(Exterior of the Hazel River Inn, East Davis Street, Culpeper, VA. It is the oldest commercial structure remaining in town, dating to Colonial times. The small windows to the left are the natural illumination to The Rathskeller, and was once a Civil War jail for North and South.)
I am at the farm. I had intended to get all sorts of good things done, including a lunch with an old comrade from OSD, and attendance at the funeral of Admiral Marocchi, who in the context of the current border crisis, came to America with his parents as a child.
It did not quite work out that way, nor am I going to launch into Big Engines in Little Cars, my original plan to continue the saga of Cars, Car People and the Death of Detroit. It is something I can get back to tomorrow.
I met my pal on the street in front of the Frost Diner on Main Street. Frost is my go-to comfort breakfast place- I mean, who else has fried bologna sandwiches on the menu? We decided, upon contemplation, that a fine dining experience would be better suited to the mood of the day. We crossed East Davis Street, trod by Bobby Lee and A.P. Hill and Unconditional Surrender Grant in turn when the town changed hands in the summer of 1863.
We decided to take a table at Its About Thyme, which boasts a grad of the Cordon Blue cooking school on staff, and the place was bustling. A glass of wine seemed appropriate, perhaps two. I had a tuna in puff pastry with a side salad and my pal tucked into a plate of braised pork with kraut and potatoes and savory dark brown gravy. He hails from Minnesota, long ago, and the meal harked back to his early days on the northern waters of the Mississippi.
Later, many world problems solved to our satisfaction, we wandered down the historic street in search of something to settle our digestion. I decided to scuttle the funeral. I did not know the family, and my presence would have added little to the dignity of the burial.
East Davis is a historic street, plain and simple. George Washington was commissioned to survey and plot the town of Culpeper in 1749. The great diaspora from the Virginia Tidewater populated the place ten years later, and documents of incorporation were filed with the Royal Governor in Williamsburg.
The Culpeper Minutemen would march off from here to fight the British Army at Great Bridge a generation later. The patrimony of those Rebels has largely been whitewashed in favor of the plucky Massachusetts Minutemen of Concord and Lexington, since it was their great grandsons who won the war and got to re-write the history.
We walked along the north side of Davis Street, which was designated as the “Public Square” by young surveyor Washington. It was the site of the colonial jail, original courthouse, stocks and whipping posts. This small heart of town still exists in a variety of extant structures- one is on Washington’s plot 35, on the south side of the street at the corner of East Davis and and it has been many things in its many incarnations.
Both national armies used the basement as a jail during their respective occupations, though parts of the brick structure go all the way back to 1790, when a burgher named Thomas Reade sold it to Timothy Matlock and his wife. This Timothy Matlock was the cousin of another Timothy Matlack whose credentials as a Patriot are unimpeachable: he signed the Declaration of Independence.
We found this all out once we were ensconced at the bar of the Hazel River Inn, a restaurant and bar that has occupied the brick-and-wood beamed building since 2006, and is part of the famed Culpeper Renaissance that began to rejuvenate the bedraggled downtown, battered by the long aftermath of the war and the collapse of the small farms. All that is changing, and “eating local” has made the place positively vibrant.
Melissa, Beth and Wesley were the afternoon shift. Seth was a Garden State resident on our side of the bar who had been in town visiting relatives and was waiting on the AMTRAK train to get the hell out. He had no use for Our Fair City and wanted to get back to the Jersey Shore as quickly as possible. “No civilization,” he said. “Nothing here worth looking at.”
“That’s why we like it here,” we responded. Beth has a visual problem, but is a sweet kid and very kind. Melissa’s Irish. Both were solid country women, buxom and friendly.
The Matlock house of Revolutionary times still stands as the kitchen portion of the current building, which grew under the stewardship of John Cooke Green, circa 1835, passing it along to his wife Lucy when he passed on the eve of war in 1860.
Beth had been a docent at the Culpeper Historical Museum, and she told us about the various incarnations of the large dining area. It had, in turn, been a tobacco warehouse, stables and a tin shop. Most notably, she said, it had been the jail for the Armies.
Not a great deal more was known, since records of the town were stolen or mutilated during the war, since there was widespread pillaging by both Union and Confederate forces. Records are available back to the founding, she said, but pursed her forehead. “Some of the Minute books for the periods 1749–1762, 1765–1797, 1812–1813, and 1817 are missing. Who knows what the soldiers wanted them for?”
“Kindling?” I asked. “With armies of that size they burned almost anything they could to stay warm in winter quarters. They were like locusts.”
“They say there are a lot of ghosts right here, too,” she said.
“Have you seen any?” asked my pal. She nodded gravely.
“Would you like to see?”
We got another bourbon and said “Hell yeah,” in unison.
She guided us down the four steps to the stairway to the basement. “Culpeper’s first telegraph company operated out of this building,” she said, swinging open a metal grate that barred the stairs. “This is the original jail door.”
We clambered down the steps to a dark room that was actually another restaurant- the Rathskeller. Circular red booths lined the walls. A private dining area was in the back, next to the former wineceller, which she gravely said was the epicenter of the paranormal activity. We checked. No cold spots, but it was pretty clear that neither Melissa nor Beth wanted to hang around. We walked over to the bar- it was a fine one, lit only by small windows high on the wall. A massive fireplace dated back to the early times.
“This is fabulous,” said my pal. “We have got to one back when it is open.”
“Yeah, and I want to see some spirits.”
“What kind? I will settle for another bourbon.”
Which is precisely what we did when we got back up stairs. Beth continued her running commentary as we finished ova everything that wasn’t named Jack Daniels behind the bar.
” The local national guard had this building as an armory in the 1880s, and the attic was a meeting place for the Culpeper Minute Men. Dances were held there by the Pot and Kettle Club to raise money for the unit. In 1908, Yowell Hardware expanded his business to the armory, eventually acquiring ownership on both sides of East Street where Davis slopes down to the Depot.”
I have to shop at Yowell’s,” I said. “The Lowe’s Big Box always freaks me out.”
“It is the oldest hardware store in the County,” said Beth, looking a bit anxious as the level of brown liquid diminished. “The interior was renovated in the early 1980’s when it became The Davis Street Ordinaries antique shop. The current owners, Peter and Karen Stogbuchner bought it in 2006 and turned it into the Hazel River Inn. It has survived two major fires and an earthquake, and is the oldest remaining commercial building in Culpeper.”
“That is quite a story, Beth, and we will take the check while we can still drive. We are definitely going to be back!”
The only problem with the place was the inventory behind the bar. We drained the last premium bourbons and the remaining stock was limited to jack Daniels. I took a picture of what was left, and we told Beth that we would be back with some recommendations for the re-stocking, and the promise that we would help to drink it when we return- which we fully intend to do, maybe as part of a larger gathering down in the Rathskeller.
In the meantime, I told Beth we would sample the audience for recommendations on the reinforcement country whiskey inventory.
Suggestions? I mean, beside Pappy Van Winkle?
(The back bar needs replenishment. Your input is solicited for what they might stock.)
Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303