the pairs of water fowl that greet me each morning.
The morning walks have been anything but routine, and I foresee nothing but more adventure ahead as I watch the park come to life this summer.
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