was in.
But it could have been on any major highway in the contiguous United States. Pseudobrick and clapboard on the outside, pseudohominess on the inside. It was clean, comfortable and utterly forgettable. There was a restaurant attached, with waitresses in the more familiar brightly colored uniforms with short skirts and sleeves. They served a completely forgettable meal. I momentarily considered dipping into Fargo’s doggie bag, but figured it wouldn’t be fair. We walked the dog, fell into bed and all three fell asleep over some forgettable TV.
We found ourselves in the Shenandoah Valley and were enthralled. Surrounded by protective mountains, the valley was somewhat warmer than the nearby areas. Already it was lush with growing crops. Comfortable farmhouses and the occasional mansion flashed by. Well-kept lawns with early flowers and blooming shrubs were the norm.
Suddenly Cindy tapped my arm and said, “Look.”
I did, at a tall, blackened chimney standing alone in the midst of an overgrown, weed-filled yard, surrounded by unmortared low stone walls. No one was behind me and I slowed the car and pulled over.
“I think solitary old chimneys and their fireplaces are so lonely and sad.” Her lovely eyes clouded slightly with a prelude to tears. “They seem to be reaching up, begging God please to bring back their house or barn…they provided warmth, perhaps meals were cooked on their grill. Babies were born beside them and the old died in warm, loving comfort in front of them. And now they stand alone, bereft and guarding nothing, no warmth left in them. Useless.”
I had no answer to that, but anyway, Cindy had another thought.
“Do you think that one is left from the Civil War? Perhaps someone deliberately has left it there as a sort of reminder of what Sheridan did to this beautiful land?”
“I suppose it could be.” I shrugged dubiously. “What happened to this valley is a shame. But whether you agree or not, Sheridan said the fastest way to end the war was to destroy southern crops. If they couldn’t feed their army, it couldn’t fight. He said he was actually saving lives.”
“There may be a valid point in there somewhere, but burning families out of their homes isn’t just burning crops. And did you know that members of Sheridan’s own staff wanted him relieved as being insane? They said he acted like a maniac anytime he was involved in killing and destruction. He loved it. But Lincoln and Grant said he was indispensable. How do you like them apples?”
“I don’t,” I shook my head. “But Lincoln and Grant wouldn’t listen to me either. I said crops: yes, houses: no.”
“Idiot!” Her mouth tightened.
But then, honest little scholar that she was, she muttered to herself, “Of course, they said the same thing about Patton.”
I turned my head away until I got control of the smile.
And then we were in the mountains. They were everywhere. If we were at a high altitude we could see them lined up as far as the eye could see, like giant ocean waves suddenly frozen in time. If the road took us lower they towered above us, seeming to lean a little away from us, to allow us safe passage. The mountain laurel flirted, pink and lively in the breeze and the larger, deeper toned rhododendron bobbed and nodded in matronly greeting. The big trees were not yet fully leaved, but were recognizable. Oak, maple, pine, hickory, dogwood, others I did not know.
A small brown critter running right in front of the car brought me to reality with a jerk. Automatically I hit the brakes and cut to the right. The rabbit—I had ID’d it by now—finished its frantic run across the highway safely and disappeared into underbrush. But a much larger creature careered out of the forest, and only its desperate scratching, clawing, twisting one-eighty allowed it to miss running full tilt into the right side of the now unmoving car. It gathered itself and trotted shakily back into the woods.
Feeling
But it could have been on any major highway in the contiguous United States. Pseudobrick and clapboard on the outside, pseudohominess on the inside. It was clean, comfortable and utterly forgettable. There was a restaurant attached, with waitresses in the more familiar brightly colored uniforms with short skirts and sleeves. They served a completely forgettable meal. I momentarily considered dipping into Fargo’s doggie bag, but figured it wouldn’t be fair. We walked the dog, fell into bed and all three fell asleep over some forgettable TV.
We found ourselves in the Shenandoah Valley and were enthralled. Surrounded by protective mountains, the valley was somewhat warmer than the nearby areas. Already it was lush with growing crops. Comfortable farmhouses and the occasional mansion flashed by. Well-kept lawns with early flowers and blooming shrubs were the norm.
Suddenly Cindy tapped my arm and said, “Look.”
I did, at a tall, blackened chimney standing alone in the midst of an overgrown, weed-filled yard, surrounded by unmortared low stone walls. No one was behind me and I slowed the car and pulled over.
“I think solitary old chimneys and their fireplaces are so lonely and sad.” Her lovely eyes clouded slightly with a prelude to tears. “They seem to be reaching up, begging God please to bring back their house or barn…they provided warmth, perhaps meals were cooked on their grill. Babies were born beside them and the old died in warm, loving comfort in front of them. And now they stand alone, bereft and guarding nothing, no warmth left in them. Useless.”
I had no answer to that, but anyway, Cindy had another thought.
“Do you think that one is left from the Civil War? Perhaps someone deliberately has left it there as a sort of reminder of what Sheridan did to this beautiful land?”
“I suppose it could be.” I shrugged dubiously. “What happened to this valley is a shame. But whether you agree or not, Sheridan said the fastest way to end the war was to destroy southern crops. If they couldn’t feed their army, it couldn’t fight. He said he was actually saving lives.”
“There may be a valid point in there somewhere, but burning families out of their homes isn’t just burning crops. And did you know that members of Sheridan’s own staff wanted him relieved as being insane? They said he acted like a maniac anytime he was involved in killing and destruction. He loved it. But Lincoln and Grant said he was indispensable. How do you like them apples?”
“I don’t,” I shook my head. “But Lincoln and Grant wouldn’t listen to me either. I said crops: yes, houses: no.”
“Idiot!” Her mouth tightened.
But then, honest little scholar that she was, she muttered to herself, “Of course, they said the same thing about Patton.”
I turned my head away until I got control of the smile.
And then we were in the mountains. They were everywhere. If we were at a high altitude we could see them lined up as far as the eye could see, like giant ocean waves suddenly frozen in time. If the road took us lower they towered above us, seeming to lean a little away from us, to allow us safe passage. The mountain laurel flirted, pink and lively in the breeze and the larger, deeper toned rhododendron bobbed and nodded in matronly greeting. The big trees were not yet fully leaved, but were recognizable. Oak, maple, pine, hickory, dogwood, others I did not know.
A small brown critter running right in front of the car brought me to reality with a jerk. Automatically I hit the brakes and cut to the right. The rabbit—I had ID’d it by now—finished its frantic run across the highway safely and disappeared into underbrush. But a much larger creature careered out of the forest, and only its desperate scratching, clawing, twisting one-eighty allowed it to miss running full tilt into the right side of the now unmoving car. It gathered itself and trotted shakily back into the woods.
Feeling
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