On Friday morning I set off from The Porches for Raleigh, North Carolina, by way of Appomattox Court House. I got away just after 11 AM, but seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time driving sort of west down strange little back roads (some of them gravel) and over a few one-lane bridges before I finally puked out onto US 29. Appomattox is almost due south of The Porches but I use the Waze app for my navigational needs and I guess it wanted me to be on main roads. An hour later I arrived in the Appomattox area, but since I was hungry and it was lunchtime I stopped at a diner-y place and had a BLT with a side of collards and some peach cobbler to finish up. The BLT and the cobbler were nothing special but the collards…mmm! Thus fortified, I drove on to the Appomattox Court House National Historical Park, where General Robert E. Lee, of the Confederacy surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant of the Federal army, thus effectively ending the War Between the States.
It’s a pretty place, Appomattox, and I had a beautiful day in which to enjoy it and not too many people around to crowd things up. The largest single group was comprised of tourists from the UK, and it was kind of sweet watching them try to sort out our coinage with the help of friendly clerks and other Park employees.
I didn’t spend a lot of time inside the restored buildings – to be honest, restored historical building don’t generally do much for me – but I did like wandering around the grounds and enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. I was basically killing time since I was going to be meeting my sister Margaret when she got off work at Duke University, and even with a three-hour drive ahead of me, I’d be early if I left much before 2:30. So until then, I just loitered and read all the historical markers and pretty much had myself a nice time.
I got back in the car, set Waze for my sister’s workplace and continued southeast. The trip was relatively uneventful UNTIL I was about 15 minutes out from the exit for Duke and my phone died. I had always known Waze was a major battery eater but I figured since I had the phone plugged into a recharging deck, I’d be okay. Well, no. So there I was coming into Durham and environs and the only thing I knew was the exit number, and not even the right direction to go once I was off the freeway. Well, I figured, I can read signs. Once upon a time we all navigated without GPS. No problem.
Well…yes, problem. I got off at the correct exit and there were NO signs saying THIS WAY TO THE COLLEGE, Y’ALL. There were signs pointing left to the Duke Medical Center and/or Trauma Unit but I turned right because there were Signs in Stone that said DUKE but it turned out they were for some development named Duke Gardens or Duke Park or Fair Duke Lakes or something like that. About then I had enough of a charge in the phone to activate Waze again and before it shut down I was able to scribble out the directions, which turned out to lead me right back to the freeway just before the same damned exit. So I got off at the exit AGAIN and this time I turned left and after a mile or so it suddenly started to look like a college campus and I drove around looking for Margaret’s building, which I knew was called Gross Hall. I remembered the street names from her directions and found myself by sheer dumb luck on one of the streets, and then stumbled onto the cross street, but I could not find Gross Hall. I pulled into a parking lot and got enough of a charge to call Margaret, and then I drove around a bit more trying to find the right parking lot for Gross Hall and finally FOUND Gross Hall but not the parking lot and ended up back in the first parking lot and LO AND BEHOLD there was Margaret’s car. I’d been staring at it when I called her the first time and didn’t even realize it.
Margaret actually needed to stay late after all so all’s well that ends well. We ended up at Lucky 32 for a delicious dinner and then went back to her house and played with Margaret’s dog Kali and her cat Tippi, and then went to bed because in the morning we were going to meet up with some of Margaret’s friends and go to a Beer Festival, because it was Margaret’s birthday and she likes her beer.
We had a leisurely morning and then put on our comfy shoes and clothes and went off to meet Jennifer and Diane at Jennifer’s house. They were busy making pretzel necklaces which are apparently de rigueur apparel for beer tasting – sort of like water crackers for wine tasting but with plenty of handy holes for Stringing Purposes. I made a modest 12-pretzel strand and then we piled into Jen’s car and took off for Beericana. We got there just as things were getting into full swing (and someone wanted to know immediately where we’d gotten our pretzel necklaces, giving the other ladies the idea of selling them at next year’s festival). Diane, Jennifer and Margaret are serious about their beer and were making notes in some kind of beer app, plus there was an app for the festival, too. I’m not much of a beer drinker so I generally just had a sip or two of my 2 oz. samples and tossed the rest on the numerous fire ant hills that dotted the festival site (someone had kindly spray painted white rings around the colonies to alert the unwary). There were a number of interesting food trucks providing lunches, and Diane treated Margaret to a sausage-stuffed baguette as a birthday treat. Then we tasted some more, and finally went back to Jen’s for a little chat before calling it a day.
Margaret wanted Mexican food for her birthday dinner so we went out to Dos Taquitos, which was kitschy and fun and the food surprisingly good. And then we went home to bed.
We had another leisurely morning which was capped by a delicious brunch at the Busy Bee Cafe (if it sounds like all we did was go out to eat during my visit, you wouldn’t be far off). Then we went home to nap it off because Margaret had a hockey game that evening. She plays goal for a loosely-organized women’s league, so about 5:30 we piled all her stuff in the car (goalies have a LOT of gear) and went off to the game. I was glad Margaret had loaned me a fleece because I had forgotten how COLD ice hockey rinks are. I could have stayed in the snack bar where it was warm, but I wanted to be by the action; i.e. by Margaret and her goal. I stayed warm by filming the action and jiggling from foot to foot and occasionally yelling “YEAH MARGARET!”
Margaret stayed pretty busy throughout the game and had some rather spectacular saves. Her team won, 4-3, and Margaret was named the MVP and given the game puck, which I don’t think was just because it was her birthday weekend and her big sister was watching. Here’s some footage of Margaret in action:
The next morning Margaret went off to work again and I headed due east, headed for the third and final phase of The Pause That Refreshes: Hatteras Island.
The old mill wheel is silent and has fallen down
The old oak tree has withered and lies there on the ground
– lyrics from “Down By The Old Mill Stream” by Tell Taylor
For years I’ve driven past an intriguing stone building located just off I-66 near Haymarket, Virginia. Nope, not just years – decades. Every time I’d drive by I’d think, “Man, that’s an interesting old building. I wonder what it is? Maybe one day I should stop.” And yet I never did. One day I drove past and was astonished to see that the building had been gutted by fire. That time I may have actually pulled over on the shoulder and taken a photo – I have a memory of doing so at one time or another – but I still knew nothing more about the mysterious building.
In February of this year I drove past the ruin again, and this time I thought, “enough of this procrastinating; I’m going to find out about that place.” I was fairly certain what I was seeing was the ruin of a mill, so I Googled “mill ruin I-66” and bingo! I had my answer. What I’d been looking at were the remains of a gristmill, built by the Chapman family in 1742, enlarged in 1758, enlarged again a century later, burned during the Civil War, restored in 1876 by the Beverley (or Beverly) family, closed in 1951 and burned again in an arson fire in 1998. At eighty-three feet (seven stories), it’s believed to be the tallest stacked stone building in the United States.
(Most of my information about the site comes from the Turn The Mill Around Campaign’s website. The non-profit, which now owns the site, is raising funds to preserve and restore the mill.)
This Labor Day weekend, John was less inclined than I to get out and about, so I decided to make a solo jaunt out to the country to see the mill at last. Although the mill is clearly visible from the highway, you have to know where you’re heading to actually get there – fortunately, I was running a GPS program and found the place without a problem. I was surprised to find that it’s cheek by jowl with the Bull Run Mountains Conservancy, which has a number of nice hikes in the area – as evidenced by the numbers of runners, dog-walkers and day hikers parked in the area. Most of them were headed onto the trails, but I parked right by the mill gates, grabbed my camera and walked about a quarter mile to the ruins.
I was a bit surprised that everything was wide open and unattended (although I did see a police cruiser come through at one point). I was able to stroll around the entire site – nothing was gated off or locked, although there were a few warning signs. I stuck my head into the Stone Mill Store, which was empty but for a couple of busy wasp nests, so I didn’t linger there.
When you step into the ruins, you immediately see two things: a lot of very interesting gears, and overhead, an internal reinforcing framework. The juxtaposition of the steel beams against the stacked stone is surprisingly pretty – almost like modern sculpture – and the rusting gears and other mechanical detritus add interesting textures. Up close the mill doesn’t seem quite so imposing as it does when you pass by on the interstate, but it’s still impressive. I was pleased to see that it hadn’t been trashed or graffiti’d or otherwise defaced. The weeds growing out of cracks in the walls and the vines winding in through windows made an even more picturesque site. Normally ruins like this make me feel a bit melancholy, but the beauty of the day – sunny, with fluffy white clouds – combined with the obvious care that’s going into the restoration, made me happy.
I wasn’t dressed to climb up on things and probably wouldn’t have, anyway – it seemed disrespectful, somehow – but I did poke my camera here and there to get photos. Broad Run, the stream that runs past the mill, seemed very low and muddy, so I didn’t feel the urge to plunge down the embankment and have a look at it (normally I can’t resist running water – I always want to go paddle in it). The oddest part about taking these photos in this rustic setting was hearing the traffic roaring past on the interstate.
There was a lot more gearage and bits of mechanism scattered all around the site. Not far away from the mill ruin was a large, overgrown area where I found a cache of rusted parts that were clearly some of the interior workings of the mill, and there were foundations here and there of what must have been outbuildings. You can’t really get around the back of the mill; it’s fenced off and there’s a railroad track, still in use, that goes right past it, which must have been handy back in the mill’s working days but seems uncomfortably close now.
I headed back out to my car, but the sight of people heading off to hike was enticing. I wasn’t dressed for hiking (jeans and sneakers), but a look at a map at the trailhead kiosk showed me that there was a trail that ran right behind the ruins. I figured I’d get some good views of the mill from behind, so I entered the Conservancy, crossed the railroad tracks and bore west along the Fern Hollow Trail. The trail had a gentle rise, and before long I found myself looking down at the mill again.The ruins looked even smaller from above and had more of a ghostly air. I thought about making my way down closer, but without proper footgear I was afraid I’d fall (the wife of a friend recently took a tumble down a much smaller embankment, resulting in a hospital stay and months of therapy ahead, which made me even more cautious).
I encountered only a few other hikers on Fern Hollow Trail, which surprised me, as there are even more ruins to be seen as you travel this route:
Once the ruins were behind me, the beauty of Fern Hollow Trail kept me moving forward. The trail turned and headed in a more northerly direction and I followed. Before long all the traffic noise had faded away and I was surrounded by woods. I felt like I had the place all to myself; the few hikers I had encountered along the way had either headed back to the trailhead or gotten off the beaten track entirely. I kept on walking but started to get winded. I had grabbed a map from the trailhead kiosk before I’d started my walk, and when I consulted it I realized I’d been walking for nearly a mile on a steady uphill grade. But it was sure pretty:
I thought I might continue north to a scenic overlook, but at the intersection of Fern Hollow Trail and Chestnut Ridge Trail I encountered a couple on their way down. They told me that although the view was pretty, it was a pretty steep hike, so I decided to head back to the car. I took a little different route down, one more populated by hikers, dog-walkers and runners. I was sorry I hadn’t brought a bottle of water with me, and was glad I had left the remains of a fountain drink in my car – it was watery from the melted ice, but still refreshing.
I’d like to make a return trip to the mill ruins in the fall, before my theatrical season gets going and I have no time at all. I bet it’ll be pretty with all the autumn colors, and a lot cooler for an uphill trek. If I wear proper hiking clothes, who knows? maybe next time I’ll make it up to the scenic view!