Friday, January 26, 2007
It's not just a county anymore!
It occurs to me that I haven’t talked much about King George. So, what is King George, Virginia? First of all, it’s not a town; it’s a county. I have to drive ten miles to reach the cluster of businesses and public offices surrounding the county courthouse on Rt. 3. We call that ‘going into town,’ though that phrase can also mean going twenty miles further west to Fredericksburg. It’s all in the context.
It’s a rural county. Most of the residents use well-water and unless you pay an extra fee, you have to take your trash to the dump yourself. There’s something to be said for municipal taxes. As seen on Blue Collar TV, people really do have rusting hulks-that used to be cars-on their front lawns. Someone up the way from me has what I call the boatyard-rusting boats instead of cars. I assume they’re waiting for the next flood. The area is experiencing a population spurt-due mainly to the DC sprawl-so architecture ranges from colonial brick to slapdash pre-fab.
There is a naval base nearby, and, of course, DC barely ninety minutes away, so the locals aren’t as raw and uneducated as you might expect. The matriarch of one clan at my church recently visited Thailand and a fellow choir member likes to take in the shows when she visits London. The high school put on A Midsummer Night’s Dream and did a pretty good job. A senior at KGHS is heading to Columbia next fall on an Engineering scholarship. That’s something!
There is the requisite rural weirdness. About a mile away is the Pine Hill Hunt Club. On Saturdays and Sundays during hunting season you can usually catch the braying of hounds on the chase. I’m told the club is rapidly aging, so maybe they’ll disband in the near future. "Dad-burnit! That fox ran away with my dentures . . .again!" Even stranger, the road-kill phenomenon. My sister spotted a dead deer on a recent walk. It had limped into a ditch to die. The next day I passed it and discovered the head had been taken, and not hacked off, cleanly cut off. We came up with several plausible explanations. One, maybe a lazy would-be hunter wanted it for an easy trophy and it’s now hanging on his living room wall. Two, Satan-worshipers needed it for a ceremony (I’m serious). Three, it was just teenagers doing something gross and stupid because they can. And four (this is my favorite) it was an act of the Red-Neck Mafia. Imagine, Billy Bob wakes up, rolls over, and sees a Deer Head on the pillow next to him! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Yeah, that’ll teach that sonuva--.
On the upside, the county is drenched in history. George Washington and Robert E. Lee were born within twenty miles of where I sit. Ten miles down the road on 301 there is a marker showing where John Wilkes Booth was shot. Fredericksburg was repeatedly battered by Union and Confederate troops during the Civil War. My church, St. Paul’s, was built before the Revolutionary War. It was in areas like King George that our country began. I’ve been to the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution) headquarters in DC and found my grandmother’s paperwork. Just on her side of the family she found three ancestors who fought in the Revolution. I feel certain I could find a connection on my mother’s side, as well. I’m considering applying for membership in the DAR, isn’t that crazy? I would never have guessed it would mean so much to me.
So what’s the best thing about King George? It just might be Mary’s Cakery and Candy Kitchen on Indian Town Road, just past the BB&T. I like the white chocolate-covered pretzels and cream-cheese fudge. My mom likes the chocolate-covered potato chips. To each her own, eh?
It’s a rural county. Most of the residents use well-water and unless you pay an extra fee, you have to take your trash to the dump yourself. There’s something to be said for municipal taxes. As seen on Blue Collar TV, people really do have rusting hulks-that used to be cars-on their front lawns. Someone up the way from me has what I call the boatyard-rusting boats instead of cars. I assume they’re waiting for the next flood. The area is experiencing a population spurt-due mainly to the DC sprawl-so architecture ranges from colonial brick to slapdash pre-fab.
There is a naval base nearby, and, of course, DC barely ninety minutes away, so the locals aren’t as raw and uneducated as you might expect. The matriarch of one clan at my church recently visited Thailand and a fellow choir member likes to take in the shows when she visits London. The high school put on A Midsummer Night’s Dream and did a pretty good job. A senior at KGHS is heading to Columbia next fall on an Engineering scholarship. That’s something!
There is the requisite rural weirdness. About a mile away is the Pine Hill Hunt Club. On Saturdays and Sundays during hunting season you can usually catch the braying of hounds on the chase. I’m told the club is rapidly aging, so maybe they’ll disband in the near future. "Dad-burnit! That fox ran away with my dentures . . .again!" Even stranger, the road-kill phenomenon. My sister spotted a dead deer on a recent walk. It had limped into a ditch to die. The next day I passed it and discovered the head had been taken, and not hacked off, cleanly cut off. We came up with several plausible explanations. One, maybe a lazy would-be hunter wanted it for an easy trophy and it’s now hanging on his living room wall. Two, Satan-worshipers needed it for a ceremony (I’m serious). Three, it was just teenagers doing something gross and stupid because they can. And four (this is my favorite) it was an act of the Red-Neck Mafia. Imagine, Billy Bob wakes up, rolls over, and sees a Deer Head on the pillow next to him! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! Yeah, that’ll teach that sonuva--.
On the upside, the county is drenched in history. George Washington and Robert E. Lee were born within twenty miles of where I sit. Ten miles down the road on 301 there is a marker showing where John Wilkes Booth was shot. Fredericksburg was repeatedly battered by Union and Confederate troops during the Civil War. My church, St. Paul’s, was built before the Revolutionary War. It was in areas like King George that our country began. I’ve been to the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution) headquarters in DC and found my grandmother’s paperwork. Just on her side of the family she found three ancestors who fought in the Revolution. I feel certain I could find a connection on my mother’s side, as well. I’m considering applying for membership in the DAR, isn’t that crazy? I would never have guessed it would mean so much to me.
So what’s the best thing about King George? It just might be Mary’s Cakery and Candy Kitchen on Indian Town Road, just past the BB&T. I like the white chocolate-covered pretzels and cream-cheese fudge. My mom likes the chocolate-covered potato chips. To each her own, eh?
