I am back Up North after checking in on the equestrian trials at Rosmarie’s Summerduck Run Farm just up the road from Refuge Farm. The ten-year-old Russian Princess is jumping her chestnut gelding and there was a opportunity to view the newest resident of Culpeper County, and adorable baby girl who has joined the clan across the fence.
The trailers were all lined up neatly as the parents ferried in the horses who do not board with Rosmarie, and the radiant faces on the Mom’s and daughters was a joy to behold. The ponies were pretty cool, too.
My pal had a plane to catch, though, and so we were off early from the event, stopping only briefly at the Bright Lights of little Winston to show off the sturdy but dilapidated stone chapel devoted to the memory of a Winston Heir who did not survive typhoid caught at UVA more than a century ago.
There is more to the story, though, as you might imagine. The brownstone chapel has been unused for many years and is falling into disrepair. Locals at the Winston Ordinary will tell you, I explained as I swing the Panzer around the access road to give my pal a good look.
“The patriarch of the Winston clan left a provision in his will that the ownership, care, and maintenance of the chapel was a responsibility of the Winston successors. As the gal behind the counter tells it, the Winstons were at odds with another local family, the Somervilles. There was money in this, and land and the people who lived on it, and so it is not exactly Hatfield and McCoy skirmishing sort of stuff. More lawyers, I think.”
Anyway, the Somervilles constructed their own church over in the village of Mitchels, which is still a going concern today. As time went on, the families remained at odds, with the exception of two young lovers who, as you may have guessed, ended up getting married, linking the two families. As time passed, the Winston family members have all passed away, and through inheritance, all assets (including the family chapel) ended up in the hands of the Somerville family.
“There is one remaining descendent, who is a Somerville, and really could care less. It is a charming relic of a time gone by in the country.”
But local history aside, we were hungry. At least I was, and then it was into town for breakfast at the jam-packed Frost Diner, a #3 ham-and-cheese omelet, hash browns and English muffin with a side of crisp bacon. It looked like everyone had the same idea as we did, and had skipped church to make it happen. The intricate ballet of the wait staff hovering around the central griddle running food out to the packed restaurant was fascinating.
Then a stroll up historic East Davis Street, a look at the new restaurant that has opened up next to the ever-reliable “It’s About Thyme” and back into the Panzer for an uneventful ride up Rt. 29 to I-66 east to Rt. 28. Along the way I mentioned the usual stuff- the Brandy Station Battlefield, the Graffiti House, the place where Gallant Pelham Fell, the place Little Mac McClellan had his farewell parade after Mr. Lincoln fired his ass, and the place where history might have been changed if the Rebel gunners had not missed Brevet Brigadier George Armstrong Custer on his horse on the Buckland Mill Bridge.
Then the last jog into IAD to drop my high-school pal off at Icelandic Air for his hop to Reykjavik and Copenhagen en route Munich, GE. We have doing things like this, off and on, for nearly fifty years.
We had a grand time drinking and grilling and took champagne to the Russians to celebrate the arrival this week of their new Granddaughter and played with Jack the Amazing German Shepherd and Biscuit the Wonder Spaniel.
Then, back to town on the Dulles Access Road, sliding into a still-rousing Arlington. So, with the laundry put away and all the devices charging, the morning already had everything nice and now there is no alternative to working, which isn’t, and is actually what I should have been doing Friday afternoon and yesterday. Somehow, my heart just isn’t in it.
Retirement is becoming an imperative that I just can’t fight. The sun is coming out. Maybe I should go swim. I think half of that Beef on Weck sandwich from the Willow on Friday is still in the fridge for later.
I was going to write a story this morning but never got around to it.
Copyright 2015 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303