The bike trail in my home town of Glen Dale, W.Va., tools along the Ohio River for about 3 miles to Moundsville, W.Va., the town where my mother and father both grew up. The trail ends at a boat launch under a highway bridge, construction of which took my father's childhood home.
It was a grand old home with 12-foot-high ceilings, pocket doors into the parlor and dining rooms, a built-in china cabinet that extended from floor to ceiling, a large main stairway, a narrow back stairway out of the kitchen, built-in benches and fully paneled walls in the entry and a wooden mantlepiece around the parlor fireplace.
Every time my husband and I ride the trail, I bemoan the loss of my grandmother's and grandfather's home. I wish I could have shared it with my husband and son, even moreso, I wish they could have met my grandmother.
On this summer's trip to West Virginia, I learned something new about my family history, thanks to my brother's presence. He had taken his wife for a tour around Moundsville to show her the sights, which included the home of my grandfather's parents. My great-grandparents lived two blocks down from my grandparents in an even older home that still stands.
The next time we biked the trail, my husband and I stopped to take photos of the home on the corner of 14th Street and Lockwood Avenue. I wondered what it was like when Michael and Mary Novel lived there.
