Ruckersville – The Monica Chronicles

October 14, 2016

Toodling Around Ruckersville

14566403_10155275512173294_5310128721829013601_o Yesterday was my allotted day to visit the local businesses up and down US 29 in Ruckersville and ask them to post flyers for the Woman’s Club of Greene’s annual “Helping Hands” Holiday Craft Bazaar. As I left the house I was a little uneasy about the task because I really hate to ask for favors but the WCOG Scholarship Fund is a cause dear to my heart and the bazaar is our main venue to raise funds, so I didn’t have a choice.

My first stop was at “29 Consign”. When I arrived Cassandra, the owner was busy with a customer so I browsed around the shop until she was free. In those few short minutes I found a really nice suede jacket and a couple of prints that will look great in my bathroom. Having items to purchase, I didn’t feel too badly about asking her to post my flyer but I know she would have been happy to do so without my buying anything. We had a nice conversation about life in general and it occurred to me that for the most part, the people I would be meeting on my planned circuit were already friends and acquaintances and it wouldn’t really be such a chore to ask for a favor after all.

From Cassandra’s shop I continued on to the Holiday Inn, Lord Hardwicks, and then Fabio’s where I Elena greeted me when I walked in. Elena is one of my registered vendors for the bazaar. She happily took two flyers and put them where anyone coming or going would be sure to see them. I was really tempted to pick up a slice of pizza while I was there; it smelled so good, but in the end decided to “save the points” and when scurried out the door with a quick goodbye when a customer came in.

I bought a couple of pounds of local Rome apples and a pint of honey at the Corner Store when I dropped off my flyer. Romes are among my favorite kind of apple. They aren’t easy to find and don’t keep well, so when I can get a couple of them fresh picked, it is heaven. At my next stop, the Dutch Pantry, I found some gluten-free muesli, hand-made egg noodles and some homemade caramels. I also scoped out all the different kinds of flavorings and spices to tuck in the back of my mind for my holiday baking shopping.

Down the road at the Woolylam, I was surprised to find another one of my vendors, Mary sitting at the desk. She was more than happy to help promote our event. I never seem to have the time to really look around the Woolylam, with its many vendor stalls of antiques, collectibles and crafts, there is so much to see. Maybe when the bazaar has passed and more of my time becomes my own, I will get the chance.

My last stop of the day was at the Greene County Visitor’s Center where I found Michelle holding down the fort. She not only took the flyer but had me send her a copy in a PDF format so she could post it on the Explore Greene Community Calendar. The Visitor’s Center is such a warm and friendly place to stop and is a trove of information on the various things to do, places to see and history of this area of Virginia. Within the cheery yellow building, Michelle, Alan, Diana and their volunteer staff do so much to share the richness of our community, it’s a shame the place isn’t always packed with people.

From there I headed home. I’d spent a couple of hours with some of my favorite people in a community that I have come to love in my five years here. At first glance, drivers heading south to Charlottesville or north to DC might dismiss us as a sad place because of the unpolished and sometimes shabby store fronts, abandoned businesses and countless signs that blight the frontage of the highway through our town. I know I used to wonder about places like this when we drove Maggie to and from college and drove through little towns along 460. What kind of people could live in a place like this? Now I know.

I’ve learned that like books, you can’t judge a town by its cover. You have to stop look inside to see the true character(s).

May 21, 2015

Learning New Tricks

These last few weeks in May public attention is focused upon graduations. Every weekend newscast, newspaper front pages and a good percentage of Facebook posts feature happy people of all ages dressed in caps and gowns. It’s impossible to see these images and not think back on my own personal milestones; my high school and college graduation ceremonies. Truthfully, I don’t remember much about either one of them, I remember sitting on risers for high school and in the hot sun on the lawn when I graduated from Rutgers.

Instead, I tend to remember the details of the after parties more. On the drive home from my high school party I drowsily called my date by the wrong first name (oops!). En route to our college graduation party, the driver of the car I was riding in momentarily lost control and we went into a spin. I remember how the huge aluminum panels of the semi truck we managed to miss flashed by my window. It felt like a brush with death. Anyway, all this graduation reminiscing has made me again begin to ponder the rightness of my current course in life.

Yesterday I attended a workshop on Social Media presented by the Virginia Small Business Development Center and hosted by our local Chamber of Commerce. The workshop was held at a satellite campus of the community college so in a way, I was back on campus again. During my registration, I spoke to a middle-aged woman who had a mylar balloon floating above her desk. I asked if it was her birthday. She said no, she had just graduated with the Associate’s Degree the previous weekend. I congratulated her and went on to get some coffee.

As I walked away, I considered the tremendous effort and sacrifice this woman had made to achieve this goal. Even though she worked on campus, certainly the time necessary to attend classes and study weighed heavily on her already full schedule of work and family life. More importantly, I wondered what would prompt me to make the same choice.

Part of me has always felt like a bit of a slacker because I’ve never pursued an advanced degree. Even with my Bachelor’s degree, I am now the most under educated person in my little family; Dave has two Masters, Maggie and an advanced certificate and Andy has his PhD. It’s not that I’m opposed to learning, I just never felt the fire to go back to school.

Then yesterday’s workshop happened. I attended on a whim. In my position at Habitat for Humanity here in Greene County, I attend the Chamber meetings. When the offer of this workshop in Social Media came up as a part of a Small Business Development Day, I thought, what the heck, why not? So I went.

I learned so much about ways I can improve Habitat’s visibility in the community. When I got home, I ran up to my office and with my newly attained knowledge, revamped our webpage a bit, made it mobile enabled and even created a QR code for our flyers and mailers! What a rush, as we used to say in college!

So, in the end I guess I unlocked the motivation to go back to school, not only to gain the knowledge, but to take it on and use it and share it. And for me, I guess I don’t need the extra certificates and paper with my name on it. Little hits of information work just as well.

June 3, 2013

More Living Greene and Loving It

This peony has nothing to do with my subject, but it was so pretty this year, I had to share it!

This weekend I was again reminded why I love living in this small Central Virginian community so much. Greene County is a community. It’s small, but that’s what makes it so easy to jump right in and become a part of it, that and the extreme warmth and hospitality of the people who live here. All three days, Friday, Saturday and Sunday were chock filled with events and experiences that made me both proud and fortunate to have found a life here.

Early Friday morning, I met up with my friend Moira Rodriguez at William Monroe High School to present scholarships to two deserving young women in this year’s graduating class. Moira is currently the president of the Woman’s Club of Greene County and I had served on the scholarship selection committee. The Woman’s Club works hard all year holding an annual yard sale in the spring and Holiday Craft Fair in the fall to raise the funds necessary to support our scholarships and Christmas Gift program for needy children.

Moira and I both arrived at the high school a little after eight o’clock and after checking-in with the reception committee, we were escorted to the teacher’s lounge to wait with the other scholarship presenters. The room was overly warm and crowded with people representing a broad spectrum of our community. Naturally, the usual service organizations were represented (Lions and Kiwanis), there was a woman from the local chapter of the DAR, folks from the Farm Bureau and the electric co-op. There was a young Marine, straight and tall in his dress blue uniform and a one rather elderly woman, her back bent with time. He represented his corps, she was simply a private citizen, awarding a scholarship because she wanted to. And, she wasn’t alone. In fact, there were several scholarships awarded in remembrance of loved ones lost to battles in service to their country or with medical challenges. Whatever the reason, there were enough scholarship awards and recipients to fill the better part of two sides of a legal sized piece of paper – not bad for a class with members numbering just about two hundred.

We were introduced en-mass and marched into the gym where the entire lower classes sat in the bleachers to the right and family and friends of the senior class sat on the left. After we were seated behind the podium, the senior class marched into the gym in their cap and gowns. Most of the gals had decorated the tops of their miter boards to indicated the school they would be attending in the fall. Some. of the guys did the same, but not with as much oomph as the girls. Even though I really didn’t know any of them, I felt pride for them and their families as I recalled the years my young ones graduated, more than a few years ago.

One by one we took our turn walking up to the podium to present our awards. It was a very long ceremony. It seemed shorter to me because I chose to wear my “pretty” watch which was still set on daylight savings time. It wasn’t until I glanced at the clock on my dashboard that I realized I’d been there for just about three hours! In the end, I was glad my watch wasn’t right, it allowed me the luxury of not feeling rushed and let me savor the experience.

Early Saturday morning, I was headed down the same road, about the same time to Standardsville to work at the Greene County Habitat for Humanity booth at this year’s Strawberry Festival hosted by the Stanardsville Methodist Church. Once our tent was up under the shade of an old cherry tree on the Courthouse lawn, I spent the day inviting folks to take refuge from the hot sun in the shade of my tent and then coyly suggesting they might want to join our steering committee. Sadly I wasn’t able to convince anyone to complete one of the beautiful volunteer applications I’d prepared for the day, but we did manage to sell seven t-shirts and a small cash donation to fund our building fund – not much, but every little bit counts.

The best part of the day was simply being there, talking to the people. I spotted several folks I’d seen at the award ceremony the day before and realized that I’m beginning to recognize more and more faces wherever I go in the county; it’s a really nice feeling. People around here are always ready to pick up on a conversation, whether they know you or not. That works for me since I roll that way myself!

Sunday evening, our parish held a dinner to celebrate our pastor, Father Larry Mullaney’s twenty-fifth anniversary of his ordination. By five-thirty, the Hall was so full of folks that two additional tables had to be set up to accommodate everyone and the buffet tables were groaning under the weight of the dozens of pot-luck style side dishes, salads and deviled eggs. Anyone who walked away hungry only had themselves to blame.

All in all, it was a great weekend of community. These are just the few I attended. Early Saturday, while I was working the Strawberry Festival, Dave was handing out water at the first water station at the Wounded Warrior 5K Walk/Run through the UVA Research Park where his office is located. Simultaneously, Spring Hill Baptist Church was sponsoring a 6o mile bike ride fundraiser for Habitat for Humanity called The Tour d’Greene and the Boy Scouts were hosting a pancake breakfast at the Ruckersville Fire Station. For such a small place, there was a lot going on. You really have to work hard at not being a part of our community, and that’s the way I like it.

FOOTNOTE:

Friday evening, Dave and I checked out a new Mexican Restaurant that opened up next to the Shell Station on US29. El Monarca II (as in Monarch butterfly) is a small, family run eatery featuring better than average Mexican cuisine. I had the chicken with chorizo sausage and cheese on top. The platter came with beans, rice and a generous serving of steamed veggies. Our waitress also brought me a small dish of pickled cactus for me to sample. It was very yummy and reminded me of my grandmothers hot garlic spears. It’s definitely worth a try if you’re in the area and have a hankering for Mexican food!

October 4, 2012

Farewell #31

Monday afternoon I said goodbye to an old friend, my passenger side lower twelve- year-old molar (#31). We’d had a long relationship; one I thought would last a lifetime. I guess it did, but my tooth’s life turned out to be shorter than mine. She’d been a part of me so long, I don’t even remember when she arrived in my life. But, somewhere around the age of twelve, my molar erupted as a shiny, pearly perfect tooth, ready to masticate.

Not long after her arrival, she was shackled by metal bands as the second phase of my eight year orthodontic adventure began . It was the old days of full metal jackets, wires and rubber bands that were anything but invisible. I had the full complement of night gear and retainers.

Cleaning in between all those wires was difficult and #31 suffered decay. It was a painful experience for both of us, the drilling and filling, but it was for our own good. It was the days of dentistry before painless fillings and anesthesia wasn’t always used. As a kid I actually feared the Novocaine shots more than the drill, so I went without.

Eventually the bands came off and at the age of fourteen, when most of my friends were just getting their braces, mine came off revealing a perfect smile. I remember my Grandpa Farner remarking as he admired my high school graduation photo “Her teeth sure did turn out nice.” It was then I learned my grandparents helped cover the cost of my dental work.

After the braces came off, life went on for me and my teeth. For the most part I kept up regular dental visits and cleanings to insure that I was a good steward of my parents’ and grandparents’ investment. I made sure my own children’s teeth were maintained. The advent of military dental insurance made it much easier for us than for my parents.

About the time Maggie and Andy were getting their braces, it was time to enter another chapter with #31. I was eating popcorn one evening when a chunk of it broke off leaving a very jagged edge. Mortified by the event, I went to the dentist the next day and began preparation for my first crown. Many of my friends came back from duty stations in Hawaii with beautiful gold bracelets. Me, I came back with a beautiful gold crown. The funny thing is that I loved it! It felt so smooth against my tongue and the cuspids were a work of art. I thought this full gold covering would protect us forever.

About a year later, after we’d moved back to the mainland and #31 was giving me some pain. At first it was just a little ache but eventually became a full throb. My new dentist decreed that the nerve was dying and recommended a root canal. So, my beautiful gold crown was drilled through and the procedure completed – twice. I was told I had hooked roots on my teeth which made it difficult to reach all the nerve tissue. The second time worked like a charm and we were happy again, #31 and I, my tongue forever delighting on it’s smooth surface.

Last year after my dental exam, my dentist gave me the bad news. Decay had developed beneath my crown and there was no saving my molar. She said the integrity of the crown had been compromised and now threatened the adjacent tooth.

I was devastated.

It took me nine months to get up the nerve to schedule the extraction.

My appointment was for Monday at 10:30. I took my knitting along to keep my hands busy, releasing nervous energy. Naturally they were running late.

After being sufficiently numbed, the procedure began. #31 seemed to be as reluctant to leave my body as I was to see her go. I sat in the chair, in my usual dental mode, calm and relaxed – a product of many years of practice in dental chairs – listening to the soothing melody of Keali’i Rachel on my IPod. The dentist and her assistant worked methodically and calmly for what seemed like a very long time. I figured that as long as they were calm, I had nothing to worry about.

Eventually, it was over. I was sent home with after extraction care instructions, gauze and my gold crown in a little white envelope.

Four days later, my jaw still aches a bit. My tongue is missing the smooth surface of the crown and is leery of investigating the empty space #31 called home. Each day feels better than the last, and I know that eventually my days will continue without the least thought of missing her.

I know it might seem silly going on and on over a lost tooth. I realize just how lucky I am to have kept my teeth intact for 57 years. I also realize that I could not have done this without the care and sacrifice of those who loved and cared for me when I was young. No matter how I look at it, I know that #31 was a blessing, as are my other teeth.

I’ve done a lot of joking about taking my crown down and trading in the gold for cash. I don’t know how much an old dental crown is worth, but maybe I can get a few dollars for it. Whatever the value, I think I’ll include it in a donation to the Greene County Dental Clinic to in a small way help someone else keep their #31 for 57 years.

August 8, 2012

Life on the Old Frontier

This past Sunday we took a trip down the road and back in time to tour James Madison’s home, Montpelier. I’ve wanted to go there ever since we moved here last summer. It’s really a lot closer than Monticello and I’ve been there three times already! In fact, every time I drive to church, the post office or even Walmart, I pass a sign that reads “James Madison’s Montpelier, 15 miles”. Not only that, I’ve passed within five miles or so of the estate each time we head down towards Richmond. All we needed was a decision to go there. Since Maggie and Jan were coming up for the day, I thought they’d enjoy the outing. Decision made.

My first thought as we caught our first glimpse coming down the drive was that it didn’t look like an old house at all. It is a pristine Georgian mansion surrounded by manicured green lawns and mature trees. It is the trees that really give away the true age of the property. Our tour guide who led us through the house provided an enthusiasm for the Madison family that really brought life to the home.

We learned that the home was originally built in 1760 by President Madison’s father, James Madison, Sr., and remodelled a couple of times by Mr. Madison, Jr. Today it reflects how the home looked when the James and Dolley returned to Montpelier following their time in the White House.

One thing I hadn’t realized about this area of Virginia is that in 1760, when the home was built, this was the frontier. Standing on the front porch and looking west there is an unencumbered view of the rolling green fields and lines of trees leading the eye west to the Blue Ridge and what lay beyond the Blue Ridge was the wilderness. Daniel Boone wouldn’t even head through the Cumberland Gap for another fifteen years. In a nutshell, the gorgeous English home sat on the frontier. Imagine, the first successful English settlement in the New World, Jamestown, VA was first settled in 1607. One hundred and fifty years later, civilization had only moved about one hundred and thirty miles west.

My sister Ann once said Denver was settled because the pioneers, after enduring months of hardships of prairie crossing in covered wagons took one look at the Rockies and said, “To hell with that, we’re staying here!” Maybe it was the same for the early Virginians. Most likely there wasn’t the necessity to go any further with such fertile land here in the Piedmont.

For me, it would have been the view. To be able to walk out on my porch each with my coffee morning and see the rising sun kiss the mountains or in the evening to see it retreat behind them would be enough reason for me. As a matter of fact, it is one of the reasons I love my life here on the frontier. No, I don’t have an immediate view of the mountains the way James and Dolley did, but I am graced by their constancy on the horizon as I go about my daily errands. They never disappoint.

I’m glad we finally made the short trip down the road to Montpelier and look forward to going back. After all, the eighteenth century terms, I guess we would be considered neighbors to the Madison’s and it would be right rude not to drop by from time to time.

August 4, 2012

Cow Kisses at the Fair

Last night Dave and I went on a date to the Greene County Fair. I’d been there Wednesday evening helping at the Habitat for Humanity booth so I knew what to expect – a very small fair, not much bigger than the PTA Carnival we held at Salem Elementary. But, small or large, the Greene County Fair had all the necessary elements for success.

Seeing the farm animals is my favorite part of any fair. In the 4H livestock tent, we saw cattle, pigs, sheep and fowl. The smell doesn’t bother me, I like to walk the aisles admiring the critters and like Dr. Doolittle, talk to them as I pass by. One Angus heifer responded to my words and put her nose out through the wire fence to me. I gave her my hand to sniff and she responded with a gentle cow kiss on my hand. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed by a cow but it was nice. Nearby there was also a petting zoo full of baby goats, llamas and pigs who were being chased by a little girl intent on getting one of them to eat the handful of straw she offered.

On the other side of the fairgrounds, animal lovers could tour a tent of exotic animals at the Staples Safari Zoo and even ride a camel! A couple of times during the evening, Brian Staples would host a show featuring his primates with the help of children from the audience. Those kids certainly looked happy and a little uneasy with lemurs and Capuchin monkeys on their heads and shoulders!

The one permanent building on the site housed the displays of the day’s competitions; preserves, photography, produce, and handcrafts; with big colorful ribbons sported by the winners. There was a long tent as well as a few vendors selling fondue pots, candles and of course, vacuums (a fair staple for generations). The local civic groups were also there, the Republicans and Democrats, a couple local churches, and the historical society.

At the far end of the ground by food booths, a small stage featured a local band playing blue grass music. We passed on the usual hamburgers and hot dogs and decided to eat at Greene County Young Farmers’ chicken barbecue. For five dollars a plate it was a pretty good meal. For dessert we bowed to temptation and Dave got a hot apple dumpling with ice cream while I went for the chocolate brownie with ice cream. Yum!

Lastly, there was a modest midway complete with bright flashing lights illuminating the rides, games and food stands. I could tell by Dave’s eyes that the games were bring back happy memories from his childhood summers at the Jersey shore. He asked, “Didn’t you used to play these games when you were a kid?” Nope. That would be where one of the dynamics of having two kids vice six translates into different childhood experiences. In my family, we were all about the rides because they were a sure thing!

Yes, the Greene County Fair really did have just about everything. All that was missing was the people! There were no lines for anything. The rides either sat idle or ran with just a couple of seats filled. Granted, the population of Greene County is less than twenty thousand and it was also the opening night of the neighboring Albemarle county fair. Perhaps it was an off night, it was warm and very muggy. I don’t know. I do know that I’m really glad we went to brush shoulders with our neighbors, eat some chicken and best of all; to be kissed by a cow.

August 24, 2011

Mineral Shakes

Who would have dreamed we’d have so much excitement in our lives leading up to the close of the sale on our home in Virginia Beach? Yesterday we experienced a 5.9 magnitude earthquake and today the coast is bracing for the approach of the season’s first hurricane! What next? Will frogs begin to rain from the skies or a swarm of locust plague Hampton Roads?

Despite nature’s best efforts, the sale will probably go through on Friday. Our last financial tie with the coastline will be cut but after almost three decades of life in Virginia Beach, there will be many connections. I was reminded of this yesterday when, after the earthquake, before I even knew what had happened, I received a text from my friend Laura asking in we were OK. I’d been driving and while stopped at a light had felt the car shake just like we’d caught a strong gust of wind, or had been hit from behind. There were no cars behind me and the trees weren’t moving so I didn’t know what to think had happened. When I got home, my Dad asked if we’d heard the explosion. Almost immediately after that I received Laura’s text. I decided it might be a good idea to turn on the TV to find out just what was going on and was very surprised to discover we were only thirty miles from the epicenter from the strongest earthquake to hit the east coast in almost 150 years. Who’d have thought?

We spent some time in front of the TV, mesmerized by the pictures of crumbled brick walls and groceries strewn in the aisles. The video clips showed the thirty seconds or so of shaking – all of which I missed sitting in the car. It was important to connect to the greater community for reassurance and an explanation.

Although the phone lines were flooded with folks trying to connect, I received about a dozen calls and texts from friends and family checking-in. It was amazing how far-reaching the shaking was felt. My sister Barb in Syracuse felt her desk chair shake. My friends in Virginia Beach had to evacuate their offices and take the stairs up and down from the eighth floor. One of my neighbors was on the golf course and remarked that the cows in the adjacent pastures were “talking” just after the quake.

Today is beautiful, the sun is shining and it is breezy. While we were out running errands I heard someone remark that they thought this was the beginning of Hurrican Irene. I choose to believe it is just a pretty day. A few minutes ago, as I was recalling all the people I spoke to yesterday, I thought of one important person I hadn’t spoken to – our dear friend SunNam in Hawaii.

SunNam was our landlady and surrogate mother for the three years we lived on Oahu. Since leaving, she calls us everything time there is any kind of emergency on the East Coast. Whenever we have experienced a hurricane or blizzard, SunNam has called to make sure we’re alright. She even called when the DC sniper terrorized the the area and after the attach on September 11th. I realized she didn’t have our new phone number so I called her to let her know we were safe.

So, I when I put things in the proper perspective, how can I be concerned with a few obstacles when I have such a bounty of friends and family who stand ready to lift us up if we do fall? As the song goes, “no storm (or quake) can shake my inmost calm, while to that rock I’m clinging……”

August 22, 2011

Blue Ridge High

What is it about mountains that touch the soul so deeply? Julie Andrews ran to them, John Denver sang about them and the Apostles wanted wanted to build a theme park on one – me, I just love seeing them.

Hands down, the greatest charm of living at the Gateway to the Blue Ridge, is the Blue Ridge. I can see the green rolling hills all the time, anytime I want and I want to see them a lot. Some people say they feel a connection to the divine in the infinite span of a seascape. Me, I find it faroff and unattainable. Give me a mountain that I can see in entirety all the way to the top. I know that the trip to the summit of my mountains wouldn’t be easy but it certainly could be done on my own two feet without walking on water.

I felt the same connection to creation while living in Hawaii. There is was possible to see both the ocean and a mountain time all at one time. It’s no wonder that Hawaiian culture has spiritualized nature so completely. If your eyes are open, it is impossible to miss. Here in the foothills of the Blue Ridge it is the same.

July 28, 2011

Settling In

It’s had to believe that three weeks ago today we left our home in Virginia Beach for our new life here in the shadow of the Blue Ridge. Despite the short time, it is faily safe to say that our new house has been transformed into our home. Just as in our previous house, I continuously battle to maintain a clean kitchen counter; the guest room is the tidiest room in the house while the little room is the messiest and a pile of “to be filed” bills and statements grows steadily on my desk. The pantry is well stocked, the laundry caught up (except for the ironing of course) and the lawn is kept mowed.

The former abode is comfortably under contract. Today’s property inspection is the last hurdle to determine just how much we will have to bring to the table to complete the sale. It is a sad thing, to lose so much money on something so well-loved. Thoughtfully, we remind ourselves that we purchased that house as a home, not an investment. The additional funds invested in our numerous remodeling projects were to enhance our quality of life, not to increase its value, although that would have been nice. I only hope that the new owners will love and care for our “beach” home as much as we did.

As for me, I’m falling in love with my new home. I’m still fine tuning the furniture and picture arrangements and contemplating paint colors. As for the area, I am already smitten. Yesterday I continued my local nesting by joining a gym and having my toes done. Men will undoubtedly fail to understand the importance of tidy pink toenails as it pertains to the nesting process; and I suppose that’s a good thing. For me, it means that I have ventured into my new surroundings, made a new connection and life goes on.

July 25, 2011

The Church Off the Map

Finding a good fit in a church community is very important to Dave and me. Years ago, before we moved back to the mainland from Hawaii, I conducted a thorough search of area parishes to help us pinpoint a neighborhood. I actually sent letters to over a dozen church communities to request information and included SASEs for return mail. Based on what little replies I received, we chose our neighborhood and were happy with our choice.

When we moved back to Virginia Beach, we returned to our former parish in hopes of regaining our place in that community. For the most part, that worked out well, although, “our place” wasn’t a held position so there was some adjusting, but nonetheless, we did find our new place in short order and enjoyed our time there until again it was time to leave.

Choosing a new parish here is not so complicated. When we Googled Catholic communities prior to our house hunt, not so many names popped up. In fact, in the area closest to Dave’s office, two parishes were listed; Church of the Incarnation in Charlottesville and Shepherd of the Hills in a place called Quinque. We asked among our friends at St. Mark’s and many had heard of Incarnation and reported it was a dynamic parish with lots to offer. On the contrary, Shepherd of the Hills was only known as a mission parish from the church in Elkton and no one knew where Quinque was.

Our first Sunday in our new home, we decided to go with the known entity and attended Mass at Church of the Incarnation. Located about twelve miles south on Rt 29, it sits on a pretty lot on hill overlooking a Marriott Courtyard and a Toys R Us. The worship space was modern and comfortable, the people were friendly and the Liturgy familiar. After Mass, Dave stopped one of the choir folk to get a feel for group and was welcomed warmly. I think it’s safe to say we would be happy there.

Last week, we decided we would give Shepherd of the Hills a try. First, I printed out a map with directions so we could do an evening drive by. Mapquest let us down! Now that I look back, I think the map took us to the PO box at the Quinque Post Office instead of the actual church. Luckily, Quinque isn’t very big so we were able to navigate ourselves to our destination with ended up being exactly five miles door to door.

To get to Shepherd of the Hills Catholic Church, you have to turn off the highway onto a winding two-lane country road. Incredible views of the Blue Ridge are off to the right as you head round the bend where the church sits on the left. Mass was scheduled for 8:30 AM. On Sunday morning, with a less than ten minute drive-time we arrived about ten minute before Mass was to start. However, people were just beginning to trickle in and Mass didn’t actually begin for another fifteen minutes or so – sort of like “Hawaii time”. No one seemed concerned about the delay, in fact Father actually held up the procession waiting for people to be seated.

Mass was simple but complete. The choir was in fact a duet; a woman on keyboards and another on guitar. The worship space well lit and airy, and the tone relaxed and informal yet reverent. As I sat there, I thought how nice it would be to be a part of this community but with such a small music ministry, I didn’t think it would fill Dave’s needs.

On our way out, Father stood at the door greeting everyone. As I extended my hand he took it and said, “Tell me your name.” I introduced myself and then Dave piped in. We told him we’d just moved into the area and we were checking out the local parishes. He smiled and said he’d keep his fingers crossed that we’d choose them.

As we drove home, Dave said he thought maybe a smaller parish would be better for us, that they looked like they could use us. I agreed. Plus, he said, it was such a short drive and we’re early risers anyway. I agreed as well. So, he concluded, we should continue to attend Shepherd of the Hills for at least the next few weeks to get a real feel for the parish How could I argue?