April 2014: Chasing History and Hill Country in Appalachia

A Weekend in Virginia and West Virginia with My Brother

Reuniting in the Blue Ridge

Over a long weekend, I flew to Richmond, Virginia to meet up with my brother, who was living in Charlottesville at the time. Our goal was simple: to explore the Appalachian backcountry, dive into American history, and maybe uncover a few legends along the way.

This was actually my third time visiting Virginia. The first was back in junior high on a school field trip to Washington, D.C. and Williamsburg—my earliest taste of the state’s deep historical roots. The second came years later during a short layover on the way to the Middle East with my friends Dan and Tim, when we stopped in Washington, D.C. to see my brother Jesse and our friend Frank. That night, we reenacted the champagne-drinking scene from Old School on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, toasting to each other under the stern gaze of President Lincoln’s statue.

The boys and I drinking champagne at the Lincoln Memorial

Lincoln Memorial

Dan and Frank toasting with a bottle of champagne, Old School style, at the Lincoln Memorial (Note: Frank did not drink) 

April 2014: Chasing Ghosts in the Appalachians

A Brush with the Past—and Trouble—in Virginia and West Virginia

A Weekend of Exploration

On this trip to Virginia, my brother, his girlfriend, and I set out to explore the historic and wild lands of the Appalachian Mountains. From Civil War battlefields to abandoned mountain homesteads, we wanted to chase echoes of the past. We even crossed into West Virginia, hoping to stumble upon traces of old-time moonshiner culture.

At first, it felt like nothing more than a nostalgic road trip—wandering through history. But soon, it turned into one hell of an intense travel moment.

The House That Nearly Got Us Shot

A Mistake in the Forest

Driving near one of Virginia’s bloodiest Civil War battlefields, we spotted a weathered old house. No doors, no signs, vines crawling up the frame. It looked frozen in time, straight out of the 1800s. Of course, we couldn’t resist pulling over.

Inside, the floorboards creaked under our feet as we admired the peeling walls and imagined who had once lived there. Then my brother suddenly motioned—urgently. I knew instantly something was wrong and that someone was coming.

I slipped out the door—only to find myself face-to-face with an angry old man, sidearm at his hip, demanding to know what I was doing on his property

A Heated Confrontation

We had trespassed without realizing it. There were no gates, no fences, no signs. But the man was furious, and armed. I tried to stay calm, apologizing and explaining that we thought the place was abandoned.

He told us the house had been in his family since before the Civil War, and that looters had recently stolen his grandfather’s headstone—his grandfather who, he claimed, had fought in the war. This definitely earned my empathy, and I shared this with him. Slowly, he calmed, but not enough to let us go. He blocked our car with his truck and called the sheriff.

“You’re lucky you didn’t trespass on my neighbor’s land,” he growled.
“The cops would’ve been calling your loved ones.”

The Sheriff Arrives

Two Boss Hogg–looking deputies rolled up, chewing tobacco and giving us the kind of squint you’d expect straight out of The Dukes of Hazzard.

“Did you go inside the house?” one asked.

I lied and said no. My gut told me admitting it would mean an instant trespassing charge. The whole time, I was hoping they wouldn’t ask to see my camera—because the photos made it pretty obvious I had been inside. Good thing they never asked.

After a long, uneasy pause, the deputies finally told the landowner that without posted signs, there wasn’t much they could do. They warned us to stay off private property and advised the man to put up proper signage. At last, we were free to go.

Lesson Not (Quite) Learned

You’d think a near-death-by-hillbilly-gun would have cured us of ghost hunting in abandoned houses.

But no.

Later that same weekend, we prowled more forgotten places—this time an overgrown estate with a family graveyard dating back to the 1700s. As we wandered between the crumbling headstones, the night turned eerie. Suddenly, we heard what sounded like a pack of hounds being released.

Panic hit. We bolted through the moonlit woods, deer scattering as we crashed through the brush—running like kids in a horror movie, hearts pounding, laughing and terrified all at once.

The old house from 1800’s no longer lived in that I entered when the owner intercepted me with a gun

An old cash register inside the house

Crossing into West Virginia

Deeper into Appalachia’s Past

After our close call in Virginia, my brother and I continued driving over the Appalachians into West Virginia, following winding mountain roads that cut through misty valleys and ridgelines.

• Along the way, we passed more forgotten homes, dusty small towns, and Civil War battlefields, each one whispering remnants of a bygone era.

Another Old house in West Virginia  

Another Old house in West Virginia  

Mountain stream 

My brother and his friend Kaitlyn

Appalacian Mountains

McDowell Battlefield: A Quiet Place with a Violent Past

One battlefield that really stood out to me was the McDowell Battlefield. Unlike the more accessible sites we visited, this one required a hike of a few miles along a peaceful wooded trail. The path, shaded by tall trees and alive with birdsong, felt like a sanctuary—almost too serene to believe it had once hosted bloodshed.

But beneath the beauty lay a violent past.

This hillside was once the scene of brutal combat, a clash that divided the local community itself. Men from the same town—and even the same families—fought on opposite sides. Neighbors became enemies. The Civil War didn’t just split a nation; it fractured the most intimate of bonds.

One sign at the site featured a quote from a veteran that perfectly captured the heartbreak of that moment:

“The 31st of Virginia came close to the 3rd, saluted them, called them by name… and then proceeded to slaughter them.”

That chilling line said it all. Standing there in the quiet, it was hard to imagine the gunfire and screams that once echoed through those woods. But the history hung heavy in the air, a powerful reminder of how deep the scars of civil war can run—even in the most peaceful of places.

McDowell Civil War Battlefield