“I would be the most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.”
– Anna Quindlen
In case you never believed me when I said we were nerds, I present you a snapshot of a typical bookshelf in the family lair:
“The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
While we’re off scrambling for more or less permanent shelter, here are some fun things from my parents house that I thought you guys might like.
If there is a theme for their decorating, Dad says it’s Anthropology. Dad’s family was in the oil business and Mum’s father was a contractor in Japan after WWII, and then Dad went into government/military service himself. We’ve spent two full generations moving constantly (I’m campaigning hard to make it a third with Jeff and myself, and one brother is going into the military as well). The result is that we have a rather nice collection of hodgepodge in the British style: we picked up stuff wherever we went and now display it on the walls. And floors. And wherever we have space, really.
Mum collects blue willow patterned antique china, so it’s all over the house. At the top is a Samoan (I believe) war club and to the left of the painting is a handmade birdcage.
Dad’s eyeglass case rests on an old Japanese wooden pillow with two Balinese baskets, a Chinese cricket cage, and a betel nut cracker in the shape of a horse, all on an antique obi. Betel nuts are common all over the Pacific and are chewed as mild stimulants, a cheap sort of drug since they literally grow on trees. Unfortunately they have a lot in common with chewing tobacco, especially when it comes to causing cancer.
Balinese mask in the shape of a frog.
Mum’s other collectable, antique pewter. These are a couple of antique farm hutches that sit in the kitchen.
A traditional Chinese folding screen. In our case it’s used as a wall hanging, although I think it would make a spectacular headboard!
“The whole country was tied together by radio. We all experienced the same heroes and comedians and singers. They were giants.”
– Woody Allen quotes
Having much younger siblings is really fun because our collective cultural consciousness spans a much longer time frame. I was born when the Berlin Wall was still a thing, they can’t remember a time before the internet. It’s fun! We’re constantly introducing one another to interesting stuff in the broader zeitgeist.
But occasionally we treat ourselves to a real throw back and everyone benefits.
Being about the same degree of nerdiness, I introduced them to the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy original radio series, which I happen to have on MP3. We all love absurdity, particularly of the British science fiction variety. The other night they asked me to put on the next episode in the queue and the next thing we knew we’d listened to a couple of hours in a row and were laughing uproariously.
Sure we were sitting around my iPod plugged into Brig’s amp and not a huge box that took up half of the room, but if felt very old fashioned and fun to just sit back and let the story lead you away without visuals. I love the radio medium and even if I get my favorite shows via podcast, I think radio still is relevant and can tell stories in a unique way.
I’m pretty well versed on the NPR canon, but are there any other radio shows, programs, or podcasts out there I should be listening to? I’ve got to start filling up a queue for a seriously long flight here soon, so help a girl out!
(image via)
“I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past.”
― Patrick Henry
When politicians talk about small town America, this is what they mean. I’m also convinced few of them spend any substantial time in them. I may be a city girl at heart, but it’s kind of great to know that places like this actually still exist tucked away and plugging along much as they always have.
The historic courthouse and jail to the left. To this day, property auctions take place on the steps.
This courthouse is a bit later, but Louisa’s major claim to fame is that Patrick Henry began his law career here (his first big case was part of the lead up to the Revolution, when King George vetoed a Virginia law in question which the colonists saw as an overstep into their legislative authority. The rest is, extremely well recorded, history). Later he was elected to the Virginia House of Burgesses to represent the county, where he kicked off his political one.
The jailhouse which operated into the early 20th century and was apparently ranked as one of the worst in the country – because in its long history, it wasn’t renovated in any significant way. Rustic charm is all well and good, but not when you’re locked up, apparently. It’s a pretty good representation of 19th century local justice.
Typical local hours. Very few things can afford to be open all day, every day around here.
During the Civil War, the railroad was a major Confederate supply line, meaning that battles were fought all over the place. The railroad was also supposed to bring a degree of prosperity that, unfortunately, didn’t really make it into the 20th century. The rail station on the left has beautifully worked gables and was clearly once quite nice, but now it’s boarded up and empty except when the local feed store uses it for storage.
“Everyone has a right to a university degree in America, even if it’s in Hamburger Technology.”
– Clive James
If I were up to a regular 5+ hour round trip, I can tell you where one of best burgers in Virginia is to be had: Blue Dog Art Cafe in Buena Vista. (Side whine, everything is far away out here, nothing is easy to get to. And poor Mum, this is the same town she teaches at, this is her regular commute!) I had to drop my sister off there the other day for a summer camp and unfortunately they weren’t planning on feeding the kids lunch on the first day, so I had to feed her before leaving her to her fate. Luckily for all concerned we’d passed a rather dilapidated sign on the way into town announcing this gem’s existence. So off we trotted off to support the local economy and eat the local cuisine.
Good. Choice.
Like many businesses in rural Virginia, there isn’t so much as a Facebook page for BDAC, much less a website. Don’t worry. Come visit and I’ll show you the way, like some wise mystic burger guide.
Pardon the phone picture quality.
Buena Vista is right along the Appalachian Trail and has become a quiet, known only to insider hikers place to stay. Blue Dog Art Cafe actually has a spare room or two for hikers to spend the night. And their walls are covered with the signatures of hikers and where they are/were/started/ended up on the Trail.
Behold the guestbook.
Yes, there are deer heads everywhere. And you grab your own cutlery, coffee, and condiments. It’s great!
The menu is almost entirely dog based. The Yorkie, a veggie sandwich. The Irish Wolfhound, no idea but something with meat. But Snickers and I both opted for the Cowboy Joe burger.
Another. Good. Choice.
Homemade chipotle sauce makes this sucker the glorious, perfectly cooked, bacon wrapped, nothing frozen at all beauty that it is. Those fries, unassuming as they seem, are actually quite deceptive. They’re called Freddie Fries and we couldn’t reach a consensus on their seasoning. We agree there’s something lemony in there along with sea salt, but beyond that it’s a mystery.
all images my own
“We are stuck with technology when what we really want is just stuff that works.”
― Douglas Adams, The Salmon of Doubt
Hey team, glad so many of your are still with me in spite of the crazy pre-scribbled posts I’ve been putting up (though I hope you have been enjoying the snapshots of local life).
Now, a quick vent. As gorgeous as it is, I understand what various family members have said about it being difficult to live out here. We are a good half hour to and hour away from basic things like grocery stores. And I’m not talking a dash on a suburban road, I’m talking a country two lane-r through the woods without shoulders and usually with at least one moderately size roadkill carcass along the way. Possibly stuck behind a very slow moving tractor.
Picking up my mother’s tasks means that I regularly lose several hours round trip on any given day. I’ve taken on quite a bit of the cooking and cleaning as well, plus I just try to help my family out when I come around to visit because I like doing so. But the most inconvenient thing has been trying to work reliably. It’s ten times harder here to do very basic things than I ever imagined possible.
Headache the first: semi-reliable internet. Back West Jeff and I complained about our internet which was, to be fair, not always good. But compared to here in Virginia it was luxurious! The town in which we live (and we live a good 15-20 minutes away from the center of town itself) is far enough off the beaten path that there is no real infrastructure to connect it up. My parents have to make due with a wifi hotspot creator which is so laughably bad it makes me want to cry. First and foremost it doesn’t hold a charge – for reasons the local service provider can’t explain satisfactorily – and second it only broadcasts a signal for about three minutes before dying – for reasons the local service provider also can’t explain. Dad’s already replaced it once in the month I’ve been here and it hasn’t helped at all.
Headache the second: mobile phone service. Mine vanished last Saturday and has yet to reemerge. Calls to the provider only serve to tell me that they are aware and working on it but can’t give me an estimate when coverage will be restored. Causing a minor panic because even though the internet at home is non-existent, I could still get and respond to work emails from my mobile. It’s been three days without that thing and I swear my blood pressure has spiked as I try to scramble to get work projects done borrowing my father’s mobile between his own calls and needs. I’ve started coming into work with him at 7:30 in the morning and borrowing an unused conference room (with permission of course) just to have a place with an internet connection.
I think my data needs rather perplex my family who by now are used to getting by with much less…but when your job is information gathering, blogging, social media management, and being able to respond quickly, the lack of connectivity is a legitimate terror. It’s barely Tuesday and I feel jittery and stressed trying to accomplish what should be quick and easy tasks that now stretch far longer than they should.
On the other hand, all whining can and should be kept to a minimum. Our visas have been approved and are on their way to us. Jeff flies in a week from today, which is an instant balm to my stress level. Weekends without the internet, though initially vexing, are really quite relaxing. Inconvenient work is a pain, but it won’t kill me. It’s also compelled me to learn some basic blogging skills – such as scheduling posts ahead of time, cheers.
“I’m covered in bees!”
― Eddie Izzard
My Dad was born in the wrong century, his real vocation is to be a gentleman farmer. Unfortunately he’s a bit hobbled by things like the 21st century and neighbors too close for his liking, but he makes up for these inconveniences by working on his land to turn it into a wild kind of estate.
His projects have run the gamut, including clearing a handful of acres for a meadow, digging for a pond (I’ve driven the excavator and the power trip is enormous!), digging a well and building up a natural stone wall around it, planting an orchard (a bit sparse still but we have high hopes), and planting berry bushes. All of these are ongoing, and lot of fun to help with when we’re in town.
But as far as I’m concerned, his most interesting venture has been beekeeping.
Amy and Ryan were in town and tagged along like troopers when I wanted to watch him start the summer harvest. As a reward they got to witness the (hilarious, I’m sure) sight of me running to escape a disgruntled worker that at one point tangled up in my ponytail. I’m just glad he didn’t summon his friends!
Nothing alarming happening here, oh no, sir. Just keep very still.
Wild honey, especially from the forest, looks nothing like what you buy in the store. It’s as dark as molasses and almost punchy with flavor.
This venture has been completely hobby based. Dad’s built up his supply of equipment and gear piece by piece and solved problems as they’ve come up.
To pick one example, not entirely at random, the problem of bears has been solved by that electric fence. No one has figured out a solution to the problem of bears in the neighborhood, however.
Once he smokes the bees and takes the hive boxes he wants to harvest, the next step is to extract the honey.
You use an electric hot knife to slice off the cap of the comb and a machine that uses centrifugal force to spin the honey out of it. Then you take the comb (still intact) back to the bees who will refill it with honey for themselves and use it to survive the winter. Resourceful animals, they make litres of the stuff a year. Dad and I experimented around a bit one evening, entertainment being somewhat harder to find around here, and turned some of those hive caps into a brick of pure beeswax. When you need to strain a pot of boiling hot liquid, a t-shirt is a normal substitute for cheesecloth right?
The only problem is that we can’t quite eat the stuff fast enough. Amy went home with a jar of it, the better to drink American style tea, my dear, but we need to figure out some other schemes too.
all images my own
“Wisdom is not a product of schooling but of the lifelong attempt to acquire it.”
― Albert Einstein
Want to see a typical schoolhouse for most of rural America for the better part of two centuries? Brace yourself:
That thing is, no exaggeration, smaller than most garden sheds I’ve seen. I went to high school in what used to be a WWII weather station, graduating class of 60 students max. Tiny by most suburban measurements (Jeff, for example had a graduating class bigger than my entire school combined). And even I can’t even wrap my head around school in a closet.
“Old houses were scaffolding once and workmen whistling.”
– T.E. Hulme
My desire to own a historic home is a deep, throbbing one born of being travel-spoiled and living too many places with too many fascinating houses (at some point I’ll have to take some photos of some of the local estates that were built before founding of the country!), it messes with your sense of proportion. In Germany we lived in an old house with an orchard in the backyard and a ruined castle up the hill. Our village in England was primarily famous for an Anglo Saxon silver hoard being dug up in someone’s garden. History!
I’m an 18th century house lover myself, but a few miles walk from my parents house is a late 19th century farm house that’s been recently restored. And I want it.
It sits on a couple acres with two huge paddocks/lawns fenced in prettily. It has its own stables (no good to me, I haven’t ridden in years, but it adds beautifully to the charm), and the drive is honest to goodness an old carriage and wagon track. It even has its own herb garden, for heck’s sake. The name of this gem:
Blame Britain but I am a firm believer that every proper house should have a name. My family’s land doesn’t have a house on it yet (Dad has ambitions) but it’s named Stonewell.
See? Absolutely charming. As with all local, old farmhouses, at least one extension was built onto the back, though this view hides it. And it isn’t just the house that gets branded:
In case the horses forget to which house they belong. And, in case you forgot I live in Virginia (home of 18th century, democratic ideals and titles to match), the even older across the country road is called…
Equanimity Farm. You can’t even see that house, it’s set far back from the road and surrounded by privacy protecting trees. The whole spot is just riddled with character!
And really, that’s what I love about old houses – they have character. Mass produced houses built inches apart from and completely identical one another seem just utterly soul-less. But these old houses, they have stories behind them. You can see that lives have been lived in them, you can see that time has left it’s mark on them (some more than others) and you want to know how they went from families living there, people being born and dying for generations, to being reclaimed by the woods. Older houses don’t just have characters, like Victor Hugo’s Notre Dame they are characters in their own right.
Come. On.
Anyone got $350,000 they can spare me?
Small Dog Syndrome 
