Blooms and Ruins and Cooks

Sunday was a warm breezy day as I drove down to Harrisonburg to explore the Edith J. Carrier Arboretum. I had wanted to see this park since last year when I discovered that they had a bridge very similar to Monet's bridge on his property in Giverny. But then I'd seen on the internet that they were draining, cleaning and deepening the lake as part of a restoration project. Web images showed that the disruption did nothing to induce any scenic photographs, so I decided to wait a year before driving down.
The traffic was light as I passed down I81, high up on a ridge with mountains looming up on either side. The sky was filled with huge fluffy marshmallow clouds that tumbled and rolled in front of me, throwing down dark shadows over the peaks like a blanket on a horse's back. Spring was bursting forth everywhere, fresh bright colors across the landscape. Citrus and chartreuse, emerald and asparagus, the new leaves were opening up and hiding the tired brown branches as if Spring was pulling on a coat of color. Every green blended together, vivid splashes of pinks and yellows breaking up the palette. It always seemed strange to me that Mother Nature appeared to clothe herself in Spring while the animal world did the opposite, shedding their thick, furry winter coats while humans discarded long sleeves and pant legs.
I was amazed when I arrived at the park to find only a few cars in the small parking lot, and even more astounded to realize, once I'd stepped out of the car and looked around, that it appeared I'd be able to walk around the whole park in about 10 minutes. I had assumed it would be a large park. It was very pretty, well manicured lawns, bluebells, azaleas, blossoms, tulips, daffodils, so many pretty pastels, but my first impression was one of disappointment, as I had hoped to spend most of the day here.

 Well, I was here now, so I had to do the place justice and explore thoroughly. I set off, glad not to need a jacket, although some folks sitting on the grass with a picnic had shawls around their shoulders. The grounds were immaculate and the lake did look pretty, no signs of its recent upheaval present. But that bridge looked tiny, I felt like I was walking around a model village. Nevertheless I took the photos I wanted, glad the blossoms were still blooming, and continued along the path.

 The path led into a wooded area and I was delighted to see the ground covered with bluebells, a faint breeze bobbing their pastel blue and pink heads up and down. There were also plenty of Trilliums nestled among them, snow white petals gleaming in the sunshine. A rope bridge crossed a small creek and I do have to confess I spent some time bouncing up and down, enjoying the thrill of being thrown from side to side, but upon spotting a couple walking towards me in the distance, I stopped my frolicking and pretended to take some photos, too embarrassed to look them in the eye.

 There was an area for kids, which was wonderfully empty, a sandpit, an odd looking archway and an interesting bench bereft of any bouncing and howling bairns, a joy to experience, no yelling or screaming! It did seem strange though, that this pretty little oasis in the middle of a bustling town wasn't being enjoyed by many on this glorious Spring day.

 Flowerbeds were filled with tulips and daffodils, near the end of their flowering life, and the ferns were stepping up for the next act, shiny green fronds reaching skywards and unfurling. I made a mental note to visit local woods soon to collect some 'fiddleheads'. Delicious when sauteed in a little oil.

 Even though there were 125 acres here, an hour and a half was all it took to walk the trails. The gardens were beautiful but the wooded paths further away didn't interest me as much, they led into woods looking like most on the Appalachian Trail this time of year, grey and brown with little color. . It had been lovely to see so many spring colors and my first sightings of many plants this year, the bluebells, trilliums and azaleas. Even the rhododendrons' buds were uncurling with pink and cream petals peeking out. I shall definitely drop by again when I'm next in the area, it's a little jewel in this town.

Another gem I was on the lookout for for Cook's country Store. It was past 1pm and I was famished but determined to hold out on the 45 minute journey heading back north to Woodstock. I had seen an article online about old-fashioned rural stores, and wanted to visit this one. First though, I had to pass an eye catching water tower in Mount Jackson. Hand painted by local, Eric Henn, it had cost $250,000 for the mural, replacing old vinyl apples. It looked superb standing high above the fields.
A few minutes later I pulled into an Exxon gas station, Cook's Country Store attached to the side. For some reason I had been expecting a stand alone store but I didn't dally, sauntering straight inside towards a very late lunch. There were a few other food stops in the area but this is the place the locals meet, and a few were present at the tables, covered with clean and shiny sunflower plastic tablecloths. The store has been owned by the Cook family since the 60's and my nose told me that they sure knew what they were doing. The fried chicken and biscuits called my name through the glass which I can't believe anyone can walk past without their mouths watering. Instead I ordered an meat omelette with rye toast and sat down at a table sipping coffee and praying I wouldn't be waiting too long. But my hunger was soon forgotten as I listened to the locals chatting. They all knew each other, the kids had impeccable manners and hugs were given nonstop. I envied their community immensely and felt suddenly homesick, but before I could mope for too long, my omelette was plonked in front of me and I happily tucked in. I've never seen so much ham, bacon and sausage stuffed between 2 eggs and long before I was finished, I was full. The folks near me were finishing their chat and as I got up and sidled past I half hoped they'd give me a hug too. It certainly wouldn't be one of the air hugs I get from my friends. An arm loosely draped over my shoulder, with as little contact as possible, and then 2 tiny, barely felt taps with fingers on my back. I think I only know 3 people who give a proper hug, everyone else does the 'DC Tap' so I tend not to reach out for that contact too frequently...
Earlier as I had neared the restaurant I'd spotted the gables of an old house, it's roof barely discernible through the tree tops, so after lunch I trundled up and down country lanes until I found it. Unfortunately it wasn't as endearing as it had appeared from the interstate but at least my curiosity was sated.

The paint had long gone from the house and what I assumed was an old barn, but the weathered wood looked beautiful. I didn't hang about since there were many 'no trespassing' signs and even a few stating, 'survivors will be shot again', so I took my photos and scarpered. Heading home I decided to go through Front Royal. This bridge has been under construction for a couple of years and is now near completion. It's looking pretty impressive.

I stopped at this field a few miles from home. A gentleman had parked his car and was taking photos. "You know what it is, right?" I asked him. He didn't but thought "it was beautiful." I told him it was Roundup and suggested he look it up on the internet. Unfortunately we have a lot of fields looking like this now around our region, farmers spraying Roundup onto soy bean fields. There have been reports of the dogwood trees being affected. I noticed more yellowing fields as I got closer to home, but had no time to reflect. I needed a nap after that huge omelette!