Virginia I

Journal of Our Journeys 

Chapter 8 - Virginia I

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

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

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

          The homes of most of our relatives out East were long and low to the ground, sprawling estates to my six-year-old eyes. One great-aunt and great-uncle had a formal flower garden by the back door, a carport instead of a garage, a formal living room, and a formal dining room, besides a family room. There was even a shed in the backyard where Uncle had a woodworking shop. That must be why he and Dad got along so well; Dad had a similar 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-uncle and his wife even had a fascinating room called a den. I don't remember much about it, except that it was down a couple of steps, the walls were paneled, the floor was covered in sculptured avocado-colored carpet, and taxidermed animal heads were hanging on the walls. Okay, not so different from rooms in many homes of the time, but it was still new to me.

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

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

          At night, we caught fireflies in a pint jar in the backyard and then released them in their bedroom. With the lights on, the drab insects disappeared into the room's furnishings. When we threw the room into darkness with the flip of a switch, the fireflies would appear 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 the long driveway was like entering a different era. I always pictured Scarlett O'Hara walking out the front door, her wide hoop skirt sashaying. The interior of the house seemed to go on and on and on, the formal dining room leading to the formal living room leading to the family room, antiques everywhere. She even had a housekeeper.

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

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

          Everywhere, exotic-looking peacocks roamed. In their occasional absence, their long, iridescent feathers or their droppings reminded me that they were still around. The birds would constantly emit their loud cries, scaring those of us who had never lived with these creatures before.

          The homes of the Virginia relatives were awesome when I was just a naïve kid, but there were so many more wonders to 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.)