From time to time I use names of places that I realized are not universally recognized by my readers. Here is a short list of common places near here.
Petherbridge
This is the name given to the house we live in. Apparently, the first person to live here was Dr. Petherbridge with his family. The house was built in approximately 1880 to accommodate Dr. Petherbridge’s family and his medical practice as well as serve as a dormitory for the nearby Charlotte Hall School.
Long Lived For Come at Last
This is the property that the family refers to as “the farm.” Family legend has it that this was the name of a large tobacco plantation along the Patuxent River. Our property, purchased in the 1940s, is only about 240 acres but was part of the larger plantation. The river is three miles east of our land, so the plantation must have been very large, indeed. One building on our land is said to have been the foreman’s home to oversee the slaves who worked the plantation. We also appear to have an old slave cemetery up on a hill. The only markers are large rocks.
Though many people hear us refer to the vineyard and think that’s all we have, that’s not quite true. Only about nine acres are under vine on the property. We also have limited logging, a Christmas tree farm, and lots of woods. The farm has a rental house on it and has previously leased out fields for corn, tobacco, and grain crops.
Charlotte Hall
This is the name of the unincorporated village in which we live. It spans northwestern St. Mary’s County and eastern Charles County about an hour due south of Washington, DC. It only includes about 5.1 square miles; much of that is agricultural. It also includes two grocery stores, a hardware store, and numerous fast food stops. We are fortunate to have a post office that's not closing. The farm’s mailing address is PO Box 1, Charlotte Hall. We would be sad to have to change that address. We own a book that probably describes exactly where the Charlotte Hall name came from, but we can’t find the book.
Mechanicsville
This the name of the unincorporated area in which the farm is located. It is the region east and south of Charlotte Hall.
St. Mary’s County
This is the name of our county. It is the southern-most county on the Southern Maryland peninsula. It is surrounded by the Potomac River to the west and the Patuxent River to the east. The southern tip juts into the Chesapeake Bay. I am unsure which St. Mary the name refers to.
Maryland
Named for Queen Henrietta Maria (1609-1669), the wife of King Charles I.
Though Maryland is considered a northern state, it housed many southern sympathizers in this region during the Civil War. Due west of us (about an hour's drive) is Fredericksburg, Virginia.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Mending Fences
Peter and I spent yesterday working at the vineyard. Peter’s dad mentioned a few days ago that he suspected deer were in the vineyard.(see the photo of deer tracks)
That’s like saying there’s a fox in the hen house if it had been growing season. Deer can wreak havoc in no time at all by eating all the tender new shoots. Therefore, the entire vineyard is surrounded by nine foot tall nylon deer netting. Since I don’t believe deer use scissors (where would they store them?), I can’t figure out just how they managed to breach the fence in three locations. They aren’t jagged breaks; they’re usually straight lines. (see photo of broken fence, below)
The fencing is also intended to keep out small animals. Unfortunately, the woodchucks had already set up shop within the fence boundaries when the fence was installed. Anyone who has seen Caddyshack will appreciate the futility in trying to eradicate them. Similarly, raccoons can’t be blocked. I will readily concede that they are smarter and more persistent than we humans. (The gluttonous birds require their own separate fencing later in the growing season.)
You’ll notice the bicycle rims that we used to mend the fence at the creek. Peter’s dad has a supply of old, free rims that he gets from a bicycle repair shop. In their repurposed lives, the rims allow water to flow while dissuading deer and other wildlife from entering the “no wildlife” zone. Even if the deer choose to re-break the fence, they won’t walk on the wheel spokes. We think the solution is fool-proof. I’m sure the deer will continue to make fools of us.
The fencing is also intended to keep out small animals. Unfortunately, the woodchucks had already set up shop within the fence boundaries when the fence was installed. Anyone who has seen Caddyshack will appreciate the futility in trying to eradicate them. Similarly, raccoons can’t be blocked. I will readily concede that they are smarter and more persistent than we humans. (The gluttonous birds require their own separate fencing later in the growing season.)
You’ll notice the bicycle rims that we used to mend the fence at the creek. Peter’s dad has a supply of old, free rims that he gets from a bicycle repair shop. In their repurposed lives, the rims allow water to flow while dissuading deer and other wildlife from entering the “no wildlife” zone. Even if the deer choose to re-break the fence, they won’t walk on the wheel spokes. We think the solution is fool-proof. I’m sure the deer will continue to make fools of us.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Time for a Change
Many years ago my family used to tease one of my brothers because he would tell us he needed a new watch simply because the watch battery had died. In a similar vein, I’m thinking that having a dirty and cluttered house necessitates a move. Okay, he didn’t really need a new watch, and I don’t really need a new house. On the other hand, the fact that I do have a new (loosely defined here) house has opened my eyes to a number of things.
First, the reality that we’re moving across country has inspired us to get rid of a lot of stuff. Everyone knows they have too much stuff, and we are no exception. Peter and I regularly pitch and purge, but we still have too much stuff. I think that’s part of being an American, and I’m embarrassed by it. Peter would say we didn’t toss nearly enough, but I think Goodwill has made a decent profit off of us.
Second, I have found things. I have found missing socks, puzzle pieces, important papers (how did that end up there?), and untold other things. Moving forces us to touch much more of our belongings than we normally would. In the process, we move things around, dust things off, lift up lids, and peer into corners. Some of what I have found is disgusting. With three kids, two cats, and a dog, I guess that was inevitable.
Some found items have been delightful. I have found really funny notes that the children have written. (I won’t share them or embarrass the children here. They get private emails to remind them of their past.) I have found scraps of paper or cloth that bring back great memories. I found love that got buried under the everyday dust of life. And, yes, I’ve found dust bunnies the size of my cats.
Peter has been going through our kitchen cabinets to locate foods that we forgot we had. Luckily for me, he’s an amazing cook who can throw together a really tasty meal using the most unusual combination of ingredients. He does it all without a recipe. I really love that man!
Third, the house is getting cleaned to a degree it hasn’t seen since we moved back in 2000 after a major remodel. I mean all the rooms are getting cleaned and all the windows and all the furniture. It’s amazing. When we moved to Bellevue from Centreville, Virginia, in 1993, Microsoft paid for professional packers to pack everything. (I was seven months pregnant. The packers were a godsend!) Packers don’t know what’s important and what’s not, so they packed virtually everything. I’m sure Peter was surprised to receive trash cans replete with trash already in them! I, on the other hand, am throwing out trash, dusting furniture, and doing what I can to avoid having to throw stuff away as soon as it gets to Maryland. At this point, we have sent three large containers to Maryland. That’s three containers of stuff that is no longer in my way when I vacuum or dust.
Maybe moving is a little extreme of an activity simply to clean and declutter a house. Maybe we just need to reorganize our houses every so often. Pack a room up just to have the experience of seeing everything that’s in that room. Give more to Goodwill than we would normally allow ourselves. Move everything into the garage and only move back the stuff that really matters. Yeah, I won’t do that, either.
And maybe, just maybe, when I’m in Switzerland next month, I’ll buy my brother a new watch.
First, the reality that we’re moving across country has inspired us to get rid of a lot of stuff. Everyone knows they have too much stuff, and we are no exception. Peter and I regularly pitch and purge, but we still have too much stuff. I think that’s part of being an American, and I’m embarrassed by it. Peter would say we didn’t toss nearly enough, but I think Goodwill has made a decent profit off of us.
Second, I have found things. I have found missing socks, puzzle pieces, important papers (how did that end up there?), and untold other things. Moving forces us to touch much more of our belongings than we normally would. In the process, we move things around, dust things off, lift up lids, and peer into corners. Some of what I have found is disgusting. With three kids, two cats, and a dog, I guess that was inevitable.
Some found items have been delightful. I have found really funny notes that the children have written. (I won’t share them or embarrass the children here. They get private emails to remind them of their past.) I have found scraps of paper or cloth that bring back great memories. I found love that got buried under the everyday dust of life. And, yes, I’ve found dust bunnies the size of my cats.
Peter has been going through our kitchen cabinets to locate foods that we forgot we had. Luckily for me, he’s an amazing cook who can throw together a really tasty meal using the most unusual combination of ingredients. He does it all without a recipe. I really love that man!
Third, the house is getting cleaned to a degree it hasn’t seen since we moved back in 2000 after a major remodel. I mean all the rooms are getting cleaned and all the windows and all the furniture. It’s amazing. When we moved to Bellevue from Centreville, Virginia, in 1993, Microsoft paid for professional packers to pack everything. (I was seven months pregnant. The packers were a godsend!) Packers don’t know what’s important and what’s not, so they packed virtually everything. I’m sure Peter was surprised to receive trash cans replete with trash already in them! I, on the other hand, am throwing out trash, dusting furniture, and doing what I can to avoid having to throw stuff away as soon as it gets to Maryland. At this point, we have sent three large containers to Maryland. That’s three containers of stuff that is no longer in my way when I vacuum or dust.
Maybe moving is a little extreme of an activity simply to clean and declutter a house. Maybe we just need to reorganize our houses every so often. Pack a room up just to have the experience of seeing everything that’s in that room. Give more to Goodwill than we would normally allow ourselves. Move everything into the garage and only move back the stuff that really matters. Yeah, I won’t do that, either.
And maybe, just maybe, when I’m in Switzerland next month, I’ll buy my brother a new watch.
Friday, February 3, 2012
Pitching, Packing, and Painting
I know I haven’t been writing much lately, but there’s not a whole lot to say. Mostly, I’ve been pitching, packing, and painting. I’ll be gone for most of March and April, so I’m trying to get a lot done now. May and June will be reserved for tying up loose ends and finding a new space in Bellevue.
I’m out of small boxes, and I’m too cheap to actually buy any. Instead, I lurk on Craigslist trying to grab some as soon as they are posted. Sadly, others lurk and grab more quickly than I. I still have plenty of medium and large boxes, but they get so heavy that I prefer not to use them unless I have to.
The painting has been coming along well. I’ve completed two bathrooms, two bedrooms, the laundry room, the upstairs hallway and part of the stairway. They were the biggest offenders, so I feel pretty good about how things look now. I still want to get the playroom done, but it’s not a rush. The rush will be painting and packing Allison’s room in June.
We’ll be moving another Relocube container in early March. I might not post any more until then because I have non-move issues consuming me before then. Oh, and I’ll continue pitching, packing, and painting.
I’m out of small boxes, and I’m too cheap to actually buy any. Instead, I lurk on Craigslist trying to grab some as soon as they are posted. Sadly, others lurk and grab more quickly than I. I still have plenty of medium and large boxes, but they get so heavy that I prefer not to use them unless I have to.
The painting has been coming along well. I’ve completed two bathrooms, two bedrooms, the laundry room, the upstairs hallway and part of the stairway. They were the biggest offenders, so I feel pretty good about how things look now. I still want to get the playroom done, but it’s not a rush. The rush will be painting and packing Allison’s room in June.
We’ll be moving another Relocube container in early March. I might not post any more until then because I have non-move issues consuming me before then. Oh, and I’ll continue pitching, packing, and painting.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
De-homifying
Remember the last time you moved into a new place? You were probably filled with thoughts about how to make that house (or apartment or whatever) into your home. You were thinking about wall colors, furniture, family photos, and everything else that transforms a house from a blocky frame of rooms into a comfortable refuge from the world.
We are in the opposite place right now. My realtor father has told me that the best way to sell a house is to remove all those homey wall colors, picture frames, and personal mementos. When buyers look at your house, they want to see their home, not yours. They want to envision what they can do with it, not what you have already done. As great as you may be in decorating and creating a home for your family, you are not expected to have it figured out for everyone who visits your home with the intent to buy.
So it is now with us. On Christmas we painted over our kids' aquamarine bathroom walls that had sea life handpainted on it for the past 15 or so years. Right now, I’m letting the second coat of paint dry in Charles’ room where there used to be stripes in the Seattle Mariners’ colors of dark blue and teal. I’ve slowly been packing up Erin’s and Charles’ bedrooms and will soon attack the playroom. We are de-homifying our house.
Peter and I are okay with this process because we know of the adventures that lie ahead for us. We already have another house that is becoming our home. Our middle daughter, however, is really struggling. For her, the only child left at home, this is a difficult transition that she prefers not to be a part of. She watches as we paint over the fish she has stared at since she was a baby. She sees me remove family photos and pack them away. Her house is becoming less welcoming and warm to her by every sunset.
I have agreed to let Allison’s room be the last to be transformed. It is painted in two shades of purple, so it really needs to be transformed. I, however, am loathe to kick her out of her loved bedroom full of her life’s knickknacks, memories, and comfort. Much of what she has won’t matter to her in five years, but it all matters so deeply to her now. Come June, that little girl of mine will graduate from high school and then pack all of her belongings into boxes headed for the East Coast. Yes, she has a place in our home in Maryland, but it isn’t a place filled with memories. It will only have her stuff.
This is what is hard for me right now. I’m okay with moving me, but I hurt every time I do something that involves moving the kids. A child’s pain is always shared by her mother, even if not to the same degree. The idea that I am voluntarily inflicting this pain on my child makes it all the worse. We continue to move forward in this venture, but it is not without remorse or even some tears.
We are in the opposite place right now. My realtor father has told me that the best way to sell a house is to remove all those homey wall colors, picture frames, and personal mementos. When buyers look at your house, they want to see their home, not yours. They want to envision what they can do with it, not what you have already done. As great as you may be in decorating and creating a home for your family, you are not expected to have it figured out for everyone who visits your home with the intent to buy.
So it is now with us. On Christmas we painted over our kids' aquamarine bathroom walls that had sea life handpainted on it for the past 15 or so years. Right now, I’m letting the second coat of paint dry in Charles’ room where there used to be stripes in the Seattle Mariners’ colors of dark blue and teal. I’ve slowly been packing up Erin’s and Charles’ bedrooms and will soon attack the playroom. We are de-homifying our house.
Peter and I are okay with this process because we know of the adventures that lie ahead for us. We already have another house that is becoming our home. Our middle daughter, however, is really struggling. For her, the only child left at home, this is a difficult transition that she prefers not to be a part of. She watches as we paint over the fish she has stared at since she was a baby. She sees me remove family photos and pack them away. Her house is becoming less welcoming and warm to her by every sunset.
I have agreed to let Allison’s room be the last to be transformed. It is painted in two shades of purple, so it really needs to be transformed. I, however, am loathe to kick her out of her loved bedroom full of her life’s knickknacks, memories, and comfort. Much of what she has won’t matter to her in five years, but it all matters so deeply to her now. Come June, that little girl of mine will graduate from high school and then pack all of her belongings into boxes headed for the East Coast. Yes, she has a place in our home in Maryland, but it isn’t a place filled with memories. It will only have her stuff.
This is what is hard for me right now. I’m okay with moving me, but I hurt every time I do something that involves moving the kids. A child’s pain is always shared by her mother, even if not to the same degree. The idea that I am voluntarily inflicting this pain on my child makes it all the worse. We continue to move forward in this venture, but it is not without remorse or even some tears.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Black Walnuts Roasting Over an Open Fire?
During my trip to Maryland in October, I spent a morning picking up many black walnuts that had littered the ground in parts of our yard. I did it because our prolific trees provide us with a vast expanse of walnut seedlings each spring. We mow them down, or I pull them out by their roots, but they return each year. In an effort to be proactive, I gathered all the nuts before they could turn into weeds. I was faced with a beautiful day, an energetic body, and a lack of patience.
Christmas means kiflings (a family cookie tradition), and kiflings mean walnuts. I am reminded that there is more to a walnut than the mere possibility that it will germinate and become a weed. There is the concept that we could actually eat it. (Well, Peter can’t because of his nut allergy, but the rest of us can.) I have looked online and found a little bit about how to harvest and crack them, a little about how to cook with them, and a little about how the emerging market for black walnuts in China could mean we are living on a potential walnut mine! As a bonus, I discovered that eating them actually promotes weight loss because they are rich in Omega-3 fatty acids.
My goal for next year is to discover a little bit more by September so I can actually make a decent attempt at harvesting, cracking, storing, cooking, and eating our own black walnuts. (Since 65% of the wild harvest comes from Missouri, I’m counting on my Missouri friends and family to help me out here.) It seems a waste to let a bounty of food go to the squirrels every year. If you’re not up for grape stomping, but you still want to help us discover new ways of living next fall, drop by for the black walnut harvest. If you’re up for both, we may still be able to accommodate you. Each fall in several states, cities host a Black Walnut Festival. Are there any adventurous explorers out there who would like to accompany me to Ohio, West Virginia, or Missouri?
Next year at this time, stop by our house and join us for some roasted walnuts...or whatever we come up with. I can’t guarantee that you’ll find Jack Frost, yuletide choirs, or folks dressed up like Eskimos, but I can guarantee wine, warmth, food, and friendship.
Christmas means kiflings (a family cookie tradition), and kiflings mean walnuts. I am reminded that there is more to a walnut than the mere possibility that it will germinate and become a weed. There is the concept that we could actually eat it. (Well, Peter can’t because of his nut allergy, but the rest of us can.) I have looked online and found a little bit about how to harvest and crack them, a little about how to cook with them, and a little about how the emerging market for black walnuts in China could mean we are living on a potential walnut mine! As a bonus, I discovered that eating them actually promotes weight loss because they are rich in Omega-3 fatty acids.
My goal for next year is to discover a little bit more by September so I can actually make a decent attempt at harvesting, cracking, storing, cooking, and eating our own black walnuts. (Since 65% of the wild harvest comes from Missouri, I’m counting on my Missouri friends and family to help me out here.) It seems a waste to let a bounty of food go to the squirrels every year. If you’re not up for grape stomping, but you still want to help us discover new ways of living next fall, drop by for the black walnut harvest. If you’re up for both, we may still be able to accommodate you. Each fall in several states, cities host a Black Walnut Festival. Are there any adventurous explorers out there who would like to accompany me to Ohio, West Virginia, or Missouri?
Next year at this time, stop by our house and join us for some roasted walnuts...or whatever we come up with. I can’t guarantee that you’ll find Jack Frost, yuletide choirs, or folks dressed up like Eskimos, but I can guarantee wine, warmth, food, and friendship.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Piano Moving Day
Today we sold our piano to a terrific young family (the Songs!) that is excited about learning and exploring a new passion. Our baby grand piano was purchased nine years ago when we were in the same stage of life. Our oldest was taking piano lessons, and we had hopes that our other two children would also learn. As it turns out, the oldest was a fine pianist, but her passion was in choir. Our middle child found her passion in the theater, and our youngest is still in search of his passion. Regardless, the piano was not it, and it is time to sell it and move on.
Our oldest is unhappy about us selling the piano. She has fond memories of playing it and using it to help her sing. She has many friends who are proficient at it and would play it when they visited our house. (Thank you, Tania, for your many beautiful serenades!) But now our oldest lives on the East Coast in a dorm that has its own grand piano. I suspect she has never played it. I also suspect she wouldn’t play ours if we moved it.
We only briefly considered moving the piano with us to Maryland. For one thing, Peter and I don’t play it. And although we might occasionally have visitors who do, we weren’t convinced that it was worth the space that it would take up. Also, a piano prefers a climate controlled environment. Our house in Maryland is anything but climate controlled. Temperature and humidity swing like a pendulum, wreaking havoc on a wooden instrument’s tuning and tone. No, we just couldn’t do that with a good conscience.
We have the memories that life with a piano afforded us. Now it’s time for this reliable and beautiful instrument to meet a new family and provide them with many years of memories and beauty. It wasn’t built to stand as a piece of furniture or as a monument to times past. It was built to be played and enjoyed in the moment by appreciative hands and ears and smiling faces. Merry Christmas to the Song children. May you have many happy memories ahead of you.
Our oldest is unhappy about us selling the piano. She has fond memories of playing it and using it to help her sing. She has many friends who are proficient at it and would play it when they visited our house. (Thank you, Tania, for your many beautiful serenades!) But now our oldest lives on the East Coast in a dorm that has its own grand piano. I suspect she has never played it. I also suspect she wouldn’t play ours if we moved it.
We only briefly considered moving the piano with us to Maryland. For one thing, Peter and I don’t play it. And although we might occasionally have visitors who do, we weren’t convinced that it was worth the space that it would take up. Also, a piano prefers a climate controlled environment. Our house in Maryland is anything but climate controlled. Temperature and humidity swing like a pendulum, wreaking havoc on a wooden instrument’s tuning and tone. No, we just couldn’t do that with a good conscience.
We have the memories that life with a piano afforded us. Now it’s time for this reliable and beautiful instrument to meet a new family and provide them with many years of memories and beauty. It wasn’t built to stand as a piece of furniture or as a monument to times past. It was built to be played and enjoyed in the moment by appreciative hands and ears and smiling faces. Merry Christmas to the Song children. May you have many happy memories ahead of you.
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