Toasts in Tartan at The Beer Museum

On Saturday the Scottish flag was flying outside the Beer Museum for its Burns Night Celebration. I'd been last year, enjoying it immensely, and was looking forward to this year's event, especially as now I knew a lot more people than I did a year ago. Sadly, I only had my phone to take photos with this year, once again lamenting the death of my little Canon camera.

 The place was pretty packed as I entered, a sea of smiling faces greeting me. I nudged my way through to the bar, calling out, "Hello!" to the left and right, and got myself a beer. Chatting commenced immediately and I was pleased to discover that the actually ceremony hadn't started; I was afraid I'd missed the arrival of The Haggis. Walking out to the back, I was greeted by another crowd of folks and a huge blazing fire. We've had weird weather lately and tonight it wasn't cold. I'd discarded my jacket and stood happily in just my tartan blouse, a balmy breeze ruffling my sleeves. We heard a call from someone that the ceremony was about to start. The bagpiper had been warming up his pipes on the front sidewalk, getting everyone in the mood, so we scurried indoors.
 A photographer from DC, called Silver, was taking photos with two huge cameras attached to long lenses, one slung on each hip so he looked like a camera cowboy as he strode through the museum. He heard me talking and came over, announcing to me that he'd never heard an English accent first hand, so tonight made his day. He chatted for a while and parted with big hugs before he flung one of his heavy cameras up in front of his face, ready to shoot the arriving procession.

David Downes, the owner of the museum, gave a short speech before The Haggis arrived, heralding Robbie Burns' passion for poetry and women. I had to chuckle when I spotted a photo of Jamie Frazer from Highlander stuck to the podium. Someone commented that he and Mr Burns shared a likeness. I could only conclude that the person commenting had got a head start on the evening's proceedings and was already viewing everything with a distorted vision.

Everyone was hushed and the small procession came down the stairs, people hustling to move out of the way. The reporter from The Royal Examiner was standing on a chair and taking photos. His report is here, and I'm on the far right in the fifth photo, with Silver, the DC photographer at the front. Sloane entered, holding his sword high, and actually looking very Highlanderish himself, with a slight likeness to Jamie. The piper came next and then Eric, holding The Haggis high. I got a lovely waft as it passed by and was gently placed on a table. We listened to the wonderful music that only bagpipes can make and then dutifully stood silent as Eric toasted the lambs innards wrapped in plastic. Everyone had been armed with a tot of whiskey and they were all poured down the hatch after a raucous cheer.

 Eric licked his knife enthusiastically after slicing open The Haggis, and then we listened to the toasts to the lads and the lasses and one very long poem written by The Bard himself. I had been dreading this part, because last year, the recitals had been exceedingly long and fatiguing, requiring the moving of one's weight from one foot to another multiple times while focusing on not letting any loud sighs escape. But this year's readings were decidedly shorter, allowing people to return to the bar and refill glasses sooner, and thus ensuring that the mood of joy was uninterrupted. Well planned indeed!

Out the back there was still a crowd, a little louder by now, and it was decided a few Scottish songs should be sung. Sheets of words were handed out and we all sang out loud. I knew very few of the tunes but after the first verse and chorus of each song I was good to go and belted out the tunes along with everyone else. Strangely enough, we didn't sing Auld Lang Syne, even though it was on the sheets,but nobody seemed to mind.

 I wandered back inside as I realized that I hadn't yet had any of the haggis. Leaping up the stairs I entered the Room of Fodder and stared in complete disbelief at an empty plate where the revered dish had once sat steaming. I looked closely inside the bowl and there wasn't even enough to collect on a cocktail stick. I had to console myself with the thought that it had at least been enjoyed, even if it was by all except me. There were still some neeps and tatties left but my hunger had suddenly dissipated. Time for another beer.
Towards the end of the evening I discovered that David had a Secret Bar. As I entered I realized I was just in time. An aged bottle of whiskey was about to be cracked open and I was now in the small group that would enjoy it. Another toast to the ladies was called out and so I obviously raised my drink to that, and then found myself tugged on to the dance floor where I found myself dancing a jig with a very handsome man in a kilt. God only knows how I managed to stay upright as we capered around in circles and then he spun me around a few times, clockwise and anticlockwise, but I'm pretty sure I managed to keep my toes tapping in time. Alas, it was late in the evening and folks were starting to tire and head for home. I said my good byes and joined the throng, walking the quiet streets home to The Blue House.

Battling History at the Mill

On a weekend that was lashed with sleet, rain and fearsome winds there seemed little chance of any outdoor activity so Saturday was spent stocking up on groceries and then snuggling on the sofa while watching DVDs, but Sunday couldn't be spent in the same lazy manner, and so with the gales still roaring around the house, I set out to explore a couple of indoor places that I'd passed on numerous occasions, but never ventured inside.
Battling down I81 was arduous, often needing to wrench the steering wheel back and forth to maintain driving in a straight line. The winds were relentless and, fortunately, folks were sensibly driving slower than usual. My first destination was the Virginia Museum of the Civil War in New Market, which focuses on the Battle of New Market, and sits on the battleground along with the preserved farm buildings which had been in the midst of the fight. A few others had also ventured out here and were quietly walking around. It was warm and cozy, the museum laid out really well so you literally flowed around the exhibit walls in the circular building.

 The Stained Slab Glass Mural Wall by Ami Shamir featuring aspects of the Civil War and names of the ten Virginia Military Institute cadets who died fighting it. The field had been plowed before the day's fight, making it so muddy that many cadets lost their boots, earning it the title, The Field of the Lost Shoes.

 From one of the windows I had a lovely view of the Knob, a mountain that has just been purchased, helped by the local community, and added to the George Washington National Forest. Wonderful news that this mountain will now always look the same and will never be tarnished by man made structures or deforestation.

A battle scene I could get right up close to, the detail on these men's faces was impressive.
The story behind the photos of the wall stayed with me. The Confederates were behind this stone wall at Marye's Heights, Fredericksburg, winning against the Union troops, many of whom were crying in pain, wounded on the field. One of the Confederate soldiers, Richard Kirkland, unable to bear the sounds any longer, grabbed water canteens and leaped over the wall to offer water to his wounded enemies. The firing stopped for an hour and a half while he tended the fallen men, then the fighting resumed. This 'Angel of Marye's Heights' died less than a year later at Chickamauga.
There was an impressive gun exhibit here, and I was particularly taken by the way all revolvers back then were issued in a wooden box, complete with accessories. This is a Colt Model 1849 Pocket Revolver.  I'd also never been aware that Abraham Lincoln had been so enthusiastic about machine guns. He insisted the government purchase 60 of these Wilson Agar hand cranked guns which fired 120 rounds a minute. It was referred to as the Coffee Mill gun, because of its looks and because it heated up so much during firing. This is one of the three that are known to remain today.
 A short distance down the road is the Bushong farm which got caught up in the battle of New Market. A great article about Sarah Bushong and the battle on her farm is here.

True to the period the house has been to restored, using many pieces that were donated, although the gold mirror, square table and clock in the corner did actually belong to the family.
On Sunday May 15 1864, the Confederate soldiers swarmed around the house, forming a line along the orchard fence. Battle commenced and the family took refuge in the cellar below, which had small windows above ground, so they could fearfully watch the fighting. Bullets pierced the doors and windows while soldiers fell outside, and soon these men took refuge inside the house, which then, along with other local homes, became a hospital. The family continued to live downstairs until they were able to return to their home upstairs once it was no longer needed as a hospital. I peered through the cellar windows trying to imagine the horrors of watching a battle right before my eyes, the flashes of bayonets and gunpowder sparking, the smell of blood and the men's cries. It must have been awful to be trapped down there, wondering if a bullet would rip through the walls at any moment, and then the ordeal of living below stairs while wounded men were tended upstairs, their pain piercing the floorboards.
There is a short walk across the battlefields to an overlook of the Shenandoah. Pushing forward against the winds I set off across the field.

 A memorial to Stacey Nadeau, who I read later, had been cherished as a dedicated member of staff for thirteen years here at the New Market Battlefield before succumbing to cancer in 2016. One of her big accomplishments was authoring a cookbook based on the original recipes from the Bushong Farm which continues to sell in the museum stores today. What a beautiful spot to be remembered. I stood looking down at the sparkling water and peaceful farms below me, wishing I had a hat to protect my poor throbbing ears from the blustering, battering gales, but also not wanting to leave just yet. The view, as are all views of this majestic river, was breathtaking. I stood a while longer and then reluctantly headed back to the car, thankfully, with the wind now behind me.
My next destination was another place I've often driven past but not visited. I knew it was a cultural heritage building so had a fair idea of what that meant but I thought a peek inside wouldn't hurt.
The Edinburg Mill is a towering white building that looms over Rte 11 on the outskirts of the small town. Because I knew it would contain historical artifacts I grabbed my camera and entered, assuming I'd be here for about 20 minutes. But within seconds of creaking on the wooden floors and looking around at every crammed corner I knew I'd underestimated my stay. I was then informed of  two more levels upstairs that insisted on a $3 donation to view. Why they don't just say it's a $3 charge, I don't know, because a donation should be voluntary and yet this is most definitely not implied. but in all fairness I can't see anyone trying to dodge this small fee, it's well worth it. I walked about, once again wrongly assuming, that I'd be seeing relics of days gone by that I'd seen many times before. Instead, I was engrossed, delighted, amused and intrigued with this wondrous museum. Aged wooden floors and narrow corridors led to rooms and cubby holes stuffed with memorabilia.

There were interactive maps and so many collections that I had to walk very slowly so nothing was missed. I'd never seen old voting artifacts like these before and was impressed with the amount of local antiquities that had been loving saved and were now in this huge old mill.

I was very interested in the stills and 'wanted' posters on display and further impressed to see a recipe for corn whiskey mash. Very tempted to try that out!

I'd never seen such a large collection of nursing and first aid badges and posters, the antique camera collection was amazing and I loved the story of Frank Hottel. There were many interesting collections and stories here, the description cards were written thoughtfully and often humorously so I really wanted to read them all, but to do that would have taken a whole day. This place is amazing and well worth a visit. It's incredible that such a small town has managed to accumulate such a wealth of history inside these beautifully restored walls, and the website is equally enthralling. There is also a restaurant adjoining the museum which I didn't have time to try out, but the food looked delicious. I see another trip here in the future.

Peculiar Puppets on Parade

On Sunday Emily and Richard came to FroRo so I could show them one of my favorite attractions. A hike had originally been suggested and the weather was perfect for this, but I'd been experiencing bad stomach pains, which were later diagnosed as gastritis or possible stomach ulcer, and so the thought of trudging uphill and feeling winded didn't appeal. But since I'm a huge fan of all things Americana I hoped the quirkiness of where I was taking them would also appeal to my friends. And so I was very excited to introduce them to The American Celebration on Parade.
We arrived to find the parking lot completely empty, we were the only visitors. This was my third visit and each time I've found this extraordinary establishment with no other visitors, incredible to believe.

As I entered the huge warehouse I once again experienced the thrill of seeing these absolutely enormous float masterpieces that towered above us, garish, gaudy and sometimes downright creepy. I don't think it will matter how many times I see these, every time I walk in I'm astounded at their sheer size, vivid colors and amount of glitter. I had hoped to see the same reaction on my friend's faces but not so. I was more excited than the pair of them put together. But then I realized I'd never really seen them display pure unbridled excitement or joy, their emotions are always kept checked. Feeling sad for them I bounced past them into the vast hall, jigging a little to the wondrous parade music that was blasting out. I hummed along to jazzed up versions of Ghostbusters, Hey Ya and Thriller as well as the more traditional band sounds. God, I love this place!

Some of the exhibits had been moved about and a few were missing, notably the rabbits, but the Genie was still reigning supreme, 30ft tall and 47ft from fingertip to fingertip. She's a veteran of the Rose Parade, the Philadelphia Thanksgiving Parade and the Miss America Parade. The polar bears won the Queen's Trophy in the 1998 Rose Parade. Their white fur gets grubby quickly and is often replaced. Some of these displays were broken up to make new parade floats, although most are now in retirement, and some are in a storage warehouse in Maryland. The wheels on Neptune's chariot were once on a gladiator float.

This limousine has appeared in movies and weddings as well as the Rose Parade and is covered in black fake fur. The wonder of this place is that you can get close up and personal to the displays, to stroke the fur or gingerly feel a flower petal or simply to tap the glittered surfaces that sparkle and twinkle, impossible not to touch. Some of the floats have buttons that can pressed to make parts move. An elephant will slowly swing or a pelican will gyrate, the old motors below them grinding and creaking loudly.  The carpet is spotless,the wide red expanse making you feel as though you're part of a parade yourself and making a grand appearance.
There seemed to be more open space than on previous visits and upon asking about this I was told that they now hold events in the warehouse and so need space for tables or booths. Event dinners, wine tastings and fright nights are now on the schedule to help bring in funds. When the exhibition was owned by its founder, Earl Hargrove, there was an entrance fee. On my previous visits I'd paid for a ticket that covered this, the Shenandoah Caverns, the vintage window display museum and the Yellow Barn. Today, we were amazed to discover that now only the caverns charge a fee, everything is free entry. Mr Hargrove passed away in 2015, and now this is owned by his daughter, who has decided to give some of the exhibits another go at rolling down the streets. Regarding the 2019 Apple Blossom Festival she said, “This year, we took first place for our float in every category for the Apple Blossom Parade,” she says. It was the same parade that brought Hargrove to the Shenandoah Valley in the 1960s. “I just know my father was beaming from heaven. And now we are making one for the Fourth of July parade in Harrisonburg. I know my father would be so proud.”
We left the parade floats and walked up the hill towards the caverns to explore the Main Street of Yesteryear, a small dimly lit museum of old storefront windows from the 40's and 50's. For the middle of January, it felt weird to be outside in just t-shirts, a warm breeze stroking out bare arms.

These old bears were once circus features, some from the early 20th century. A pressed button started them slowly moving from side to side, with loud groaning noises from the machinery reminding me of complaining arthritic joints. Upstairs in the darkened museum the ceiling was hung with multitudes of dusty silk lilac flowers and leaves. A musty smell clung in the air, the floorboards creaked as I stepped across. Some of the window displays were lit, others came alive as we walked past, small lights beamed and the characters within sprang to life, walking around tracks or swinging on a trapeze, turning on a carnival ride or simply just turning their heads.

The workmanship and detail is outstanding on these displays which is why on this visit I focused on closeups of the stars. Some were grotesque while others were beautiful or simply amusing. But there was definitely a sinister air to the place. Some of these puppets would make Stephen King grimace, I loved them all. The motors whirred and clanked loudly as the window displays jerked and twirled their puppets, a deathly silence hanging in the air when the machines stopped.

For such a small museum, it has a huge impact. I so wish they make store windows like this today. This whole destination really is one of my favorite places to visit, and every time I return it's like a first visit, the wonder and incredulous astonishment gripping me each time. I was reluctant to leave, as always, but I know I'll be back, especially for the Fright Night. The Yellow Barn wasn't open and we weren't dressed to go down into chilly caves, so we headed for a local flea market that I never noticed before.

There were some unique yard ornaments, I really wanted the medallion sporting blue alien, but not enough to part with $75. Inside were numerous small rooms filled with various vendors. Only one thing caught my eye, a can of garden insecticide, claiming to be so safe that the mother had sprayed right next to her small child! I might have to go back for that...
Richard got me to pose with the leg of a mannequin, not a photo I was enamored with until I spotted Yoda's expression on the front of my t-shirt! It was halfway through the afternoon by the time we left and so with no further ado, we finished the day as any intrepid explorer worth his/her salt would, and made haste to a local brewery and then a winery.