An “Accidental Tourist” visit Home.
Each time I visit home in Williamsburg, I take a few hours to drive around town. There, I watch and listen to the things I remembered as a child. It’s easy when you’ve lived away for more than 25 years to forget some of the things that basically make up your DNA. The fragrances, the distant sounds and the familiar foods of home are unlike anything else you can experience. In late May I returned home to be in the audience of my daughters ballet and dance recital. A week later my son, Glenn Jr. was about to graduate from high school in suburban Maryland.
Historic Yorktown, Virginia
Within 24 hours of my arrival, I found myself in historic Yorktown. As a child, my grandmother brought the grandchildren fishing along the shoreline here. Partly as a form of daycare, but mostly as an expression of love for her family. On this trip I didn’t stop at the usual fishing location, Felgate Creek. At times, that destination is a little heartbreaking as my Granny is no longer here. Up river about a mile or so I stopped and met a man from Massachusetts but lived in Hampton Roads most of his life. He’d been fishing all afternoon and had a bucket of croaker and perch to show for his efforts. We chatted a bit and then I headed east towards the York River Bridge. Yorktown, was much different than when I lived in the area as a child and teen. The Old Post Office along the waterfront was now a combination of restaurants and shops. A brick paved walkway now ran along the entire waterfront leading up to a series of docks, and eventually a beach. Far different than a winter day in 1980, when the Olympic Torch came through here in route to Lake Placid, NY. I sat on a park bench for a while and watched the people walk by. Many had their own stories to tell about previous journeys to this historic place. The couple beside me were from New York. While another group was from Vermont. All the while I watched a 3 mast schooner navigate the York River, ending a tour and preparing to tie up along the shore. At the same time a storm was approaching. I decided to watch from a safer vantage point and found myself inside a local restaurant. The showers never came and I decided to head back to my parents home. The photos I captured are symbolic of what many tourists see everyday and what locals call home.
Along the James River
Between Yorktown and Jamestown is the historic Colonial Parkway. It’s a 3 lane scenic road with picturesque stops along the way. These stops often have historical landmarks and descriptions of the area dating back to the 1600s. On this day I made several stops into familiar territory. As teens, we were not allowed to visit and play along the James River area of the parkway. Through the years, young people lost their lives in the turbulent waters just beneath the tranquil beauty of the James River. As an adult, I come back mindful of what I learned as a child but trying to capture the beauty as a photographer. It was cloudy on this day as it had rained heavily the night before. Still, almost anyone would be able to see beauty on a overcast day. I stopped and photographed a lone tree along with sandy beach. Down the shoreline, I watched one man with his dog enjoying the freedom of a beach without crowds. While he and his companion played catch, I turned right into an estuary that led to a marshy area. There I saw beautiful turtles, large fish, and yes one ominous copperhead snake. The snake and I kept our distance. Actually I kept my distance as he watched me with a lethal eye. Further down the beach I observed a lone tree that crashed into the James River. At the base, you could see where erosion had taken its toll and the large pine surrendered to the tide. Time won this battle apparently. I often marveled at the history that had taken place here. In many respects slavery in America started along these shores some 400 years ago. Now, it is a place of tourism, students, and those looking for temporary escape from busy lives. I drove on.
Colonial Williamsburg
Growing up in Williamsburg it was easy to soak up the history of this magical place. Here, plaid pants, black socks, maps and weird sandals are the norm. This is where the intelligent tourists come to broaden their horizons. A far cry from the Busch Gardens crowd down the road. As for me this was home. Just down the street and across a few meadows was Matthew Whaley Elementary School. From those classrooms we took weekly field trips to Colonial Williamsburg. Walking along, carrying our lunches, we listened to our teachers describe the history that others pay to see. Today I focused on Bruton Parish Church, the Old Post Office and the Governor’s Palace. During each visit I look for different things. Walking down Duke of Gloucester street, I stopped and spoke with one couple visiting from Milwaukee. My best friend Stephen and his wife live there. When I told the couple my friends worked in television, they immediately recognized Courtny’s name as she is a television news reporter and anchor there. The woman even remembered when Courtny was on maternity leave with her youngest (Roman). Small world right? We talked for a bit and watched the Fife and Drum Corps march down the street and onto the field behind the colonial Post Office. Following, I went in search of my cousin Preston, a Silversmith at the Golden Ball Jewelry shop down towards the Capitol building. Preston (Pete) is one of the most popular people in Colonial Williamsburg I think. He’s a man who’s skills as a Silversmith are matched with a warm smile and always inviting presence. It seems everyone wants to be his friend. Finding him was not difficult and he immediately had plans for the evening and I was asked to attend. Around 7 p.m. I met Preston and his wife Donna at a place called the Virginia Beer Company. When I was a child this place was an auto repair shop called Blanton’s. Clearly times had changed. On this evening, there was a fundraiser (Pints for Pits) to help Pit bulls . Both Preston and Donna are dog lovers, so it was no surprise they would be here on this beautiful evening. We talked about photography, travels, growing old and of course family. This was the night before I was due to have emergency surgery on my left hand. Preston did his best to keep my spirits in the proper place. We spent a few hours there and around 9 called it a night. In many ways it was the end of my trip home. In less than 12 hours I would go from visitor, to patient, and then move into recovery mode. Sunday, I would begin my “one handed” trip to Belize with a quick stop in Houston to change luggage. Suits, long sleeve shirts and jeans go into storage while shorts and t-shirts become the wardrobe items for the upcoming three and a half weeks.
From one “Accidental Tourist” to another, enjoy the journey, cherish your family, and never take one day for granted. Of course don’t forget to tell someone you love them.
This post is dedicated to my good friend Henry who lost his mother, Mrs. Ethel Green in Orlando this week. She lived over 90 years as an amazing wife, mother and business owner. I love you Hank, a great son & father.
The prices start at $59.99 for a 20-page book...
