Seeing First-Hand

I’ve written two blog posts on my partner site, markbeck.org (here and here), about the February 2025 flooding in Welch, WV and how it affected the tiny mountain community. Once a bustling center for coal production, the entire region is a mere shell of what it once was and most buildings appear abandoned and crumbling, having succumbed to the economy and the elements.  

By way of disclaimer, my interest in Welch is not simply random.  I was tuned in to this particular location because my wife, years ago, read a news account of flood waters there in America’s poorest county, and wanted to find some way to help. She began by locating charities and sending both monetary donations and goods where they could be accepted.

This continued for some time until she ran across the unique plight of the McDowell County Humane Society.  The use of “McDowell County” is somewhat of a misnomer because the local government doesn’t sponsor the facility. Rather, it’s all run on volunteer labor and donations, under the dedicated purview of one very selfless woman, Sharon Sagety. Sharon almost single-handedly runs and pays for the facility’s operation.

Please take a moment to read this recent news article (and watch the video) introducing Sharon and her Organization.

As we are life-long dog lovers, my wife contacted Sharon and we began trying to help where we could, with shipments of food, supplies, etc. Sharon, in turn, expressed gratitude for even the small amount of help we could provide.  Fast forward to last fall when we received a handful of photos Sharon had taken at a dog-friendly Halloween “trunk or treat” pet adoption event at a Subaru dealer in nearby Bluefield, WV.  She texted my wife that a new stray dog had come into her care that she thought would be perfect for our family, if we’d be interested in meeting him.  This was one of those photos.

 

We talked about it (very briefly—it didn’t take long) and agreed we’d like to visit the shelter and see him.  Granted, it’s a 7+ hour drive from our home and, with our busy work schedules, poorly timed winter weather events (like the severe flooding in February that devastated the area), and coordinating the hectic schedule of a teenage daughter who absolutely would not let us go without her, we knew it would be difficult to get there in a timely way.  So, Sharon happily agreed to keep him for us until we could make the trip.  In the meantime, “Ollie,” as my daughter chose to call him, would receive veterinary care and proper nutrition. We had been a year without a dog in the house and (IYKYK) it was time.

So last Thursday we packed up the SUV with dozens of dog blankets, packages of towels, dog food, dog treats, cleaning supplies, and a few other items to donate to the rescue, and began our journey south and west.  It was an eye-opening drive once we left the relative ease of the Interstate. Most of southern West Virginia (most of the state, in fact) is mountainous, and the local roads into Welch were narrow, two-lane affairs, that wound like goat paths along the rivers. There was a lot of climbing and descending, blind curves, and occasional livestock (and wildlife) on the road. It was slow going. And much of the time we didn’t even have cell service. Given the claustrophobic slopes on both sides, even satellite radio was sporadic.

The journey was eye opening—particularly for my daughter, who had never seen Appalachia. Tiny, impoverished communities of small houses and mobile homes, many abandoned or in disrepair, lined the narrow strip of land between the road and the river.  Some were obviously within the flood zone. The waterways were strewn with debris (trees, building materials, tires, etc.) abandoned by the flood and, most dramatically, clothes and other household items were still caught in trees that bent over the river—sometimes dozens of feet above the current water level.  The damage was surprisingly obvious, and it was sobering for all of us to see how resilient (or resigned) the residents of these low-lying towns must be to deal with such frequent destruction of their homes and livelihoods.

 

At last the GIS alerted us to our destination, the McDowell County Humane Society. [See photos above.]  We turned at the small sign and descended a very steep hill through the trees and bushes to the building and kennel complex at the bottom of the valley floor.  Sharon was there to greet us and let us in the gate, and it was if we’d known her for years, though we’d never met her.  She’s just that kind of person.  While I unloaded the car, my wife and daughter wasted no time getting inside to see Ollie. He “lit up” when he saw them, as if he knew they were coming. Tail wagging furiously, he literally climbed into my wife’s lap and licked him as if he were a long-lost pet. (And to think we were afraid he might not “accept” us as his new family.) It was love at first sight for everyone.

The facility itself is the former (once rebuilt) “company store” for the local coal mine that is still visible (and in operation, see the white buildings in the lower left photo above). It was once accessible from the mine complex through a stone tunnel under the railroad tracks that run right behind the shelter. The ubiquitous coal trains run right through regularly and, when the wind is right, coal dust covers the shelter, and volunteers must clean the kennels and the dogs regularly. Seeing how much work it requires simply to keep a facility like this in operation on donated funding and volunteer help was overwhelming.

We took some time to visit Sharon to talk about her operation and, while she took my wife and daughter to see all the dogs (roughly 60 on site, I think she said, including puppies) and give each one a dog treat, I stayed with Ollie to make sure he knew this visit was going to be different. I sat with him (or, rather, he sat on me) and I got the same face licking my wife and daughter did.  As many of you may know, one hazard of visiting a shelter in person is that we very nearly came home with multiple dogs. So many of them were loving, sweet, and eager to be adopted.  But we knew we needed the time to bond with Ollie and we promised we’d come back.

We’d have liked to stay longer, but we had a long drive ahead. We arrived home in the early evening and had time to get Ollie situated. It has been five days since we met him, and he’s quickly become part of the family and slotted perfectly into our routine. He loves everyone and has become very attached to all of us. And we to him. [See photos below.] 

 

I know this life is very different than what Ollie knew before, particularly since all we know about his past is that he was discovered alongside the road, sick and emaciated, by a driver who thought enough to stop and take him to the shelter.  But I must admit the brief visit to see where he came from has changed us all forever as well. My wife and daughter want to keep saving dogs.   

I’ll add that seeing first-hand (though not truly experiencing, I admit) the natural and economic challenges faced by people in places like McDowell County, my admiration for their strength and dedication has grown immensely.   

I’m also more determined than ever to apply the kinds of solutions I highlight over at markbeck.org to help change lives and protect communities.  Keep watching.

Invisible No More

Recently, my wife and I attended a wonderfully planned memorial service for the young adult son of some friends. While I didn't know the young man, the sadness his parents felt when he passed away last year affected us all deeply. 

During the memorial, fittingly held under a tent on a rainy, gray day, dozens of friends, family members, classmates, co-workers, and neighbors took a few minutes each to relate memories about him. Each spoke from a different perspective--a side, if you will--and added their own personal thoughts about this person I had never met. 

Image: https://www.colorcraze.run/losangeles/

As each individual stood to speak, it was as if each one was tossing a cloud of bright dust on this individual's memory, like occurs during a color run.  As the service continued, a bright, full-color image of this young man began to emerge. It was beautiful.

And as the event ended, I remarked that I felt as if I now saw the "image" of this wonderful person simply from the love and affection that had been heaped on his memory from all sides by those who knew him. 

I left wishing we had known him and I resolved to never waste an opportunity to meet someone new.

 

The Victorian

She stopped in her tracks and stared.  The house was grand. It was downright handsome.  It was older, perhaps even historic—at least it looked that way.  It had its rough edges and a few unfinished surfaces, but its bones were wonderfully fit, and it carried itself with unusual sophistication and confidence on a street lined with relatively plain colonials and contemporary style dwellings.  Many of the others were larger, often surrounded by greener lawns and bigger driveways, but there was something about this house that spoke to her heart. And she was immediately smitten with its charm.

Image source: http://www.homeworkscarpentry.com/

Someone had worked very hard on the details of this house.  It was a stately, two-story swelling that was painted bright, cheerful colors.  It had towering gable roofs covered with slate shingles facing three different directions. The eaves were lined with carefully constructed wooden dentals and ornately cut gable end decorations, and there were shutters lining each window.  The house had one rounded tower that reminded the woman of a castle and, most wonderful of all, it boasted a wrap-around porch where she hoped to place a swing for those lazy summer evenings.

“I’ll take it,” she said, “It’s perfect!”

Soon everything she owned, her furniture and decorations collected over years of renting, was carried through the leaded glass doors and into every room of the house. There seemed to be a place for everything. She hung her paintings, placed her rugs, and tied neat little towels on the racks above the bathroom sink. She purchased some new decorations she liked and brought them home, where they lined the walls and shelves of the house.  In the evenings, music wafted downstairs where she sat admiring the moldings, the carved wood, the colorful baseboards, and the ornate ceiling inlays that supported great bronze chandeliers. Truly there couldn’t be a grander house, she thought. I can’t believe my luck.

Weeks went by. Then a few months passed.  Friends came by and expressed envy at her fortune in finding such a wonderful house. She’d feign modesty and say with a smile, “I guess it’s adequate for my needs.”  She loved entertaining just for the compliments she knew she’d receive.  But she also knew it was a big chore cleaning such a nice house with its ornate details.  Occasionally she’d express frustration under her breath as she reached for the feather duster yet again. At those times she began to wonder if such an amazing house was worth the work.

Then one day she passed a neighbor’s house that sported a large two-car garage. She paused, pulling her car to the curb, and she wondered if she’d be able to get a second car into her own garage. Opening the garage door that evening, she stopped to measure its width.  Sadly, it wasn’t quite wide enough to fit two cars, particularly that new SUV she wanted. “Well, that won’t work,” she said to herself, annoyed that her perfect house was suddenly not so perfect for her lifestyle. “I’ll have a contractor come by in the morning.” And she did.

The contractor showed up bright and early, taking measurements and notes. The garage door would have to be wider. In fact, he suggested the detached garage was in disrepair and, if she’d like, he could give her a price on replacing it with something similarly beautiful. “I don’t want to pay for that. I just want something simple, like my neighbor’s garage.  Can it be built on to the house?” she asked. “Um, sure,” came a somewhat hesitant reply, “but why would you do that?  I think you’d ruin the beauty of this house by doing that. It’s absolutely perfect the way it is. My wife loves this house.” But she insisted and threatened to call someone else who would do what she wanted.  So the builder relented and started work that very day. 

Three months later the old garage was gone and a new, more contemporary, more functional structure with sleek, clean lines and a huge, automatic door had taken its place. The new garage was tied directly to the side of the house, and she loved being able to walk directly from the car to the kitchen without getting wet in the rain.  “That’s more like it,” she told the contractor, smiling.

But there was something wrong. It didn’t dawn on her immediately, but over time she realized that the beautifully decorated Victorian looked strange next to the new garage. The old house needed some work too.  The paint was dated, and the decorative trim was strangely incongruous with the contemporary addition. Without a second thought, she picked up her phone and called the contractor.  Again, reluctantly on the contractor’s part, the projects began in earnest.  Weeks turned into months that turned into years.  As soon as one project ended, she’d ponder how the next would begin.

A decade later, the original house was unrecognizable when compared with its original self. Gone were the bright colors, the slate shingles, the castle tower, the dentals, and facia panels.  The shutters had been removed and the whole house painted a neat colonial gray with white trim.  Even the porch was gone.  Everything that made the house special and unique had been replaced with plain, traditional style and trim--inside and out.  In fact, it almost felt dead inside, like the spirit that once filled its hallways had been stripped and discarded.  The cheer, the charm and grace were gone. 

Unfortunately, by this time, the woman’s love for the house was also gone.  Even though the house was now simply what she had made of it, she was bored with it and felt no more affection for it.  “I’d move and start over,” she complained, “but I’d never be able to get this much space or land for that price again.”  She hated the fact that she felt “stuck” with it.  But it was hers and, though she stayed for many more years, she now regretted buying the house at all.