ABSTRACT
I headed across the Appalachian Mountains one cold spring day, and arrived in Elkins, West Virginia, late in the afternoon. There was still enough light in the sky to see that this was a handsome little town. An historic center with a grid of streets lined with old wooden buildings lay between a rushing river and the grounds of a venerable old college. Beyond lay the suburbs, and the inevitable jumble of supermarkets, fast food restaurants, and car parks. Surrounding all this was fine countryside that was struggling out of its winter apparel. Snow still hung to the high peaks, and the poplars and cherries along the riverbanks were only just breaking into bud. It was still far too early for the tourists who would flock to Elkins when the warmer weather came, and the presence of a stranger in Beander’s Bar immediately attracted the attention of the huge blond-haired barman. What was I doing in Elkins at this time of year, he inquired as he pushed a pint of Guinness across the bar?
