Mulberry Jam

On Saturday, Mark and I finally managed to get out to Mount Vernon for the first time in more than a year. We were excited to see the new museum that opened on site late last year. It has an amazing collection of paintings, household items, clothes and other objects that relate to Washington’s family, life and times. Basically, it’s a museum all about how great George Washington was. And what a worthy topic that is!

Mark and I are donors to the Mount Vernon Ladies Association, the non-profit organization that owns and administers George Washington’s former home. We try to go out to visit the site at least a couple of times a year. Both of us are fascinated by Washington and his role in American history. He’s one of those remarkable public figures that stands up to close scrutiny. In fact the more I read about him, the more admirable he comes across. Managing to win the Revolutionary War despite all odds against one the world’s great military powers. Serving as the nation’s first president and the only one ever to be elected unanimously. Twice. Then stepping down to private life despite widespread sentiment that would have made him president for life. What new nation ever had such a figure as its founding father?

In addition to the very enjoyable museum, there are many new exhibits at Mount Vernon that relate to the life of the slaves who lived there in Washington’s time. The multiple farms owned by Washington relied upon the labor of more than 300 slaves during his lifetime. Some 100 of them lived on the Mansion Farm, where George and Martha lived. There’s a newly built slave cabin down the hill from the mansion on the bluff, a simple one-room wooden structure with a loft for sleeping, situated beside the fields. It’s very similar to the kind of simple houses early settlers of all kinds lived in. I thought the topic of slavery was well handled, though I’d be interested to know what African American visitors think.

The day we went was sunny and clear, with low humidity. The kind of day we often dream of during a Washington D.C. summer but almost never get. We spent part of the afternoon happily just sitting on the grass in front of the big house, watching sailboats passing up and down on the Potomac below. A glorious day, and one I hope to repeat at least once more before the summer is over.

Mmmm. Still haven’t come down from a week of yoga with a teacher I admire immensely. Last Sunday I returned from the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck, New York, where Kofi Busia was teaching. We had yoga classes twice a day for a week.

This came along at just the right time for me. I was feeling kind of burned out after a six-month stint of teaching five classes a week. Because I was pouring so much energy into my classes, I was really neglecting my own personal practice. To have the luxury of a full week where I had nothing else to do but work on my own form and strength was heavenly. My great friends Fritz and Donna joined me to carpool up together and we had a ball, hanging together like the three musketeers the whole week.

The teacher was Kofi Busia, a yogi I admire tremendously. I wrote about him with enthusiasm last year after meeting him for the first time. Fritz and I had planned ever since that time to try to go to one of his longer workshops as soon as we could.  I love his teaching because he’s not only extremely knowledgeable about yoga asana and a million other topics (music, sports, physiology, you name it). He’s also a really warm human being. Sadly, that can’t be said about all well-known yogis. They tend to be intense, serious people and not always the kindest or most approachable. Kofi believes that yoga should make us better people, not just bendier people. It’s so typical that his website has no photos of himself, only of his teacher, BKS Iyengar.

The Omega Institute is like summer camp for grownups. It’s a little slice of new age heaven, with locally grown vegetarian food. It’s in the upper Hudson River valley just east of the Catskill Mountains. While forty of us were there for the yoga workshop, other visitors there for topics like Buddhist meditation, watercolor painting, songwriting, shamanism and “past life regression”. One afternoon the whole yoga class burst out laughing as we heard the most bloodcurdling screams coming from the past life workshop. (I don’t know if I’d want to know about my past lives!)

My practice has been tremendously influenced by that one week. It may be some time before all the ways it has affected me become clear.

Washington in springtime is most famous for its cherry blossoms, but I know something just as beautiful that you won’t have to share with 200,000 of your closest friends. Just a few miles outside the beltway on the banks of Bull Run are thousands of Virginia Bluebells, and they’re blooming right now.

Each April I keep an eye on the weather, waiting for the moment when the timing seems right. Just as the lilacs in my garden begin to bloom I drop whatever I’m doing and take a drive out to Hemlock Overlook Park, in Fairfax County. This virtually unknown park is where the bluebells live in vast colonies on the banks of Bull Run, and on many days I’ve had the place to myself—it seems very few people visit it regularly.

A walk of about a mile takes you downhill on a winding trail through tall trees. When the trail reaches the bottom you’ll find yourself in the narrow floodplain of the Occoquan River, or Bull Run as it’s known in its upper reaches. Everywhere along both banks are sky blue flowers—the bluebells. They grow in dense colonies of thousands of plants clustered together. The flowers themselves are tiny groups of bell-shaped blossoms, each as long as a man’s thumbnail. Hanging from the ends of delicate stems reaching shin high, they seem to float above their bright green leaves like a blue mist. It’s a magical sight on a sunny day, but on a cloudy day they take on even more mystery as their blue seems to deepen.

My husband and I went this spring with a little bit of trepidation. Last June our entire area was inundated with 13 inches of rain within three days. This was a hundred-year flood according to area weathermen, and it left many sections of the parks along the Occoquan scoured into sterility by raging high waters. We were very afraid the bluebells would have suffered, and we didn’t know what we’d find.

To our delight, the flowers seemed completely unharmed. The ground they grew from showed distinct signs of the flood, to be sure. Trees were down everywhere, and the earth was overlaid with a new layer of soft silty soil. Other portions of the river valley are still piled with debris from the storm, including trees tossed like tinker toys. But the bluebells were as thick and lovely as ever.

If you have the time, go now. The blooms last for about a week. After that they quickly fade and their foliage completely disappears. By late May there will be no sign they were ever there. Until next April.

Directions:
To reach Hemlock Overlook, take I-66 west to Route 123. Go south on 123 to Clifton Road, turn right on Clifton Road and drive 3.7 miles. Turn left on Yates Ford Road and follow it down hill all the way to the park entrance. At the park entrance is an outdoor education center which is open by reservation only, but the trails are open to the public daily, with no entrance fee. Park at the small gravel parking lot near the trail head, and start walking down the hill. About a quarter mile along the trail, you’ll see a trail blazed with a red painted horseshoe turn off to the left. Follow this trail through the forest as it winds gradually down towards the river.

Today it’s snowing. Again. Not that I don’t enjoy a bit of winter wonderland, but by mid March I’m thinking, sheesh. Enough already. It’s even harder since Mark and I were in Jacksonville visiting family over the weekend. Even there they were having a cool weekend, but we got out to the Jacksonville Zoo on Sunday and it was a brilliant sunny day with a high in the upper sixties. Felt great after all the cold weather up here in Falls Church.

I was so impressed with the Jacksonville Zoo and Gardens. It’s an old zoo, founded in 1914, but it was completely redesigned in the 1990s and feels very modern. The animals are THIS CLOSE. All day I kept saying things like, “I’ve never been that close to a giraffe… a jaguar… an anteater… a lion.” I now have a collection of animal photos that look like something out of National Geographic.

The first thing I usually want to see at any zoo are the birds, especially if they have a free-flight aviary. The Jax Zoo has two. We went to the one in their Australian section where there are lorikeets flying around free. Lorikeets are brilliantly colored birds from New Guinea; as you can see in the photo of my husband with a friend, they look like small parrots or really big parakeets. I was delighted to find out that for a dollar you can buy a small cup of fruit nectar and feed the birds by hand. Our instructions were “hold on tight, or they’ll pull the cup out of your hand!” And with that we went into the flight cage.

Almost immediately we had interested birds hopping onto our hands and shoulders. You can see by the look in my eyes that I was thrilled. At one point I had two on my shoulders and another on my hand, drinking the nectar by dipping its tongue into the cup and lapping up the juice. One of the birds on my shoulder got frustrated at having to wait, and started poking into my hair. Next thing I knew, he’d grabbed my ear and tweaked it, hard. Ooww! Yes sir, Mr. Bird! Let me get a nectar cup for you right away!

My parents were visiting me this week. I look forward to their visits since they live a day’s drive away and we only see each other a few times each year, much less often than I would like. On this visit we were blessed with warm and sunny autumn days, and we took advantage of the weather to make a trip to the Hillwood Museum, one of my favorite lesser-known Washington attractions.

I’ve lived in the Washington area for long enough that my parents have seen all the better-known sights many times over. There’s not much interest left for monuments or major museums. But Hillwood, the former home of Marjorie Merriweather Post, is a charming little gem that feels very off-the-beaten track even though it’s in the middle of the busy Connecticut Avenue corridor. Although it’s large enough to spend the better part of a day there, it feels intimate and manageable compared to the enormous and thronged museums down on the mall.

Marjorie Merriweather Post was heiress to the fortune amassed by her father, C.W. Post, the founder of the company that later became General Foods. She came into her money in her late twenties and spent the rest of a long and busy life enjoying it to the hilt. She purchased Hillwood in 1955 with the specific intention that it would eventually become a museum for her collection of French and Russian decorative arts. The mansion sits amid 13 acres of natural woods and beautiful formal gardens, and houses an extensive collection of rare porcelain, French furniture and Russian imperial paintings and jewels.

I knew my Mom would love the place. She has a deep fascination with pre-revolutionary Russia along with a life-long appreciation of gardens. What I didn’t expect was that my Dad would also find it fascinating. He followed our skilled docent guide closely and gently peppered him with questions about the rare materials and history of the wealth of objects displayed in the house. And it is a wealthy collection in more ways than one. Rooms full of precious objects include a large number of jewels and personal items created by the workshops of Faberge, including two of the famous Imperial Easter Eggs. There are silver and silver-gilt chalices from the Russian Orthodox Church which were saved from being melted down by Mrs. Post’s exporting them during the 1930s from Russia. She was especially enamored of rare porcelain from French and Russian courts of the eighteenth century. The brilliant colors and fanciful shapes of these pieces from formal service are as lovely as Easter eggs themselves.

In addition to the permanent collection in the mansion house, the museum sometimes has temporary exhibits that are relevant to the Hillwood’s focus on porcelain and decorative arts. Last year, for example, the Hillwood hosted a special show of elegant porcelain designed by 20th century modernist Eva Zeisel, who began her long career in Russia. (I wrote about that show last fall, see the post here.)

In addition to the treasures of the house and gardens, there is a charming little café on site that is one of my favorite places for lunch in the entire city. The menu is limited and mostly consists of cold salads and sandwiches, but their quality is uniformly excellent and the service has never been less than wonderful. Our waiter on Thursday was charming and thoughtful, splitting a soup dish my parents decided to share into two generous portions without being asked. We sat in the shelter of a quiet courtyard overlooking one of the cutting gardens for the estate, enjoying the warm sun and low humidity of a perfect fall day.

To go you must first call or e-mail for reservations, but I’ve never requested a date and been added to the list. See the museum website at www.hillwoodmuseum.org. Take your mom. She’ll love you for it. Maybe your dad will too!

Yesterday my husband and I drove up to Downingtown, Pennsylvania on a one-day trip. Downingtown is about a half-hour west of Philadelphia in Chester County, an area that’s still largely rural but with a growing population of suburban commuters into the Philadelphia metropolis. Our visit was for the annual meeting of investors in Victory Brewing Company, a craft brewery that’s probably best known for its Hop Devil and Golden Monkey beers. It was an exciting trip, because after ten years of unrelenting work the brewery is really doing well. They’ve doubled in size in the last three years and have moved well beyond the micro-brewery category to become a successful regional brewery with solid sales throughout the mid-Atlantic and beyond. Mark and I have known the founders, Bill Covaleski and Ron Barchet, since long before the brewery was even a gleam in their eye. I’m delighted to see my friends doing so well and to know we had a part in that as two of their first investors.

I’ve always gotten a thrill from visiting the brewery, now just as much as in the days when Victory was a tenth its current size. It’s a surprisingly sensual experience, with fascinating smells from the natural ingredients that go into the beer—the floral green smell of hops, the earthy oatmeal smell of barley malt, and the unmistakable slightly sour, yeasty smell of the fermenting beer. The wing where the beer is brewed and fermented is toasty warm, with bright sunlight falling in from skylights overhead. The rooms where the shiny stainless tanks stand to age the beer are cool, dim and slightly damp, with water puddling on the tile floor.

The finished product is served in a family-friendly restaurant overlooking the lagering tanks. I used to be surprised by how many children I saw in the dining room, but now I understand why. It’s a roomy, casual place with oak tables and chairs and high ceilings. Kids can run around between the tables and no-one seems to worry if they get a little loud. The food is simple but very tasty. The menu includes burgers, salads and barbecue. Most popular is the pizza cooked in two wood-burning ovens.

What draws most people is the chance to sample the full range of Victory’s many beers. There are usually at least eight to ten beers on tap at the restaurant, in a lineup that changes seasonally. Yesterday I sampled a light, fresh-tasting kolsch, a style that originated in Cologne, and a brown ale that’s still in the tanks and hasn’t even been named yet. Both were delicious. Victory has won multiple awards for their flagship Hop Devil beer, an India Pale Ale. They’re also increasingly famous for a Belgian-style beer called Golden Monkey and for their pilsner, Prima Pils. Prima was recognized as one of the best pilsner-style beers in the world by both the New York Times and Men’s Journal magazine in 2005.

If I’ve piqued your curiosity, I encourage you to look for the beer. It’s sold in supermarkets throughout the Washington area and in a growing number of states across the country. The company website has a beer finder to help you find a local distributor wherever you may live. Or you might consider taking your own little trip up to Downingtown. I think you’ll find it worth the trip.

Cheer up! Spring is coming.

I took this photo at the U.S. Botanic Garden, the enormous conservatory up on Capitol Hill. Mark and I went to see the exhibit of blooming orchids that’s running through April 9: Orchids in an Art Deco Garden, January 21 through April 2. Hurry! I know a little bit about orchids, but I was still surprised at how many shapes and colors orchids can take. There were flowers that looked like they’d be happiest adorning the shoulder of some mother of the bride, and flowers that looked like life forms from another planet. Carnivorous life forms.

Yes, we took many lovely pictures of the orchids (us and everyone else that was there). But this photo is the one that I’m using on my computer desk top today. This cactus was in a small wing of the greenhouses devoted to desert plants, and the blossoms had just naturally formed in the shape of a smiley face! Sadly, I didn’t see a single other person notice this wonder on the day we were there. But I can share it with you.

In November, my husband and I traveled to the town of Folkston, Georgia, which is in the extreme southeast corner of Georgia just a few miles from the Florida border. We went at the urging of Mark’s brother, Erich, who lives fifty miles south in Jacksonville and has been charmed by this tiny town. The population of Folkston is about 2000 people, but most days the town also welcomes a significant number of tourists. People come to the town for one of two things: The nearby Okefenokee Swamp, or the phenomenon called The Folkston Funnel.

The Funnel is a confluence of rail lines that come together just north of the town in order to pass south into Florida. Because of the geography of the southeastern U.S., two out of three of the rail lines that head in and out of Florida must pass through Folkston. Everything that travels between Florida and the northeast or the upper Midwest goes right through Folkston on one of two tracks. Roughly 60 to 65 trains pass through every day, loaded with everything from cars to coal.

Train spotting isn’t just the title of a film about Scots low-lifes. It’s also a hobby pursued by thousands of Americans. Most residents of Folkston had always thought of the trains as background noise, until one resident saw the town’s potential as a tourism destination for rail fans (as they often call themselves). He persuaded the town council to apply for grant funding, and in 2001 Folkston built a small viewing platform on the east side of the tracks where they cross Main Street. The platform is simple. It has a roof, a bulletin board, a few chairs, and a loudspeaker that broadcasts communications from trains in the area. There’s a simple guest book where visitors write the date of their visit and where they’re from. I saw names from all over, mostly from places in the southeast but a few from distant states like Michigan and Massachusetts.

Despite the platform’s Spartan simplicity, on a pleasant weekend day you can expect to see anywhere from thirty to sixty people out near the crossing. Mark and I were there on a cool Saturday in mid-November and saw forty people out train watching. Many were there with their families, including lots of small kids who were having fun getting dirty and running around the area. Many rail fans use digital or video cameras to document the trains, almost as though they were on a photo safari. Each time the whistle of an approaching train was heard, fans got their equipment cocked and stepped up towards the tracks.

My brother-in-law, Erich, is my guide to everything to do with trains. He’s been going up to Folkston from his home in Jacksonville, Florida on spare weekends for more than a year now, and knows where many of the trains come from and what their schedules are. He’ll hear a whistle and tell you that’s the Amtrak Auto Train heading towards Orlando, or that a loaded coal car passing south is on its way to a power plant outside of Jacksonville. As a college student, he sought out an apartment built so near the train tracks that the walls shook whenever the trains passed by. While others dream of buying a second home or a boat, his ambition has always been to own his own rail car. He’ll do it someday, I don’t doubt it.

I can’t tell you how charmed I was to see a thriving hobby and social subculture that owes nothing to modern consumerism. This isn’t something promoted by large multi-national corporations. There isn’t a cable show covering it, there are no celebrities involved, you don’t even need to buy anything to pursue it, although there are a few specialty magazines that cater to the fans. Both the town and its visitors seemed like a slice of Americana that could have been seen anytime over the past fifty years. It’s great to know that kind of thing is still out there, and that the entire world doesn’t yet resemble a standardized Starbuck and Gap-supplied shopping mall where all the entertainment is blow-dried and filtered for mass consumption. The pure visceral thrill of a large train passing close enough to blow your hair back is all the excitement these train fans ask. Late in the afternoon, I stood near the crossing while two heavily laden CSX trains blew their whistles as they thundered past in opposite directions. I must admit, I found it mighty exciting myself.

The Virginia countryside is justly famous for its beautiful byways. Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway are two of the best known scenic drives in the nation. You don’t have to go all the way out to Shenandoah National Park to enjoy a great day in the country, however. There are many terrific scenic routes much nearer to the Washington area that are lesser known. I don’t care for either of the famous routes, myself. Too much slow-moving traffic just means I spend more time focused on the bumper of the car in front of me than I do on the views. I’d rather sacrifice a few scenic overlooks for the joys of feeling a curve in the seat of my pants.

Fauquier County, less than an hour west of Washington, is my favorite destination for a day trip. Somehow Fauquier has so far escaped much of the development fever that’s changed the landscape of Prince William and Loudoun Counties so dramatically. Fauquier County is still mostly small farms and horse barns and two-lane roads. On a warm fall weekend day you’ll share the road with a few motorcyclists and convertible drivers, but not a whole lot else. I’ll share with you one of my favorite routes. This drive will fill a full day, with a stop for lunch. Throughout I’ve given both road names and Virginia State road numbers, as signs may have either.

Scenic Loop through The Plains and Delaplane, Virginia
The drive begins at Manassas Battlefield Park. From the intersection of Route 29 and Sudley Road (VA- 234), right where the stone house that served as a field hospital stands, take Sudley Road to the north. For about a mile you’ll drive past the open fields and rows of cannon that stand in this National Park. Then the road curves to the west and the speed limit rises as you pass out of the park. Keep going until Sudley Road dead-ends at Route 15, the James Madison Highway. Go left at the light and take an immediate right turn onto a small road labeled “Waterfall Road” (VA-601). This is where the drive starts to get interesting. Waterfall Road twists and winds past a few very old settlements of tiny houses right on the road as it passes out of Prince William County and into Fauquier County. Slow down and you can practically shake hands with a few folks enjoying fine weather on their porches.

Once over the county line, the road name changes to Hopewell Road. The smoothly paved asphalt winds like a ribbon through tall overhanging walnut trees, paralleled by ancient-looking stone fences. After you pass the amusingly named Bust Head Road, keep an eye out on your left for an unusual round house made of stone beside where a gated lane comes down to the road. The house looks like a real-life hobbit house, built right into the ground with windows just a foot or so above ground level. Continue heading west on Hopewell and the road narrows as it comes into the small town of The Plains. Turn left of Halfway Road to cross the train tracks and take a right at the top of the hill onto the John Marshall Highway, Route 55.

If you’ve a mind to stop, The Plains is well worth an afternoon of your time. The Farm Store is right on the main drag and sells coffees, wine and other gourmet delicacies. It’s run by a warm Yugoslavian émigré who makes wonderful espresso in a proper ceramic cup for those staying in to enjoy it. If you’re lucky, you might even be able to enjoy it with some fresh pound cake baked by his wife. For a more substantial meal, the Rail Stop across the street has a menu of tasty salads and sandwiches. Next door is a small art gallery called the Blue Peach, a shop specializing in garden ornaments, and down the street a former storefront has been turned into a decorator’s showroom with soft comfy sofas covered in faded floral chintz and several large cages for the owner’s many pet birds. Cockatiels, canaries, lovebirds and parakeets keep up a soft twitter in the background as the afternoon sun pours into the south-facing windows.

If you aren’t done driving yet, get back on Route 55 and head west about two miles, to the town of Marshall. This was the birthplace of nineteenth-century chief justice John Marshall, whom the town is named for. After you pass through the small center of town, leave Route 55 and turn right onto Grove Lane. (If you stay on route 55, it joins I-66 for several miles as it heads west, and that’s no fun.) Grove Lane is the historic road, and parallels I-66 on a well-paved but somewhat narrow road bed. In another three and a half miles, Grove Lane curves right and ends across from the picturesque Emmanuel Episcopal Church. Beyond the church is Route 17. Turn north onto Route 17 and you will briefly join the heavy truck traffic that heads to and from Winchester, Virginia. Within a mile, take the first right after crossing a rail line, onto the Delaplane Grade Road (VA-712). Take a deep sigh of relief, because the grinding trucks are behind you for good.

This is my favorite stretch of the entire drive. The Delaplane Grade Road heads uphill past the tiny Delaplane post office, a small antique store and a century-old schoolhouse. As the road rises, the views open up onto horse farms and small streams. This area has been settled since the eighteenth century, and looks it with the kind of soft, long-settled appearance I associate with the English countryside. At a crossroads named Kerfoot, the road intersects with Rectortown Road (VA-710). Take Rectortown to the right to head back towards the southeast. Here the hills are a bit larger and the curves a little sharper as it winds through pastures with horses and beef cattle. Not only is the scenery lovely, the driving experience is top notch. If this kind of narrow country road doesn’t move you, either check your pulse or get a sportier car. Watch out though—the road is quite narrow, so keep an eye and an ear open for oncoming traffic. Workmen in large pickup trucks can get casual about sharing the road, and at least one of the stream crossings is one-lane-only. You’ll pass the tiny settlement that gives the road its name after nearly three glorious miles.

From Rectortown, continue west on VA-710 for less than a mile. Shortly after you pass the Northwestern Elementary School, take a left onto Frogtown Road (VA-702). Another narrow but well-paved road, this passes through an area that feels quite remote. On the warm Sunday afternoon when I drove here recently, we passed not a single other vehicle for more than a mile. VA-702 takes a sharp bend, gets re-named as the poetic-sounding Rock Hill Mill Road, and eventually arrives at Zulla Road (VA-709). Turn right to go south on Zulla until it takes you back to the John Marshall Highway, Route 55. From there, turn left on 55 to go east and retrace your steps home. If the shadows have gotten long and you prefer the quick way back to the city, turn right, pass through Marshall once more and then take the ramp onto I-66 east to Washington.

Last weekend I finally got to do something I’ve had in the back of my mind for a couple of years. On Sunday, my husband and I drove out to the tiny crossroad of Lucketts, Virginia to what’s somewhat grandly called the Old Lucketts Antique Store. Lucketts is nothing more than a crossroads on Route 15, about 8 miles north of the center of Leesburg. While the southeastern part of Loudoun County has seen incredibly rapid suburbanization, this northern part of the county is still mostly farms and pastures so far. The store is a 3-story building sitting right on the road that in the past served as the hamlet’s post office and the Lucketts family home.

I’d read that the store had been named “best antique store in Loudoun County”, and after my visit I can certainly see why. Operated as a collective, it has a fantastic variety of objects brought by twenty different dealers. Every square foot of the house and its porches are filled, some to overflowing. Of course there are dressers, chairs and tables. There are also smaller objects like vases and china collections. Some dealers specialize in antique linens and vintage clothing. Other rooms collect architectural elements such as doors, windows and mantel pieces. Although I saw nothing I would classify as a really valuable antique such as you find in the well-heeled stores of Alexandria and the District of Columbia, I was impressed to find there was also very little out-and-out junk. The store’s look is strongly influenced by the Shabby Chic style. Many of the dressers are painted in creamy whites with rubbed finishes, soft furnishings are upholstered in faded floral chintz. The overall effect is soft and feminine. This is not a place where you will find great mid-century pieces, but if your style leans toward informal country or provincial items you’ll be in hog heaven.

Best of all, prices were reasonable by Washington area standards. While Mark and I love vintage furniture and decorative objects, very few of our pieces were purchased in this area because I find the prices too inflated. Tags at the Old Lucketts Store were refreshingly affordable. We came home with a pewter pitcher I’ll use for flower arrangements, $19; a crisp black and white framed photograph of Count Basie at his piano for $35, and two 50’s-era print tablecloths in mint condition for about $25 each.

I was tempted by many other things, lots of them too large to fit in the convertible we were driving that day. On the lawn outside the house is a treasure trove of vintage garden ornaments. The collection is worth the drive to Lucketts even if you never set foot in the house. Graceful cast iron furniture with lacy looks that belie their weight, elaborate trellises and archways, armillary spheres and sundials, stone obelisks and plaster cupids stand in ranks on the green grass. I’m already planning a return trip in early spring to add some vertical structure to my garden.

How to Get There

The Old Lucketts Store is at the intersection of Lucketts Road and Route 15. The quickest way there from DC or northern Virginia is to drive out the Dulles Access road and continue on the Dulles Greenway to the Leesburg bypass, take the 15 Bypass to the north side of town and then continue about five miles north on Route 15. For more information, see their website or call (703) 779-0268.