Strasburg and a Sty

I found myself driving through Strasburg on Sunday, a beautiful bright day, a little breezy, but sunny and warm. With my windows rolled down I admired some of the town's older and more attractive buildings. I miss the ancient stone residences with mullioned windows from England, built centuries ago, but there are still some interesting structures over here, even if only a couple of hundred years old.

I had the sun shining directly into my lens whenever I wanted to take a photo, so some points of interest I had to give up on, but I greatly admired this grand home, (top), on one of the back streets, built about 1910, and was amazed to find photos of its interior online. Take a look! Bit too big for me, but gloriously restored, it's gorgeous.
Dosh House, built after 1778, has also been preserved and is now under the able stewardship of the Strasburg Guards, Sons of Confederate Veterans, and looking very maintained. They open it to the public periodically, I'll have to watch out for that. As I was about to pull out on to Rte 55, my nose was suddenly assailed with the wondrous aroma of bacon. My mouth immediately began watering and I flipped my head from side to side to find out where this tantalizing fragrance was coming from. A tiny brightly painted caravan was perched in front of a restaurant, and I remembered reading about it recently, but knowing that it hasn't began business yet, it therefore wasn't cooking bacon. I didn't discover where the succulent scent came from but it did remind me to make a mental note to come back and try The Pancake Underground once their frying pans hit the burners

I went up and down the road a few times before I realized that this was the house I'd been looking for, Hupp House, the oldest home in Strasburg, dated 1755.It has a 1937 sign at the front telling that it had been used as a fort in Indian attacks and a newer sign, seen in the photo, which was completely illegible. Thankfully, I found a blog which explained its history.

 

The house was in dire need of repair and is evidently lived in, 3 or 4 baby strollers folded up at the porch, a huge ashtray overflowing with cigarette ends, and equally full trash bins by the road side. The decorative woodwork was crying out for a new paint job. I would have liked to walk around the back and explore further but respected the inhabitant's privacy and kept away, very happy to notice that their neighbor's home and garden was a different story, a pretty cottage scene, and definitely worthy of a photo. Watercress was mentioned on Allen's blog and I had spotted that behind the house. Many of the creeks in this county have this leafy green growing and on my next trip out here, I'll bring containers and a cooler to pick some. lovely in a salad or cheese sandwich!
I then began driving to a battlefield site, now a park, and approached the tiny village of Fisherville.

I spotted a river with a road running alongside it and made a detour, delighted to discover waterfalls, which I clambered down to, and sat for a while on the rocks, enjoying the warm sun and the splashing water as it thundered by me. the banks were carpeted with tiny blue and white veronica flowers, green buds sprouted from branches. Spring had sprung, and I hoped it was here to stay.
I entered the tiny picturesque village of Fisherville and stopped on the bridge to take in the pretty scenery. Old wooden buildings dotted the green slopes, a vintage truck leaned inside an old barn, while a bubbling creek tumbled over smooth rocks, and clumps of watercress emerald green bobbed on the crisp clear water.

I stopped by an old mill building to take some photos, loving a line of concrete ducks that had been dressed up in spring clothing in a front yard. As I bent down to stand one up that had fallen over, an elderly gentleman in a vintage Camero pulled over, a huge grin on his face, as he declared while waving an arm, "Take as many photos as you want, We own these buildings!" I thanked him and he pulled away with another cheery wave. Just a short way up the road I stopped again when I saw him parked by a small pond, admiring a couple of Canadian gooses enjoying the spring weather. We both sat in our cars for a few quiet contented minutes watching the birds, not wanting to exit our vehicles and disturb their peaceful moment.
Just further down the road I saw a huge hog by a gate set back from the road. I drove by but then braked, thinking that I should really go back and say hello. And I was glad I did.

Mr Hog was standing by a shady sty and looking very proud of himself. I was so enamored with his expression that it was a few seconds before I realized the source of his joy. Tiny squeals made me move over and look down so that, down by his feet, I could see five, and then six, tiny piglets. They had just been born, their umbilical cords still attached. Mom was lying on straw in the shade, likely feeling very tired and showing no interest in me whatsoever. But Dad was grinning from ear to ear. I swear if I had handed him a cigar he would have smoked it, he was one extremely satisfied father. He snuffled his babies after posing for a couple of photos, very pleased with his new family. I didn't stay long, not wanting to upset the mom or cause her anguish with my presence. I congratulated Dad and went on my way.

I arrived at Fisher's Hill Battlefield, discovering that I was the only one here. The wind had picked up, feeling cold in my ears, but I decided to see what the trails in this park were like. I crossed over a small creek and walked through a beautifully made entrance with a heavy kissing gate. This is a relatively new park area of 179 acres where Gen. Jubal A. Early's army, already beaten and wounded from the Third Battle of Winchester the day before, tried to strengthen their position here but lost, outnumbered by nearly three to one. "Our position was naturally strong but our army was too small to man it." - Confederate Capt. Samuel D. Buck.

There was only about a mile of trails here so I followed them all, crossing fields spattered with the dried trademarks of previous grazing cattle. Walking up Ramseur's Hill, named after one of Jubal Early's division commanders, I noticed a tree which made me stop and stare. It appeared to have a soldier standing on a bough, his rifle held on his shoulder as he aimed at something in the distance. Right in the middle, see it? I finished my hike and began the drive back towards Front Royal, where a lazy evening would be spent with Rosie Lee and Tricksie Treat before another week of work would begin.