The Shenandoah Valley, Charlottesville, and Antietam

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At least once a year my wife and I make the eight-hour drive from Connecticut down through the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia to visit my grandfather. Before he moved there, he was among the swarms of retired ex-patriot Yankees living in the Myrtle Beach area. I grew to know that area intimately, and I particularly fell in love with Charleston, which lay over an hour’s drive down Route 17. Many times I wandered those old streets, exploring back alleys and gardens, and it was one of the first places to which I took my wife when we began dating.

The Shenandoah Valley is not as varied in its entertainment forms as the Myrtle Beach area, and is certainly less commercial. Its charm lies in the Blue Ridge Mountains that stand, majestic purple and often crowned in fog, in the distance, past rolling farm land and meandering roads. Each time we travel down we try to find something new in the area to explore, normally using the town of Staunton as a base (the locals pronounce it “Stanton”). My grandfather resides in a small town called Stuarts Draft, named for the constant, soothing breeze that funnels through the valley. The town, despite its small size, seems a lesson in contrasts. Picturesque farms hide giant factories and storage facilities further down the valley. It is easy to never know they exist, which is nice, as the views of the mountains are unspoiled. The Stuarts Draft’s center is a ghost town of empty buildings, as the new businesses have moved closer to the main road that runs to Waynesboro.

My grandfather lives in a Christian retirement community run by Mennonites. The religious purpose of the community is not at all obvious, unless you happen to catch rare glimpses of Mennonite women travel from building to building, attired in plain dresses and white bonnets. The atmosphere is inviting, even for a heathen like me, and this is a welcome respite. Anyone who has been raised in an increasingly secular New England often feels a bit of a culture shock when traveling south of Dixie. As you pass into Virginia along Interstate 81 giant crucifixes flank the highway, lit with dramatic lights at night. Hotel lobbies have ample pamphlets for religious services, and the television reveals commercials for competing churches. This is not common in the Northeast, where our area received its first mega-church (only by New England standards) and is seen as an oddity, if not an eyesore, to most locals. Christianity is much more engrained as a part of daily existence in the South. However, if you’re not a believer, for whom those crosses on the highway represent hope and salvation, those structures feel more like “members only” signs that warn that other belief systems need not apply.

In our first trips to the Shenandoah we had stopped at a few spots along the way, notably Strasburg, which is known as the “Antique Capital of Virginia,” however, it was not antiques that drew us there. Belle Grove Plantation and Cedar Creek Battlefield sit on a beautiful piece of property, at the end of an undulating country road lined with trees. The stone mansion, partly designed by Thomas Jefferson, saw some damage during the Civil War battle that surrounded the property, though a modern visitor would never know it. The property offers a glimpse into antebellum plantation life (James Madison’s sister lived here). We walked up the hill behind the house and found the old slave cemetery, surrounded by a gate, with small headstones jutting from the grass. From there we looked back to see a wedding reception being set up on the grounds.

After Strasburg we made a stop at Luray Caverns. The caverns have long been a tourist hot-spot, and the path is complete with railings, safe for any age. However, though nature has been greatly sedated, the expanse and formations of the caves are still impressive, including the reflective pools that create interesting optical illusions.

Staunton is an interesting town, and in many respects reminds me of a small Northern city. It is joined in Augusta County by the city of Waynesboro, which, except for a good steakhouse and a concentration of hotels, holds no real interest. Staunton is a college town with narrow, hilly streets lined with historic architecture. It contains both Woodrow Wilson’s Presidential Library, worth a visit, and the American Shakespeare Center Blackfriar’s Playhouse. This latter attraction is most impressive, as it is a recreation of the first indoor theatre in the English-speaking world. It is a freestanding structure inside a retro-fitted warehouse - if the warehouse were to disappear, the theatre inside would still stand. We took a tour backstage and then watched a production of Love’s Labour’s Lost, with the actors performing under similar circumstance as their Elizabethan counterparts, sharing the same light as the audience. Additionally, Staunton is home to the Museum of American Frontier Culture; however, I have yet to visit this museum.

About forty-five minutes south of Staunton is another college town, Lexington. This quaint town wears its Confederate pride on its sleeve. It is home to both Washington and Lee University, the grounds on which Robert E. Lee is buried, in the crypt of Lee Chapel (his horse Traveler is buried beside the building), and the Virginia Military Institute. Another Confederate hero, Stonewall Jackson, is buried in the town’s cemetery. His house is available, on the crest of a beautiful hilly street, to take tours through. This town, like Staunton, is worth a visit, if only for the old streets and historic buildings, and to hear the horse carriages still clop past.

Twenty minutes further south is the town of Natural Bridge, leaving little doubt as to the attraction the town holds. After entering a shabby souvenir shop, with a lunch buffet that I do not recommend, and paying a reluctant $18 admission fee, we hiked down the paved pathway to see a “natural bridge” which spans two cliff faces. A babbling brook snaked beneath it. Granted, it’s a nice sight, and George Washington carved his initials into the cliff walls when surveying the area, but I recommend saving your money and the twenty minute car ride. Unless, of course, you really need to see the “Creation” (as in book of Genesis) light show that is displayed on the cliffs at night. The attractions, truly, all feel as though they have seen better days. However, if you do go, be sure to check out Foamhenge, a full-scale replica (I have yet to see the real thing to be sure) made entirely out of foam. It’s one of those great, bizarre roadside attractions that won’t cost you a cent.

Forty-five minutes east of Staunton, on Highway 64, is the town of Charlottesville. This city holds many points of interest for me, not the least is my grandfather’s story of shooting a man in this town. During the Korean War he was a marine MP transferring prisoners back and forth across the state. Often he and his partner would stop at a diner to give the prisoner a last meal, but one decided to run on them. My grandfather shot him in the leg. “At least you didn’t try to kill him,” I said. “Like hell I didn’t,” he responded, “when they’re running away from you like that the only target is the back. I just missed.” Unlike most visitors, I’m sure, these are the thoughts that played in my head as we drove through those streets, each one the potential place where it may have happened, making me to imagine the scenario over and over again.

Our first stop was the University of Virginia, founded in 1800 and completed in 1819 by one of my intellectual heroes, Thomas Jefferson. Jefferson designed the Rotunda, modeled after the Pantheon in Rome (perhaps my favorite spot in the world). It is still a grand structure. Stretching forth before the Rotunda is the Lawn, which is flanked on both sides by ten pavilions with student rooms in between. These, also, were Jefferson’s design. The University is significant in many ways, however, for me it is because it is the first of its kind to divorce itself from religious doctrine, and true to Jefferson’s word there was not established a Divinity school on the grounds. Also, it was among the first to offer courses in Architecture, Astronomy, and Political Science. Unlike the cloistered halls of Europe, his university was open to the public and, for its time, profoundly egalitarian. I don’t know if my wife understood my wonder as I climbed the Rotunda, or what it meant to me, but places like that hold a sacred air.

Jefferson would watch the progress of his University from his home, situated high upon the summit of a hill, which he also designed. Monticello (that building on the back of the nickel), built over forty years from 1769 to 1809, is the absolute must see attraction of this area. Jefferson was one of the first true American architects (he had many talents), and his home is a testament to his creativity and genius. The home shares many of the same Neo-Classical characteristics at the Rotunda, including a dome and pillars, and both are designated as UNESCO World Heritage Sites. Automatic closing doors (which he designed), dumbwaiters in the dining room (which he invented), and various other seemingly odd architectural choices reveal their brilliance as one realizes their function. Of course, the presence of slaves’ quarters reminds us that Jefferson, very much a human being, was not without his hypocrisies, and he was often well aware of this fact. And I couldn’t help to imagine Sally Hemmings and her children, whose veins pumped with Jefferson’s blood, moving about the manicured lawns.

From the house a narrow path brings one down the hill and to the family cemetery. Jefferson’s grave, a simple obelisk, reveals the values of a Founding Father. The epitaph, written by Jefferson, reads:

HERE WAS BURIED THOMAS JEFFERSON
AUTHOR OF THE DECLARATION OF AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE
OF THE STATUTE OF VIRGINIA FOR RELIGIOUS FREEDOM
AND FATHER OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

He says nothing of being the third president, or of the Louisiana Purchase, which essentially doubled the nation’s size. Liberty, religious freedom, and education - I found myself reflecting on this, leaning on the iron gate of the cemetery, and found a bit of myself at home on those grounds. I wished there was a ritual for this place, like the Jews at the Wailing Wall, where I could physically express my feelings of gratitude and intellectual kinship. Instead I silently pondered while tourists snapped photos behind me.

Thomas Jefferson was not the only president to call Charlottesville home. There were two more. James Madison also had a home in the area, Montpellier. When we visited the area the house was under renovations and we did not see it. However, down the hill from Monticello is James Monroe’s Ash Lawn-Highland plantation, a decidedly more humble structure than the grand hilltop mansion. He lived there beginning in 1799 (he simply called it “Highland”). Monroe’s home is plain and only slightly bigger than some of the well-to-do homes around our area. Likewise, it is without the lavish adornments of Monticello, and settles for a much more utilitarian feel. This may be due to the debilitating debts that Monroe struggled to pay in later life. It is this simplicity, and the stark contrast of Monticello, that make this property so interesting. When we were there a peacock roamed the grounds. The slave houses, once again, are in the back. The estate is operated by the College of William and Mary.

Near these two historic homes is a museum worth visiting. Michie Tavern ca. 1784 allows visitors a walk through an 18th century tavern. Period-dressed guides serve punch made from a Revolution-era recipe (it was actually very good) and lead guests through the rooms, even giving dance lessons in the upstairs hall. Kristen and I danced with an older couple a lone female traveler. I am not much of a dancer, nor much for dancing, but the moves were simple, and the shared embarrassment made the experience worthwhile. An upscale restaurant is attached to the building, but without a meal the tavern can be seen in a half hour or less.

On this recent trip to see my grandfather we bring our dog, Shelby, and are met by my aunt and uncle, up from Bristol, Tennessee. We eat at T-Bone Jack’s Steakhouse in Waynesboro (the restaurant I alluded to earlier) and catch up, discussing family history. It is nice to spend time with them, as the opportunities are too rare.

On our return trip we decide to stop at Antietam National Battlefield in Maryland. We drive along the roads in the battlefield, which is now an isolated park, unlike Gettysburg, which spans the entire town. The Battle of Antietam, known in the South as the Battle of Sharpsburg, was fought on September 17, 1862. It was the first major battle to take place on Northern soil and was the single bloodiest day in American history, with about 23,000 casualties. General Robert E. Lee had decided to take the fight to the North, and Maj. General George B. McClellan pursued. The armies met along Antietam creek and massive slaughter ensued. It is certainly poignant to look at the present day areas, holding up the old photos of bloated corpses, and realize they once lied where you now stand. I take the dog down into the Sunken Road, also known as Bloody Lane, because it became a deathtrap for Confederate defenders. I sit on the embankment and try to imagine the scene. One New York soldier described it flatly: “We were shooting them like sheep in a pen.” We are unfortunately unable to view the museum, as pets are not allowed, but it is a breezy, sunny day and it is nice being able to walk the grounds and read the memorial statues.

We stay our last night in West Virginia, and that afternoon, while walking the dog in a field, we see two White-tailed fawns frolic out of the woods and play only yards away. A few drivers along the quiet road pull over and begin taking pictures with their camera phones, exchanging knowing smiles and nods with us. After about ten minutes the deer clumsily make their way back into the woods, the cars begin going their way again, and of course, we go ours.

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Photos

Belle Grove Plantation
A slave cemetery.

Luray Caverns
A reflecting pool.

Comments

[yvette diaz]

sad
its so sad how wonded people coudent haved any help