My Town

Its funny how a town never changes. The gossip and redskins predictions still fill the air at the barber shop on a saturday morning. The borders is where all the “intellectuals” go to spend their time. The “cultured country folk” go to star bucks to get their coffee and the rest of us just relax with a cup of joe from McDonalds or 7 Eleven. The best stories are always told at McDonalds in the morning. All the veterans hang out there to talk about the former wars they were in and talk about town politics and advancements and growth in Fauquier that they don't like. The hang out for the high schoolers is still a battle between the parking lots of tractor supply company and wal mart. It just all depends on where the cops are not keeping an eye on that particular night. The college students all gather at molly’s irish pub because McMahons pub just doesn't have that good small family feeling. It is just a shocking fact. Its one of things that always strikes me funny. No matter how far I go or how long im gone this little country community never changes. Even though when i come back it seems different, but the only thing different is me. Passions change, they float away with the wind. They feel as if they are strong and can stand up against any opposing wind or force that stands to break them. then the passion dies and is caught up in a blaze of fire. But the love i have for this town wont die. It cannot die. These country roots is where i was brought up. It is as much a part of me as i am a part of it. A majority of people who were born and raised in this county know exactly the expression that i am talking about. Its this feeling of commitment. This town is alive. Alive not in the sense of a bustling metropolis but more along the lines of this town just beats of life. As you walk along the streets of old town and see the store fronts and the merchandise in the windows you just get taken back to the 1800’s when the town was a major mercantile front for the northern virginia area. I remember as a kid on the county steps on new years eve mayor fitch and the town board had us sing amazing grace as soon as midnight struck. Passing second street you look to your left and cant help but see the old post office and how it has somehow seemingly not changed in such a long time. Late at night while standing on a corner you are pierced with this unseemingly creepy presence of ghosts of the past as they pass around you bustling up and down hurried streets. Commoners, farmers, constables, slaves, and the wealthy alike all hurrying here and there unaware that they are dead and history and the world around them has progressed to a point that it has become unrecognizable. History holds an important part of this town. Born on the backs of slaves and horses alike as they farmed and harvested the tobacco crop to help the rich get richer and poor are left with callused hand and bruised backs but strong spirits. The old jail still sits next to the courthouse on main street as a warning to all that pass through those oversized cast iron doors that mistakes have consequences. In front of that old jail there stands the purchasing block where slaves were bought and sold. This is a southern town. One of the favorite small towns of confederate generals everywhere. When the Union entered virginia and passed through the county it was said by General Grant that this is a town where something special resides in each citizen. This town has its grandeur but also has its black marks on its seemingly beautiful record. Those black marks cast a shadow on this town that we never forget about what has occurred but we also don't talk about it. We just allow it to affect all the decisions that pass through this town.
Though its an area of business it is strictly an agricultural community. Horses are the commodity bought and sold these days. Kentucky derby winners were bred and trained in this town. One triple crown winner has called fauquier county home.
But the amenities of this town are produced by the towns location or the type of soil that the fertile ground produces. No the town is cultured by the people who live, work, and enjoy the life they live in Fauquier county. They are normal people, but unlike any other culture in any other area. They really are quite unique. I have live here my whole life and find myself fortunate to be one of them. We have all types of individuals from cowboy boots to skater shoes all the way to hippies laden with twisted hemp sandals. We have them all. Its a nice mix in this small town. The big problems never really come in this community and if they do we have a unique way of avoiding any contact with them.
Its the type of place only found in Norman Rockwell paintings and stories in the Saturday Evening Post. Where family fireside chats, dinners at the table, and hard work on a farm strangely still exist. Its the future blended in with touch of southern comfort and a small shot of Jack Daniels and tied all together in wrapping paper from Ralph Lauren, that is Fauquier County in a nutshell.
People write off this place so easily. Its not on a major highway nor has a prominent place in the government of Virginia but it does hold a special place in all the hearts and minds of those who call this home. Its my home. It made me who i am today. I tell people all the time. If you truly wish to get to know me just head to my home town. I am the mixture of everything in this county. Sitting here on main street i realize how much i am apart of this town. Stories from high school friends and other acquaintances about me still occasionally come up at the pub and tables at frost diner. Legends just seem to never die plain and simple. Some of the stuff i have done still lingers on as a history lesson to those who have gone on before me to not do stupid stuff like this. Or it has served as a handbook and guide on how to survive this county. This is the place where i know the police officers name and if i don't tell my mom about a ticket, you can bet your britches that officer Yancey is going to tell my mom in church on sunday morning. Its an interesting feeling being a DD and walking into Molly’s and everyone knows your name. Some of these people you haven't seen in years, thats just the way it goes. It never changes and i guess it never will. The beauty is not in the land but in the culture. People make it through time and time again at levels that are just shocking.
But every time my ole cowboy boots hit the ground when i step out of my pickup truck, and that sweet virginia air brushes me on the face and i sip sweet tea made from the shenendoah river it reminds me of how amazing this sleepy little place i call home truly is.