Virginia I

Journal of Our Journeys 

Chapter 8 - Virginia I

Mymom's mom, born in 1893, was the oldest of nine children. One of her brothersdied at only eight months old, but several others lived relatively long lives. Onegreat-uncle beat out all of them, dying only two months shy of his 105thbirthday. He and his wife had been married for over 75 years when she passedaway at 94. And though they lived 1,200 miles away in a small papermill town inVirginia, we visited several times during my childhood.

          Mom and Dad had been there with myother siblings, Tom and Judy, before. I have a black and white photograph ofTom and Judy on the veranda at Monticello, and another one with them, Mom, and arelative in someone's backyard, dated 1954. As I write this, I have justvisited Judy in the assisted living home where she now resides, and she showedme that same picture. I don't know how we each ended up with a copy of it, butthat's all right. Better to have too many photos than none.

          It was a long ride in the camper toget to Virginia, driving through a few national parks and stopping at variouscampgrounds along the way. But once we pulled into their yard, we set up campright in their driveway. I never questioned why we couldn't sleep in theirhouse, but as a kid raised in the sixties, I didn't question much.

          The homes of most of our relatives outEast were long and low to the ground, sprawling estates to my six-year-oldeyes. One great-aunt and great-uncle had a formal flower garden by the backdoor, a carport instead of a garage, a formal living room, and a formal diningroom, besides a family room. There was even a shed in the backyard where Uncle hada woodworking shop. That must be why he and Dad got along so well; Dad had asimilar shop in our garage.

          But anyway, at that point in my life,I'd never been in a house with rooms that weren't used daily. Another great-uncleand his wife even had a fascinating room called a den. I don't remember muchabout it, except that it was down a couple of steps, the walls were paneled,the floor was covered in sculptured avocado-colored carpet, and taxidermedanimal heads were hanging on the walls. Okay, not so different from rooms inmany homes of the time, but it was still new to me.

          One of my mom's cousins and herhusband rivaled that. They had a room above the garage for his train sets. Andthis was a grown man!  He would stand in the middle of the room holdingthe controls and, with the push of a button, command trains to travel aroundthe room's perimeter.

          The best thing about their house wasthat they had kids who were close to the ages of Pat and me. This meant thatinstead of spending our vacation days inside with the female adults, as theyshared tea and stories, we could be outside where our young cousins dared us tocurl up inside a tractor tire so they could roll us across the yard. Okay, Pataccepted the dare; I was too chicken to try it.

          At night, we caught fireflies in apint jar in the backyard and then released them in their bedroom. With thelights on, the drab insects disappeared into the room's furnishings. When wethrew the room into darkness with the flip of a switch, the fireflies wouldappear as if by magic, bringing a glow to the room.

          Mom's other cousin raised horses -trotters, actually - and lived in a restored plantation house. Riding up thelong driveway was like entering a different era. I always pictured ScarlettO'Hara walking out the front door, her wide hoop skirt sashaying. The interiorof the house seemed to go on and on and on, the formal dining room leading tothe formal living room leading to the family room, antiques everywhere. Sheeven had a housekeeper.

          One year, when we were there, they hadjust finished building a new barn. This building had so many amenities – a fullkitchen, full bathroom, office, padded stalls for the horses. Nothing likebarns I’d been in back home.

          The animal life at this farm was quitevaried. In addition to the beautiful sleek mares and their gangly foals, therewere several riding horses along with a small herd of round furry burros. Apair of Great Danes was offset by a pair of Welsh corgis, with their Germanshepherd-type heads and short, stubby legs.

          Everywhere, exotic-looking peacocksroamed. In their occasional absence, their long, iridescent feathers or theirdroppings reminded me that they were still around. The birds would constantlyemit their loud cries, scaring those of us who had never lived with thesecreatures before.

          The homes of the Virginia relativeswere awesome when I was just a naïve kid, but there were so many more wondersto witness throughout our great land.

(The first picture is Pat and me on someone's porch in Virginia in 1968. You can barely make us out on the far right side. The picture just above is one the peacocks on the "Farm", when Hubby and I were there in 2019. A place full of memories.)