The world's only ass-kicking machine

In the second half of the 20th century, many families piled into their station wagons, threw the luggage in the trunk and hit the road for the great American vacation. With the advent of the family road trip came gas stations, rest areas, eateries, and of course, the roadside oddity.

Twenty-foot dinosaurs, hay sculptures, the World's Largest Artichoke and a plethora of water towers as far as the eye could see beckoned the highway traveler.

Here at Smith Mountain Lake, you can find our own claim to fame in the book of roadside oddities -- The World's Only Ass-Kicking Machine (although it can't be verified that this is the only one in the world).

In the mid 1900s, R.P. Boothe, a long-time resident of Burnt Chimney, did some traveling. He, like most Americans, probably enjoyed the adventure of the open road. On one particular trip, Boothe came across a weird machine he remembered well -- an ass-kicking machine. Upon his arrival back home to Franklin County, he decided he had to have his own. Building the machine for his own purposes became something of a hobby for Boothe.

That was at least 45 years ago, according to landlord Annabelle Beckner. She couldn't remember what year Boothe built this roadside oddity, but did recall, "It's been here as long as I've been here -- in Franklin County." Beckner said.

To get the contraption to work is easy, according to Beckner. She explained that Boothe had built a water reservoir nearby. The reservoir is "green," meaning it could be considered energy-efficient by today's standards.

The reservoir collects rainwater and when operating is opened up to release water to power the wheel. Once this machine gets going, watch out: Two large adult-sized boots swing into action ready to kick any willing participant in the ... well, you know.

Boothe, 95, now lives in Florida, far away from his invention. His house was sold in April, prompting the question: Could this be the end of an era or at least this local roadside oddity?

Harris Ferguson, the real-estate agent who handled the sale, said the new owners would keep the machine in front of their otherwise conventional-looking, two-story, brown house.

As you drive through Burnt Chimney, slow down and look around. You may see a small white gazebo with a water-powered wheel attached. And if you find yourself with an unruly houseguest or an uncooperative husband, the machine will be there to deliver a message for you.

I hear it's a real kick in the pants.

-- Amy Hanek

The lake's little tugboat

There are a number of workboats plying the waters of Smith Mountain Lake, but one stands out. It's the classic red-and-black tugboat the crew of Michael Dillon Custom Docks uses to help work its magic with pilings and planks.

Michael Dillon isn't sure how this particular tug ended up at SML, where he discovered it eight years ago. But he does know that it has an ocean-going design, and he suspects it's seen some saltwater service.

The boat sat idle for several years waiting for Dillon to get around to restoring it -- a project that included rebuilding the engine, rewelding much of the steel keel and applying more than a few gallons of paint.

Now it's back floating again, its three-cylinder Detroit Diesel and two-foot diameter prop managing to move a 20-by-50-foot barge with crane from one work site to another without breaking a sweat.

"She's a real workhorse," Dillon said of the boat, "and she takes the daily banging around she gets without complaint."

-- Jerry Hale

Divine intervention

As you enter Sandy Level, you might notice an antique store, a post office, a gas station and even a church or two. This sleepy little town just south of the lake doesn't draw many tourists during season, but if you drive down a hidden road just off Virginia 40, you can find something interesting enough to write home about.

Crossbow Road, a one-lane, loose gravel path, cuts to the right off the main road and leads any adventurous traveler through a thick forest of trees. Just when you think you must have misunderstood the directions, among the oaks and pines you will discover Sandy Hill Missionary Baptist Church.

At first glance, this church might seem like any other. It is small with white siding -- typical for any small-town community.

But wait. Look a little closer and to the right.

Upon closer inspection you will find this place of worship offers more than just the regular Sunday service. Thanks to a member's donation, everyone entering the church may gaze into the eyes of Jesus, bow their heads and pray.

To the right of the entrance, on display is a life-sized, plastic statue depicting God's only son.

A local member said despite the church's historical look, this is actually the new church -- not the old one. She couldn't remember when the original church had been built (it's not standing today), but when asked about the age of the new church, she responded, "Lord, I don't know -- 'bout a hundred years."

The Jesus statue, on the other hand, is only eight years old. Standing at just above 5 feet, this figure may seem a little odd to most; its heart is exposed and appears to be bleeding. The member I spoke to revealed that this spiritual asset has no special significance to the church or its pastor -- only to the person who provided it.

So, the next time you are in search of a little divine intervention from above, remember you may not have to look up to the heavens. You may find what you are looking for, tucked along a small country road along Smith Mountain Lake.

-- Amy Hanek

Gate greeters

There are more than a dozen eagles standing proud, guarding the driveway entering this large peaceful-looking estate. The owner of the gate and surrounding property was not available, but a neighbor just down the road in Penhook, just south of the lake, said she drives by the house every day.

The neighbor, who wished to remain anonymous, said she and her husband have not only enjoyed their view of these patriotic symbols from Smith Mountain Road, but recently have become concerned about them. Lately, they've noticed vandals have broken or destroyed a few of the eagles.

The neighbor, who hails from the Northeast and wishes to remain anonymous, said she believed the decorative eagles could be considered a "Staten Island thing."

"There is a mansion in New York, and I mean a mansion -- over 15,000 square feet ... and their compound is enclosed by iron fences and brick pillars. On top of the pillars are the same eagles. There are dozens of them. Perhaps this is their summer place down here?"

Regardless of their significance, these decorative symbols of American freedom might be simply paying homage to our country in their own special way.

-- Amy Hanek

'No Fishing Boat'

Around Smith Mountain Lake, you are sure to find lots of trees. If you look close enough, you may find almost the same number of boats. There may be just one place though, to find a tree growing inside of a boat -- along White House Road.

As you speed along the east side of the lake, going south, look to the left. It's pretty easy to find this unusual tree. Finding anyone that knows anything about its origin or owner -- well, that's a different story.

Perhaps almost as well-known as the tree is Nancy Brown, the artist who presented an original oil painting, "No Fishing Boat," to the local art scene in 2007.

Brown began winning art contests at 12, making painting and sketching a lifelong hobby. She and her husband began visiting the lake eight years ago and were intrigued with this roadside oddity right away. Four years later, they were able to retire here, making Brown's hobby a full-time passion.

Brown said she doesn't know how long the tree has been on White House Road. It was "there in 2000 -- at least 2000," she speculated.

Brown said she began capturing this anomaly with some plein air sketching, with colored pencils. Taking her pictures and sketches, Brown went home and began painting -- one of her first projects as a retiree.

"When I retired in 2004, it was one of the first scenes I sketched. I usually sketch with colored pencils in plein air, and sometimes those sketches turn into oil paintings. Here at the lake, I see scenes for paintings everywhere."

So, it happened that after many sketches, "No Fishing Boat" was eventually done in oil on canvas and sold to a local art co-insurer, Nancy Bertolino, at the 2007 Smith Mountain Arts Council art show.

Bertolino, the owner of a new local gallery -- Soaring Eagle -- lives part time in New York and keeps the painting along with other local works on display for everyone visiting the shop to enjoy.

Smith Mountain Lake residents should consider themselves lucky. There are two places to find a tree inside a boat. One will be hanging on a freshly painted wall in an air-conditioned gallery and the other ... well, you may just have to take the chance of making contact with poison ivy. Whether you are searching for the real thing or a creative rendition, you can find either as you drive around the lake.

-- Amy Hanek

Burnt Chimney

Anyone living around the lake might remember the first time they heard the name Burnt Chimney. It's an odd name. You might guess that the name is derived from American Indians or from the color of the red clay found under the grass.

The town's name originated from a real burnt chimney.

Found along Virginia 122, where Virginia 116 and Burnt Chimney Road intersect, standing in the shade of a tree, is the chimney. It has endured -- despite the Buzz Inn and Burnt Chimney Plaza being built on either side.

According to Marlin J. Bowman, a long-time resident of Burnt Chimney (since 1969), this chimney is not the original burnt chimney. He said the original chimney was located across the street. It was torn down years ago when the Jones Garage was built and where the bank stands today. Bowman said he knew the second chimney's origins stemmed from a log cabin owned by a family near the original.

Where the original chimney came from might have to remain a mystery. Local lore has it that a plantation once stood in the middle of Virginia 122 and that this was the kitchen. Another speculation is that the original chimney once heated the Burnt Chimney Academy, a small local school serving this quiet community decades ago.

Wherever these chimneys once stood, you can pull over along Virginia 22 and visit the history and this town's namesake between these two parking lots. The contrast between both worlds -- the past and the present -- may be the oddest of all.

-- Amy Hanek


Sandy Level mausoleum

Family burial plots are common sights in Southwest Virginia. Some have headstones dating back to the Civil War, the names and dates weathered. Others are newer, with carved and polished headstones.

But in Sandy Level, one family plot stands out. On Dr. Mease Drive, off Virginia 40, a white marble mausoleum stretches to the sky, its ornate copper features faded into green.

It is the final resting place of Dr. Monsey Edgar Mease, Dec. 22, 1880-Aug. 13, 1967, for whom the road is named, and his wife, Annie C. Edwards, Aug. 11, 1886-Sept. 6, 1956.

Their son, Monsey Mease, who lives in Sandy Level with his wife, Janet, said the graveyard includes family members and some of their tenant farmers. Each is marked with a headstone. As for the mausoleum, Mease said it was his mother's idea.

"I heard him [my father] say that his wife [she] had a fear of being buried underground," said Mease. "That's why he decided to buy the mausoleum."

Mease said his father received his medical degree from Medical College of Virginia in 1905. He operated a general practice in Sandy Level from 1905 to 1955.

After their first house burned down in the 1930s, Mease said they built a new one on the road that bears his father's moniker around 1936. The home/office still stands, with the doctor and his wife's mausoleum positioned across the street. The couple may be looking over the homestead still.

-- Laurie Edwards

Mr. B's Campground

For those locals racing to Westlake to run some errands, Brooks Mill Road can be considered a pretty fast thoroughfare. Two lanes, with a double yellow line painted down the center. The speed limit is 55 miles per hour.

This speed would be fine if you were headed to Kroger for this week's groceries or to the marina for a little lunch. But if you are looking for Ponderosa Campground, you might need to hit the brakes and slow down a little or you'll miss it.

On Ponderosa Road -- off Brooks Mill Road -- you will find the entrance to Ponderosa Campground. There is a sign designed to greet you as you enter.

It's not just any sign. It reads, "No Bad-Mouth Language, No Bank Climbing, No Trespassing After Hours. If you can't comply with this notice, let the gate on the top of the hill hit you in the hind end on the way out. Adults -- $2.00 each day, Children Under 12 -- $1.00 each day. Mr. B. Management"

If you slow down, you can find this lake oddity and might consider it a place that time has plum forgotten. At Ponderosa Campground you can expect much more than camping. With a fishing pier and swimming hole along the Blackwater and a plethora of quirky lost-and-found items, you will be glad you didn't miss it.

The sign is not the only odd thing. You can find an interesting display of re-made furniture here. A rocking chair with no rock left in it now sits nailed on top of an old log stump. Metal fishing chairs are planted into the dock for anglers who want to use them. There are old-fashioned port-a-potties for both campers and daily visitors. The swing set still has a little swing left, but has obviously seen better days.

Mr. B bought this little stretch of land along the Blackwater and built his campground in the 1960s when the lake filled up. With prices for land skyrocketing in the last 40 years, one might wonder why the campground's owner hasn't sold the property. With its unusual decor, outhouses and diving boards built to withstand the wear and tear of almost half a decade, Mr. B.'s and his quiet cove along the river is a good vacation destination or a place to take an afternoon adventure.

-- Amy Hanek


Sandy Level's POW camp

The small town of Sandy Level was once home to about 168 German prisoners of war during World War II, according to Herman Melton, a historian who lives in South Carolina and chronicled the life of the POW camp in his book "Southside Virginia: Echoing Through History."

Melton wrote that thousands of German marinen (sailors) were scattered in camps across the United States beginning in 1943.

"The U.S. Army administered the POW camps in Virginia from a headquarters at Camp Pickett where, in addition to Sandy Level, they had jurisdiction over camps at Danville, Catawba, Lyndhurst and Cumberland," wrote Melton.

The POWs were used to help alleviate labor shortages during the war, many performing agricultural, forestry and food-processing work. The marinen in Sandy Level cut timber for lumber and pulp wood. Some also worked in a cannery. They were compensated for their work with canteen credits.

Most of the town's residents never knew the camp existed, he wrote. Lib Walker, of Moneta, was one of the few who did.

She grew up in Roanoke, but her father owned a farm in the Penhook area where he grew tobacco.

"We used to spend our summers out there," she said. "My father would hire them [the POWs] during the tobacco season, so they were working on our farm."

Walker said she didn't see the barracks when she was a child, but she'd see the marinen working the fields. One day, she had an up-close encounter.

"I remember one incident when my sister and I were sitting on the front porch," said Walker. "One came up and wanted to know what time it was ... he pointed to his wrist."

When she went into the house to ask the time and told her family why she wanted to know, Walker said her grandmother "went into orbit ... she thought they were going to cut our heads off."

The Sandy Level camp previously was used by the Civilian Conservation Corps, a work-relief program for young men, during the Depression. The CCC vacated the barracks less than six or seven years before the POWs began arriving in 1943, wrote Melton.

The marinen across the United States began leaving after V-J Day (Victory over Japan Day) on Aug. 14, 1945. Melton wrote that the last group of German POWs sailed for home on July 23, 1946.

-- Laurie Edwards