Virginia is for Lovers

We had planned a midsummer extreme heat escape for August to Mount Rainier and Olympic Peninsula but an early hurricane that spared our area wreaked enough havoc on the airline industry and AB’s schedule to destroy our best laid plans. Instead, we feinted right and headed back east for a quick emergency recovery trip. Our ‘find’ of the summer ~ a small town in southwestern Virginia called Abingdon. If you can, you should go.

Over the years, we have driven many happy miles up and down Interstate 81 through the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.

Until this trip we have always joined or exited 81 where it intersects I-77 just north of Wytheville, on our way to and from North Carolina. This stretch of highway has ever stirred our hearts as the towns tick by ~ Lexington, Steeles Tavern, Stuarts Draft, New Market, Woodstock, Middletown, and onward to Winchester, far to the north. Easy on the eyes. This is Virginia’s gift to us. Rolling hills, cold deep caverns, Revolutionary and Civil war history, creaking farmhouses, farmer’s markets, bursting vineyards, coastal and interior southern cuisine. You find yourself murmuring, “He owns the cattle on a thousand hills”, and “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof”, and other half-scripture, whole-joy acknowledgements that don‘t feel trite or tired as they slip out. Route 11, the old road that graciously stepped aside to the bigger interstate system, is a further wonder, if one has the time to meander a little. Virginia is best seen on the quiet byways, and the Shenandoah Valley is no exception. Cares melt away, and we find ourselves holding hands in silent mutual contentment, letting go just long enough to point out another sight before reclaiming strong warm fingers and lapsing into quiet again.

After dropping the children in Charlotte with their grandparents, we headed north without a fixed itinerary. For the first time in our lives, we found ourselves traveling south on 81 through and beyond Wytheville. We wove back and forth between Route 11 and Interstate 81. Beautiful, a little more mountainous, more wild, absolutely gorgeous. We stopped frequently to take pictures, walk and climb, and marvel.

Ordinarily, when we have time alone without the children, our lodging preferences are bed and breakfasts or upscale hotels. This trip, we had done virtually no research on accommodations. We wanted to be outside, breathing cool, dry air, refreshing our eyes on mountain vistas, and stretching our legs on woodland trails. We decided we would settle for one of the many chain hotels wherever we wound up.

It was a cool, dark, rainy evening when we finally meandered into Abingdon, and there up on a low hill to our left, shrouded in Virginia mountain mist, sat the Alpine Motel. A throwback to the 60s, with the retro look the wannabes on HGTV are trying to emulate, the Alpine is the real thing. For those of us who think summers were best when defined by Airstream travel trailers, late night firefly-catching with your cousins, and family night at the drive-in, this is the place! The room décor looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years, yet was very clean and well kept. The property was quiet, the rates extremely affordable. We were delighted. Our fellow Alpine dwellers were there for the outdoors as well. Most had mountain bikes strapped on the back of their cars and trucks. We never heard a noise at night, and they like us, were up and out early. It was the cure for what ailed us.

We slept with the windows opened, and awoke hoping for breakfast. The hotel manager was in his pajamas, serving up hot coffee and toasted bagels, and graciously loaned us his blow dryer when asked. We made arrangements to extend our stay.

We had done some cursory reading on the internet, and found Abingdon’s website promising, but silk purses are produced of sow’s ears with tiring regularity on the world wide web, so we withheld judgment pending firsthand inspection.

The website did not do the town justice. A beautiful 230 year old treat, filled with lovely homes, antique shops, restaurants, fascinating history, and the world famous Barter Theater. There are more things to do in Abingdon than can conceivably be done in a week, or even a month, and much of it pertains to the outdoors. Of note, the Virginia Creeper Trail, a 35 mile former rail bed trail open to hiking, mountain biking and horseback riding, draws visitors from all over the world.

This is a town with few chain restaurants, many small churches, and no Wal-Mart. Art galleries rub elbows with the local soup kitchen on the picturesque Main Street. The citizens seemed to know that they are fortunate indeed to call Abingdon home and were unfailingly gracious and friendly, from the wealthy proprietor of a dim and cavernous antique shop to the pony tailed young man who served our supper one night in the crowded local pizzeria. “Welcome to Virginia.” “Where are you from?” “Enjoy your stay in Abingdon”. We heard this over and over, spoken with warmth in that incomparable Virginia drawl.

We never tarry on return trips, because the hole left in our hearts by our missing children begins to hurt more the closer we get to our reunion with them. While away, we play a game with our aching hearts, and refuse to let the other disclose grief at the absence of our children. We gloss over those moments of misery at bedtime before we remember romance and insist they are fine going to bed without our benediction. We quickly change the subject and remind ourselves of the delirious deliciousness of being alone together when the voice of some other child catches our ear and takes our breath. But once we have turned our faces away from our respite, we admit and rejoice in the longing, and feel a sense of urgency to get home to them. And so we did this trip, and it was with a great deal of anticipation that we wound back to North Carolina.

Somewhere, mixed with the anticipation, I felt a stillness about the future, a quiet about the coming second half of 2008. A residual grace from the days just spent kept at bay the worry of the difficulties ahead. This trip had been much more than an escape from the heat. It was more than a time of reconnection with each other, it was a renewed glimpse of the goodness of the Lord. Abingdon, Virginia. For lovers ~ for us. Be still and know that I am God. Taste and See that the Lord is good. We did, we did. He is.