Life is old there, older than the trees…

Morning Mist upon the Shenandoah

…younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze.

I had tweeted that I was about to pass over the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Shenandoah River and was besieged by John Denver lyrics sent from far-flung friends throughout the Matrix.  John Denver was the music of my childhood so this just added to the sense of homecoming I felt when I arrived at this very special place.

Canine companions dutifully guarding the pasture

Aside from family and friends there are four major diversions in my life (until the next one) and they are technology, farming, politics and ethanology. This place in the woods is a haven for intelligent and heartful consideration and celebration of all of these things. (As an aside, I’m not sure that ethanology is a word but I can’t think of anything better to describe an omnibus interest in alcohol: brewing, wine making, and distilling.  So ethanology it is!)

Late Night Gin Flight

All my memories gathered ’round her
Miner’s lady, stranger to blue water
Dark and dusty, painted on the sky
Misty taste of moonshine
Teardrops in my eye
— John Denver

No moonshining to be found, although I have to admit not looking closely in the barn or some of the nearby hollows.  But if you are lucky you might tempt the barkeep to craft a Liberal or to hold forth on gin, rum, or other cocktail esoterica.  Expert mixmanship is on the house.

After staying for two short nights I felt like I have felt in only a few places — my great grandmother’s farm, my grandmother’s farm, my father and mother’s farm, and my own farm. It felt like home. Weathered wood, animals lazing in the sun, stillness in the shade of the trees. The waters and the earth and the morning mist hanging in the air.

The comfort of home.

Home Comfort at Coal Stove Sink

Cheers,
Rick Dietz