Retreating to SRF Greenfield

On Saturday I was let down at the last minute by a friend who I had planned to spend a day of exploring with. All my camera batteries were charged and I scratched my head for a while wondering where I could go on my own. I didn't really want to go too far afield and the day was promising to be sweltering, the air already thick and heavy with humidity, the sun bearing down unmercifully, and it was only 10am. I suddenly remembered a place close to home that Margie had discovered on line the day after my housewarming party. We'd been too late in visiting it that day but I had time today so I jumped in Stanley with my small Canon and set off.
I pass this location every day when I drove to and from work, the sign by the roadside for some reason making me assume it was the grand home of an old retired military general or someone similar. I couldn't have been farther from the truth. In fact, this is SRF Greenfield, a self realization fellowship retreat, where people learn to express and encourage the good in humanity. They allow visitors when they don't have functions and today, when I checked, their schedule was clear.
I drove down the long driveway slowly, canopied by trees with a large lake down below me to the left. A guinea fowl sign was on the side of the dusty track but I couldn't see any. Yet. I parked next to a truck, not really sure if I could park here.

  I turned off the engine and stepped out. Even though I hear hear the traffic from the road I still felt a sense of silence, a quiet and peaceful serenity. The birds were singing and an occasional bee buzzed by me. Swallowtails floated back and forth, settling briefly on the prolific blooms of a nearby buddleia bush and then fluttering around in circles before landing again. Thankfully the shade from the trees protected me from the intense sun and the grass was still heavily damp from the morning dew. I looked about and saw no-one. Not wanting to interrupt anybody, I stayed away from the buildings and walked the paths, trying to step as silently as possible on the gravel and stones.

The newly blooming bee balm flowers barely moved, there was no breeze but bees and insects buzzed around them. I spotted a stink bug having a nap in a trumpet vine flower and then heard a cheeping. Four guinea fowls were sitting on the damp grass in the shade. I cheeped back but they weren't interested in me or in having a conversation. They slowly pulled themselves up, stretched their legs and strolled over to the bushes. I felt bad for having interrupted their peace and backed away leaving them to hopefully resume their quiet banter.
As I crossed over the track to another part of the gardens I saw the back of a man with a wide brimmed hat disappear into a large shed. Maybe a gardener? I would have loved to have met someone so I could ask questions. Where was I allowed to walk? Would I be disturbing a group if I went into any of the buildings? But there wasn't a soul to be seen, it was almost eerie but I also experienced a sense of wonder that I was enjoying this little haven all to myself and I kept getting the feeling that I was expected to enjoy and relish the peace without worrying that I was stepping on someone's toes. It sounds really daft but I actually felt a few times as I walked about that I was being watched, but in a good way, and that whoever was watching was wanting me to find my peace here. And strangely enough as I turned up another path, I was a lady in flowing loose clothing quickly walk behind a hedge. I didn't feel that she was avoiding me, rather that she didn't want to break the quiet serenity of my visit here. Strange, but kind of wonderful too.

 Everywhere in the gardens were quiet places, chairs and small tables placed under shady trees, offering a quiet haven for those that wished it. Small statues were dotted about and chimes tinkled occasionally. I spotted some that were hanging by macrame ropes and made a mental note to do that myself at home. Many years ago I used to make macrame plant hangers with rope and beads. I have some old metal bells as the ones above and will hang them the same way. The insects were loving this garden, so many buzzed, flitted or zoomed past my head and I even spotted a couple of ants and a ladybug drinking crystal dew drops on leaves. Giant yellow coneflowers, like golden scepters, stood erect, slowly nodding from side to side on erect stems.
I began to walk across the grass and down towards the lake and suddenly, as though I'd hit a trip wire, the fountain started, throwing a tall column of water into the air, causing ripples to gently knock against the banks. The lawn twinkled and sparkled as I ambled down the slope, the dew soaking my shoes. Thick Japanese stiltgrass and clover made the lawn as soft as a carpet, the creeping charlie emitting a lovely minty, spicy aroma as I stepped on it.

I kept in the shade as much as possible, which wasn't difficult, there were so many trees hanging low over the lake and the trails. Little paths detoured off into the foliage and I had to investigate them, often following a mowed path until I entered a small glade, always with a wooden seat or stone bench thoughtfully placed at the end. I watched a flutter of swallowtails enjoying a damp muddy patch, drinking from shallow puddles and even stood silently as a doe, in a pool of sunlight, drank from a creek that bubbled over rocks. She was aware of me and stood stock still, as did I. She wasn't sure where I was until I spoke softly then she looked at me directly. Another sip from the cool water and then she disappeared into the dark leaves.

At the far end of the lake I sat briefly on a bench under an osage orange tree, noticing that the fruit were already large. I peered through the heavy curtain of leaves to the lake and the main house up on the hill. There were so many well placed seats around the gardens that I felt I had to try each of them out, even if it was for just a couple of minutes. It still seemed strange that I was enjoying these surroundings all on my own, it really felt that people knew I was here and were purposefully keeping out of my way so I could enjoy this tranquil time on my own. The dragonflies hummed and swished back and forth over the grasses while bullfrogs croaked, sounding like strumming elastic bands. I tried to photograph them, even pointing my camera out in front of me, ready to press the shutter at the slightest movement, but they were too quick. All I ever saw were ripples on the surface after very loud plops as they disappeared in the water.
I was aware of the time and knew the retreat had something on their schedule at noon. It was after 11:30 and I didn't want to encroach on their private time. I made my way back up to the car, noticing the multitude of bees collecting pollen from the clover. From the abundant insect life here it was apparent that no chemicals were used on the garden, a paradise for pollinators.
I got back in my car and drove very slowly back down the dusty trail and there on the lawn, which I'd walked over just a moment or two ago, were a group of people, bent over and potting some flowers into terracotta pots. Had they waited until I'd finished my quiet time before coming out? They didn't make eye contact as I passed and I was reluctant to call out, but I left SRF Greenfield after having experienced what the retreat had promised, a sense of attunement.

http://devotee2devotee.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/Sister-Diri-Attunement.pdf

Rambling around Richmond

On Saturday, I drove down to Fredericksburg to meet with Emily, Margie and Richard plus Robert, another urbexer from the DC group. We were exploring Richmond and meeting other explorers for breakfast. As I was driving through Front Royal I spotted a hiker with his thumb out so promptly pulled over. He wanted a ride to the trail which was a couple of miles away and all uphill to get there. Chris, or Cuss, as he's known on the trail, is from Sweden and was heading north, having begun his hike from Georgia on April 14th. He wasn't sure if he was going to make it to Maine as he was having problems, which he didn't reveal to me and I didn't like to probe. But he'd had a couple of days break in FroRo and was feeling refreshed, with new shoes and his supplies replenished. We chatted and laughed and I wished him luck as I dropped him off, praising him for his stamina and determination. He shrugged, fist bumped me and with a grin as he climbed out of the car, he looked back and said, "Man makes plans and the gods are laughing." Waving, he turned his back and continued on The Appalachian Trail. I love these hikers, they are mostly fine examples of humanity, showing bravery, persistence, creativity, unity and responsibility, to name a few. I envy their months on the trail, knowing I don't have the time or the funds to even think about it, or if I'm honest, their drive, but I revel in firsthand experiences like this. I hope he makes it.
I met the others and soon we were on our way to Richmond. We hadn't been here for a while and I held no grand ideas about finding any mind blowing abandonments, but we parked up near the James River and walked out to look at an old iron works.

We couldn't get too close from our position so gave up, watching instead the multitude of grown men playing with their radio controlled vehicles, trying to get them round an 'assault course' on the rocks. Deep discussions were taking place as they earnestly reviewed crevasses and cracks in the rocks and the depth of water in the puddles.
We backtracked and made our way further along the trail so we could cross over the bridge to Belle Isle. At this point we lost Margie, but couldn't worry too much as she often wanders off and never has her phone turned on.
Belle Isle is now a popular park area, once an industrial area with the iron works, a power plant and a nail factory as well as a granite quarry. Now it's for leisure only with walking trails, ruins and lots of areas to access the flat rocks that spread across the James River.

By walking onto Belle Isle we managed to access Tredegar Iron Works where we found some kids enjoying a doobie, one of whom heaped high praise on me regarding my Roland Rat t-shirt. I liked him. There wasn't much to see here but it is noteworthy since the site built over half of the cannons used by the Confederacy during The Civil War.

It was blazing hot but much of the trail had shady woodlands sheltering us, offering a noticeable drop in temperature under the canopy. We strolled around the ruins, eagerly ducking under anything that had a roof, relishing the shade.
The brick arches above once had mules pulling scrap iron from England, probably around 1815-1900. European migrants and slaves were the labor in this nail factory, also famous throughout the South for its horseshoes.
The skeleton above is known as the Chrysler Building, used during WWI to build tank hatches for Chrysler Motors. It was also one of the first buildings to be constructed by Old Dominion Iron and Steel Company, the still standing rusting structure proof of the fine casting that the company was famous for.

These were 2 police officers, their boat holding 2 bicycles which they were going to patrol the island on. I wished I had my bike, it would be a pleasant way to explore the whole island. Eventually the lack of things to explore and the intense heat had lulled us into a lazy saunter compelling us to consider a return to the cars, and then we'd walk about downtown, hoping to find more interesting scenes to photograph.

As we left the island, Margie appeared, non the worse for her disappearance, and not the least bit concerned that she'd been 'missing' for the best part of an hour. As I left the bridge a couple walked past me, the girl dressed up in tight plastic and leather gear with 5 inch heels. She had to be hot but as she passed the rest of the crew still on their way up the stairs, they stopped her for photos and I took a shot of them shooting her. She and her friend were taking photos by the river. Rather her than me negotiating those rocks in stiletto heels!

We drove downtown and parked near the Milk Bottle building, which I'd been itching to see firsthand. This had once been Richmond Dairy Company but now is 113 apartments. I wish they'd kept the logo on the bottles...

We sauntered about the back streets, finding old ghost signs on buildings and interesting windows to peer in. I was quite taken with the GWAR windows, a heavy metal themed restaurant which I would have loved to eat in, but I knew the others had no interest in it. On researching it, I found it was rated quite highly so it will be a port of call when I next come to Richmond with rock music loving buddies.

 There were plenty of curiosities to stare at as we walked about. Wonderful old neon signs and store fronts, an art deco abandoned building that we were disappointed to find no access to, murals and even an Alice in Wonderland pop-up bar, but a quick walk in had us spinning on our heels and exiting, it hadn't been put together well. I loved our group photo in the window, Richard proudly clutching his latest acquisition, a Mrs Miller greatest hits album. We played her 'songs' on our phones as we walked around, doubled up laughing at her screeching and poorly timed renditions of once loved old time hits. Downtown was my favoritist, listen here.
Inevitably, with all our walking we'd worked up a thirst and our attention soon turned to beer. And so a mini tour began, much to the chagrin of our 5th member, Robert, who huffed and puffed, and winged and whined as we supped our favorite tipples. By the time we got to the third brewery he had had enough and blustered that he was pissed, in the angry sense and not the 'too much alcoholic consumption' sense. So we wistfully cut our pleasure short and clinked our glasses together for the final time that day. It was dusk as we headed north towards our homes but even despite the lack of urbexing and the excess of Robert we'd still managed to have a few laughs and snap some acceptable photos.