THE SEE-SAW OF RELIGIOUS FREEDOM IN MARYLAND.

How Tolerance Makes Life Abundant

By © Russ Barnes

Separately, I visited the recently built Southern Maryland Islamic Center in Prince Frederick -- which in the past few years has experienced vandalism based on discrimination and bigotry -- and the Shiloh Methodist Church, a prominent Afro-American community in Charles County.

These two religious sites show the on-going difficulty of keeping religious freedom.  More on that in a later post.

From this pleasing round of rich historical sites, one begins to gain an insight into what causes religious strife -- even war, the kind of sectarian violence that plagues us today in Iraq and around the world -- and how that strife can, under certain hard-won conditions, be alleviated.

A thumbnail sketch of what happened in the colonial Maryland province is instructive in comprehending how religious tolerance grows anywhere and at any time. Maryland enacted the Toleration Act, legislation that politically passed in 1649. The enactment was designed to protect Roman Catholics emigrating from Europe. 

ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT AND RELIGIOUS TOLERANCE

Additionally, Lord Baltimore and the other Calverts, who were the founders of the Maryland colony, needed to attract population for the purpose of economic development -- including the growing of tobacco, which had more reliable liquidity than did printed currency at that time. And so the Toleration Act was also of immense benefit to the Calverts in attracting immigrants from other sects to populate Maryland and its growing economy.

The components, advanced by the Toleration Act, of idealism, economics, and pragmatic cooperation were in evidence at Christ Episcopal Church, "the church of the ashes," at Chaptico. 

When the church was built, Chaptico was the second largest port town in Maryland. From the appearance of its architecture and grounds, it seems likely that Christ Church, Anglican, may well have reached out to, and welcomed, the Roman Catholic community which surrounded it.

Himmelheber (my guide -- see previous blog post) pointed out that the church's pews are separated by one central aisle -- a design which allows for liturgical processions familiar to Catholics. Other Anglican churches (such as St. Andrews, California) in Maryland frustrated processionals by placing two aisles off-center in the sanctuary.

FEMININE IMAGE

In addition, the magnificent stained glass window over the high altar at Christ Church (which you need to visit) portrays a feminine biblical theme more prevalent in Roman Catholic churches: the Annunciation of Mary, Mother of Jesus.  And in the church cemetery, there is a venerable gravestone with the name of a single Catholic, surrounded by those memorializing Anglicans.

The Anglicans, who represented 70 percent of early Maryland’s population (Quakers made up about 13 percent, Catholics 15 percent, and the rest were from various Protestant sects) were problematic to the Act of Toleration. The Anglican ecclesiastic and political model was based on a church-state.

With the ascension of WIlliam and Mary to the English throne just after 1688, the Maryland legislative assembly passed three acts establishing Anglicanism in the colony requiring members of other sects to pay taxes for Anglican churches and politically disenfranchising the other sects. 

The disestablishment of the Anglican Church occurred in 1776 -- inspired in part by Maryland's original and pragmatic Toleration Act.  At the Jesuit-built Brick Chapel (now under reconstruction) at Historic St. Mary's City, one finds in its archeological ruins evidence of the sectarian vandalism which damaged religious buildings of several kinds during the period. 

(More next week. Would you like to comment?  Many will appreciate your thoughts.  Next week:  What does religious tolerance suggest to you?  We have an expert in thinking about that.  You may hear from him.)

LINKS:

St. Mary's County Maryland Historical Society,  http://home.md.metrocast.net/~smchs

St. Mary's County Maryland Travel and Tourism,  http://www.visitstmarysmd.com/tourismtemplate2.asp?content=indexcontent.asp

Calvert County Maryland Visitor Guide,  http://www.co.cal.md.us/visitors

Charles County Maryland Economic Development & Tourism, http://www.thenationsbackyard.com

St. Mary's College,  http://www.smcm.edu

HOW MARYLAND BECAME THE SEAT OF RELIGIOUS TOLERANCE:

Maryland's Contribution to Not Getting Burned at the Stake, and to the Origins of the U. S. Constitution's First Amendment

© Russ Barnes 2010. Photo and text.

ST. MARY’S CITY, Maryland, January 30, 2010. "Do you remember the European background out of which the early settlers came to Maryland shores?" asks Pete Himmelheber, my guide and historian of the St. Mary's County Historical Society.  

"Back in Europe, people got burned at the stake for what they believed.  It was different here in Maryland.”


Why was it different?

BEAUTY AND SOUL

Maryland's history of religious tolerance becomes clear to anyone who visits St. Mary’s, Calvert, or Charles County, Maryland.  Himmelheber and others host heritage tours in this unique region.


The implications of this special Maryland area are contemporary given what we know, unfortunately, about religious conflict round the world.

“Tours of this region reveal beauty and soul.  And they also show our American heritage of religious freedom founded, largely, because of the way the state of Maryland started out,” Himmelheber tells me.

"In those days, kings persecuted whole other religious sects to preserve their own power and treasure" he explains.  Great numbers of those seeking to escape this religious persecution fled from Europe on two ships, The Ark and The Dove, and became the first settlers of what is now Historic St. Mary's City.

Given the intensity of the catastrophic religious conflicts in our contemporary  world, and their effects upon us all -- everybody -- the implications of what was achieved early on in Maryland state, three centuries ago, bear great significance.

As you will later come to understand, the achievement was "no piece of cake." So with that in mind, let's continue the story of how religious freedom evolved and continues, to evolve, in Maryland.

Soon after the The Ark and The Dove landed, other ships began landing at such places as St. Clement's Island.  “The settlers all came from different sects -- Anglicans, Puritans, Catholics, Quakers.  So the whole kettle of fish started all over again right here on the shores of the Potomac, Patuxent, and the Chesapeake.  Close by St. Mary’s City," says Himmelheber.

 A HIDDEN CHURCH

Himmelheber is a superb guide to these religious sites.  We pass through forests, fields, streams, and marshes of the region.  "See that steeple over there off to the left?" he points as we pass through Morganza in St. Mary's County.  "That's St. Joseph's Church. Roman Catholic.  When it was first built -- before 1700 -- it was deep down in that very valley, right over there.  Now, why do you think anyone would build a church in a valley rather than on top of a hill?" 

"They wanted to hide the church?" I queried. 

"Right you are!" Himmelheber affirms.  "You see, Lord Baltimore, who was Catholic, received a royal charter from Charles I in 1632 for the proprietary colony of Maryland.  Baltimore was personally committed to, and promoted what he called 'freedom of conscience.'  His hope was to establish tolerance within the Maryland colony as a way of protecting Catholics from the persecution they experienced in England." As it turned out, his work did more than even that.

We explore the Sir Christopher Wren-inspired Christ Episcopal Church in Chaptico; the Brick Chapel, built by the Jesuits in 1667, closed by Royal decree in 1704, and now under reconstruction.  Our itinerary includes visits to religious sites in all three Southern Maryland Counties: Calvert, Charles, and St. Mary's.  The list here is abbreviated (see links below). 

CHAPEL OF EASE

We go on to visit Trinity Episcopal Church (pictured above) one of the first churches in the American republic, overlooking a bluff fast by the St. Mary's River, then travel a brief distance down the road to the town of Ridge to see its "chapel of ease," St. Mary's Chapel.  "A chapel of ease (sometimes "chapel-of-ease') is a church building other than the parish church, built within the bounds of a parish for the attendance of those who cannot reach the parish church conveniently."

Want to follow this Southern Maryland story?  Check in next week for next installment.


Some of the places we visit:  We next explore St. Andrews Church in California not far from Sotterly Plantation; Our Lady Star of the Sea at Solomons Island, the oldest Catholic Church in Calvert County; the Mount Carmel Monastery at La Plata, the first monastery for women in the U.S.; St. Ignatius Church and Thomas Manor House high upon a hill at Chapel Point, Port Tobacco; and Christ Church, Port Tobacco Parish, at La Plata which, in 1904, was dismantled stone by stone in Port Tobacco and moved from there by ox cart to La Plata. 


You will see some peaceful looking places.  And you will experience some high drama.

[To be continued.  Check in next week for more of the story about religious freedom germinating in Southern Maryland]


LINKS:

St. Mary's County Maryland Historical Society,  http://home.md.metrocast.net/~smchs

St. Mary's County Maryland Travel and Tourism,  http://www.visitstmarysmd.com/tourismtemplate2.asp?content=indexcontent.asp

Calvert County Maryland Visitor Guide,  http://www.co.cal.md.us/visitors

Charles County Maryland Economic Development & Tourism, http://www.thenationsbackyard.com

St. Mary's College,  http://www.smcm.edu

HUCK AND JIM SAIL TO FREEDOM

UNFORGETTABLE DIGNITY

By © Russ Barnes

Years ago I was an executive for the Delta Queen Steamboat Company.  We operated paddlewheel steamboat cruises on the Mississippi River system throughout heartland America.  One of my colleagues, Dr. Don Deming of Newport, Kentucky once said to me, “We don’t sail to Paris.  We sail to Caruthersville, Missouri."

So this post is going to be a "looking back" travel story.

Days on the Mississippi conjure up the presence of Mark Twain.  Of Huck and Jim floating down the river on a raft.  Huckleberry Finn is one of the monumental pieces in the world of travel literature -- in the class of such greats as Robinson Crusoe and Gulliver’s Travels.

One morning recently I woke up and read an astounding article in the New York Times by David Brooks and what he calls “the White Messiah fable” -- a provocative review of James Cameron's film, Avatar.

Brooks’ makes the point that there is a hackneyed plot in American film and fiction in which the white hero, as he ventures into the wilderness in search of fame and futune, encounters the poor, but spiritually superior, pure, and attractive, “natives."  He finds himself enamored of these people, and begins to disparage his own corrupt technological society. He soon emerges as "the white messiah" -- leading the native peoples, as Brooks points out, "on a righteous crusade against his own rotten civilization."

Aspects of this fable: The top dog must be white.  The simple, natural man must be admired.  Fictionally.  But the superior one rules in reality.  And it is a tricky superiority based on sentimentality and a false, flawed concern for the simple, indigenous native.

I understand this complex situation in several ways.  One time is when I was in first grade in Uniontown, Pennsylvania.  I was a member of a Cub Scout pack. Catherine, our pack leader, said we were going to go out and help the poor.  We arrived with cans of food at shacks out in the country.  One was made of cardboard.  Among the numerous children in one shack we visited, shockingly to me, was my one of my classmates in the first grade.  We gave the food like nice little boys.

A few days later, back at school, we were lining up at the water fountain.  There was my classmate -- the one to whose family we cubs had given food.  I offered to let him take my place in line in front of me.  I will never forget the look on his face as he declined the privilege.  He refused to be seen as a victim.  I’ll never forget his rebuke to me and his unforgettable dignity.

Civil War times.  Abolitionists in the North rally to stamp out slavery in the South.

Along comes Mark Twain from Missouri -- living and socializing in New England.  And so you get a book, Huckleberry Finn.  The two protagonists, Jim and Huck, travel.  Down river toward Cairo, Illinois, where the Ohio meets the Mississippi, the gateway, in those days, to freedom.

This is not a transcendental type of story.  It's down and dirty.

There, you find, in the story, you have an Afro-American man, Jim.  He is not idealized.  He is as real as any of us.  No matter where we come from, from wherever we started out.  Jim is superstitious, sometimes wrongheaded, and often in error.  Like all of us.  But he is also human and warm as Huck finds out.  Like all of us.

Huck is the white orphan son of an alcoholic father and a mother long-gone.  He is no crusader.  He feels guilty about helping a “nigger” come from slavery and find his freedom.  But his honestly warm and real human feeling for the man, Jim -- a feeling Huck gets back by a considerable amount -- earned for Mark Twain the title, in one critic’s famous phrase, “the Lincoln of our literature.”

No condescension either way.  Huck’s heart response to Jim was to no victim, but to a real human being.  Like Huck "to his own self." 


LINKS: 
-- David Brooks, "The Messiah Complex," New York Times, January 10, 2010; http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/08/opinion/08brooks.html.
-- Nori Muster, for information on steamboats and the Mississippi; http://steamboat.com.
-- Quick outline of Huckleberry Finn characters at http://www.cliffsnotes.com/WileyCDA/LitNote/The-Adventures-of-Huckleberry-Finn-Critical-Essays-Characterization-in-The-Adventures-of-Huckleberry-Finn-Pap-versus-Jim.id-20,pageNum-459.html.

FRIENDS IN WINTER

OUTDOOR GUIDE DOES DUTY IN GOLIAD --

ALSO A STOP IN JUNCTION, TEXAS

By (c) Joe Heidlemeier

My friend called me up Thursday. "Joe, it's gonna freeze, and I need help on the ranch. Can you come?"  Of course. My friend is 76, and we have been "podners" for over 30 years. Friday it's 20 degrees and I prepare to leave my warm house for the trip to Goliad. Old truck "Silver" idles in the driveway, waiting for another road trip. Full of all our things. Tools. Nails, screws, wire, and rope. My old rifle. Good whiskey for the cold evenings.

Friday is cold and gloomy. We check all the buildings, shutting off water, and getting ready for the next day. We are going to the other ranch to repair some hunting blinds for a February hunt sold to a group from Florida. Friday night is freezing. I'm staying in the old camp-house, sleeping on the couch. I have an electric heater and an old wool blanket that was my father's. Sleep with my clothes on. I can see my breath in the house.

Saturday morning we gather our things and drive a few miles to the other ranch. Takes about four hours to put everything in place. Cold. Windy. We get back to camp, and JoRae has eggs, biscuits, bacon and gravy ready. We have whiskey in our coffee. The rest of the day we spend putting out feed for the wildlife and checking equipment. That evening we have hot beans, rice and sausage.

Cold and tired, we go to sleep again.

Sunday is even colder. I get up at first light, make coffee, and feed the feral cats who gather at the door.  My friend shows up shortly and we make the rounds, breaking water in the troughs so the cattle can get a drink. We get back to the little house and JoRae again has breakfast ready.

We eat, plan our next adventure, and I go back out to my faithful Silver for the ride home. Halfway out of the ranch, gravel crunching under Silver's big tires, I stop, get out in the still frosty air, and say “Goodbye” to my beloved brush.

Still Loco Joe after all these years.


MUSING ON THE WAY HOME

I was writing a kind of book in my head on the way back to Austin. Thinking about what I have done.  What I will do. The miracle of this weekend.  Me spending time with my 76 year old friend, and us acting the same as we were 30 years ago.

I'm young again.

Driving the old Ford, trying to figure out what my cold, tired self is going to make for dinner for my sweet wife this evening.

Going back again Friday. I wouldn't trade what I have done in my life for anything. I have trouble paying the bills, but I am rich.

Oh, dinner?  That’ll be wild boar tenderloin, beans, and salad. How Texas is that?

I'M THAT GUY NOW

Years ago, I stopped in a barbecue place somewhere around Junction. I was guiding on a ranch in Sonora and was on my way home. The truck next to mine looked like it had never been cleaned out, and the guy who got out was grizzled and worn. My truck was neatly organized, and I had on my nice Camo that we guides were supposed to wear. I wondered -- where is this guy from? Now I know. He was what I was going to become. Now I know what all his piles of stuff were for. I have a first aid kit that would serve well in a small war. Spare everything. The other guides started calling my truck, Silver, "The Wal-Mart truck" because I carried so much stuff.

Wish I could see that guy again. Now I know he was a guide, and either on his way home, or to another ranch.

Now I am that guy.

NOTE:  The guest writer is Joe Heidlemeier.  He is an outdoorsman, a guide to hunting and the Texas wilderness, and assistant to the facilities manager for Trinity Episcopal School in Austin, Texas.  He lives with his “bride,” Karen Alexander, and their wonder-pup, Buddy, in Austin.  Joe often uses a phrase sometimes found in these posts: “Life is good in the brush.TM”  Joe owns the trademark to that phrase.  He also owns the copyright to the photo in this post.  Joe may be reached at jhknives@austin.rr.com and also on Facebook. -- RB

FAMILIES AND FRIENDS GET-AWAY TO VIRGINIA TO GATHER PEACE, VIM AND VIGOR

By (c) Russ Barnes


IN THE NEW YEAR


VIRGINIA. December 23, 2009. Lodging isn’t always just glamor. There are inexpensive, quiet, rustic Virginia getaways this winter after the New Year to foster good family relationships or to gather one’s wits, bearings, and vitality for the the coming year. Here are a few places worthy for a familiar group’s consideration:


The Cabins at Crabtree Falls (http://www.crabtreefalls.com) in Nelson County features cabins and cottages, fully equipped, accommodates up to eight people.


In Luray/Page County, the luxury cabins of Appalachian Adventure Lodging (http://www.appalachian-adventures.com). These three bedroom sites are built for comfort, with fireplaces and hot tubs. Enjoy the natural setting just outside Shenandoah National Park and also nearby Luray Caverns.


Like A-Frames? They are cedar constructed. Growling Bear (http://www.rentbear.com/) in Massanutten. They make up part of a resort complex in Bath County. Three bedrooms, three baths, and two stone fireplaces. Ski, golf, hike, and fish. Snow board. The whole family will find something engaging here.


Gather the family and friends in a Great Room. At 3200 feet. Socialize at high altitude. Mountain Laurel Lodge (http://www.warmspringscottages.com), in Bath County. Views for over 50 miles across the Alleghenies and Shenandoah valleys. Beamed cathedral ceilings and a fireplace to relax for conversation, board games, and a hot drink of each’s choice.


Don’t forget Virginia is on the sea. Makes for a serene winter retreat. Sandbridge (http://www.sandbridgebeachva.com/), just south of Virginia Beach, is the place for family and friends to gather. Take your ease. Listen to the waves. You may even see a whale surface during the winter months.


Then there is the Chesapeake Bay in Virginia, the largest bay in the United States, outstripping San Francisco Bay in shoreline mileage. Try Bay Creek Resort and Club (http://www.baycreek.net/) in Cape Charles here. Along the Virginia tributaries, you and your family may find recovered indigenous seafood going back centuries. The fish are place-specific such as branch oysters which are ecologically unique to the brackish waters. You decide which waters you want to visit. Shell fish are best and the plumpest in winter.


Many more wintering places in Virginia. For more information about winter places for family and friends in Virginia, contact http://www.Virginia.org.


© Russ Barnes 2009. Bethesda, Maryland. All rights reserved. May be re-printed with permission. russ@bonmeasure.org

A HAWAIIAN BIG ISLAND JUKE-JOINT THAT SAILS

BIG ISLAND, HAWAII. December 13, 2009. I’ve always liked frequenting juke-joints, a southern hyphenated term and a southern phenomenon -- especially along the Mississippi River and its tributaries.

Once I worked with Penny Rotheiser in New Orleans. She was promotion director for the Phil Donahue Show based at that time in Chicago. Being born and raised in the Northern suburbs of Chicago, she had never visited a Juke-Joint. Penny begged me to escort her to a New Orleans Juke-Joint.

I said, “I’m not sure you’re the type who would enjoy it.”

She persevered and I relented and took her on a Friday night to a particularly nasty, avaricious, and enjoyable “fish fry.”

Penny was stunned silent at the spectacle. As we walked back to our hotel, she said, “I really loved it. Thank you for showing me something wonderful my Jewish mother never knew anything about.“ She later inscribed those exact two sentences in a book she sent to me that Donahue wrote. Donahue also signed the book, “For Russ, my fellow river rat.”

But one of the greatest joints I ever frequented was, oddly enough, a floating one in Hawaii in 1990 after I first moved to Washington.

My “girl” friend at the time was Sharon Strover, a tenured professor at the University of Texas, a Stanford PhD, and a good-looking blond from Appleton, Wisconsin, a soulmate, a love. Although I bought a chess set once and beat her on our first game together, and so she refused to play me again.

Anyway she and I met up on the Kona Coast, the Big Island. Now Sharon got it in her head that we should take this late night boat cruise out into the Pacific Ocean. I thought, “Well, it would be kind of romantic to go to sea in Hawaii.? But I didn’t have any idea what was in store for me.

The bell rings for boarding, the whistle blows three times, the signal for casting off. We are ushered into this hall with stage and dance floor. A musical band of native Hawaiians promptly begins to smoke and rock. A group of stunning Polynesian women come out and begin to dance the hula in grass skirts.

What impressed me was the tender humor, actually a sort of kind humor and tolerance for the human condition, that was expressed by means of the seduction of their dance.

Well, it wasn’t any more than two minutes after they started dancing, that one of the hula dancers motioned toward me, beckoning me to come up on stage. I thought, “Jeez, I haven’t been on this boat for more than five minutes, haven’t even seen the ocean yet, and I’m about to be made a spectacle of.

But when a beauty calls, do you refuse?

I went up on stage to become a fool along with the rest of humanity. The other hula dancers left the stage and only the beckoning women stayed. She began to unbutton my shirt. She leaned very close and whispered in my ear,

“Where you from?”

“Washington, DC,” I answered.

“So far away,” she protested. She continued to undress me. She whispered very tenderly, pausing momentarily, looking me straight with her twinkling dark eyes,

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, it’s okay.”

She undressed me down to my drawers which isn’t such a bizarre outfit in Hawaii -- pretty much like wearing a bathing suit. Screams of pleasure from the audience -- whistling, hooting, howling, etc. Then she teaches me the hula. It’s different moves for men than for women. Much absurd and bombastic pounding of the chest and thighs as the women rotates their hips and move their hands all in that seductive, sensitive, tender and humorous way.

The ordeal ended, and then a bunch of Polynesian men came out, dressed pretty much as I’d been, and a poor woman from somewhere in Iowa had to go though the same experience with one of those hula guys.

Next day, I traveled to the City of Refuge on Hawaii’s big island, fast by the Kona coast. That place is no juke-joint. Dedicated to several “pagan” gods, it also reflects a concept and places described in the Hebrew Bible. If you commit a crime, intentionally or unintentionally, and if you can swim, walk, fly, or canoe to the City of Refuge, you are protected by the priesthood from revenge. I found the place serene. The atmosphere is quiet and holy.

Copyright (c) Russ Barnes 2009. Bethesda Maryland.

Colorado High. Down Route 17

ALAMOSA, Colorado, December 4, 2009. Some places are glamorous. Some places are just good people. Sometimes both are attractive.

You cruise down route seventeen to get here to Alamosa. Down from Denver, down from Vail and other points north. Down through Moffat. Paved. Dirt roads off to the side.

There is no cell phone traffic along much of the way. No noise except the engine of your car. Hawks fly overhead.

The telephone poles to your right are equally spaced. Placed by a rural telephone cooperative. One mile exactly between each pole. So if you go sixty miles an hour, you see a pole every single minute. It’s like clickity clack, click, clack on your way here.

And that’s about all you see or hear. Except for some blossoming blue thistle and wild orange sunflowers, and then, getting close to Alamosa on the right, you see a solar electricity experiment in the thin high-elevation Colorado sky-blue sunlight. You see signs for viewing UFOs at night.

You see signs to get to the Sand Dunes National Park, bigger than any Atlantic sand beach I’ve ever witnessed. Pressed up against the Rocky Mountains by a prevailing wind blowing off the western desert.

You cross the Rio Grande River, up-stream. Then roll into town. Civilization. Cozy. Barbershop on the left. Nice small town main street stretching east to west. Everything you need and want is here.

Some places are glamorous. Alamosa isn’t. In Vail, Lionshead Ski lift to the mountaintop at eleven-thousand feet or so. Stayed with hospitable, creative people in Edwards, a gated community, Arrowhead. Sunning by the pool. Cocktail party at the club. Jolly dinner at the Saloon at Minturn, a little town just south of Vail. A viewing of a movie provided by my host, Norm, who produced it. The movie: “Under the Same Moon.” A hit (information below). And so was my pleasant stay in Vail a hit.

I rode to Alamosa to get our Lincoln Town Car serviced after a transcontinental trip from Washington, DC. The service. Town and Country Ford and Mercury dealer on Main Street. What do you see when around here? People riding bicycles for transportation. The dealer said there was a right rear tire leakage. While other mechanical car things needed some attention.

So we were chauffeured into the center of town by Rodriguez.

As we were escorted by our dealer, he recommended a tire shop. Our driver said, “Jim’s Tire Store is the best guy for tires in town. You’ll like Jim.”

“Oh,” and he continued, “And if you need to be taken anywhere in town while we fix your car, please just call and we’ll pick you up and take you wherever you want to go.”

So I was waiting for my new tire purchase. Jim has a braided pony tail reaching down to the middle of his back. As he processes my credit card order, a couple pulls their car into Jim’s parking lot in a heap having a nearly flat tire.

“See what we can find,” Jim announces.

Jim rummages around his shop to find a used tire that, with some help, would work. This interrupts his sale and service to me. It was clear I had to be patient. For I was not first in line. When the couple asked, “How much?” Jim answered, “$2.00”

I am on hold about my tire, I walk down toward Main Street. I pass the rail station that offers and takes tourists on steam engine rail rides from Alamosa to La Veta through thrilling Rocky Mountain countryside. I cross the tracks. In that Alamosa neighborhood there are many bars and clubs for about three blocks. Somehow that is very comforting to me. And yet really not that different from the cocktail party in Vail.

My friend and I, later, bought some car/cleaner wax and buffed our car down at the city park, Cole Park. Many walkers came by to chat with us about trivia, life, cars, and the universe.

A contrast. Vail and Alamosa. I like them both.

=================================================

NOTES: Alamosa is 45 miles north of the New Mexico border. The town is 31 miles south of the great Sand Dunes National Park off route 17. Alamosa is the county seat of Alamosa County in the San Luis Valley region. The town’s population is 9500. Fly into San Luis Valley Airport from Denver. Home of Adams State College which has a great theater department.

LINKS: Basic Alamosa information: http://www.alamosa.org. Information on the movie Under the Same Moon, Norman Dryfus, producer, http://www.foxsearchlight.com/underthesamemoon/. Places to stay in Alamosa http://www.alamosa.org/Lodging.aspx. Basic information on vacations in Vail http://www.colorado.com/Listing.aspx?did=437.  Of interest on energy issues, Gender, Energy, and Development at http://energyfordevelopment.blogspot.com.

Copyright © Russ Barnes. Bethesda Maryland, 20814. All rights reserved.

A HOP, SKIP, AND A GRAPE AWAY FROM WASHINGTON

VIRGINIA WINERY OFFERS SPECIALTY WINES AND OTHER REFRESHMENTS

by Russ Barnes

WASHINGTON DC. November 2, 2009. Here in Washington, people make policy. It’s important stuff done here. Capital of the free world.

Out in places like Loudoun Country, Virginia -- a hop, skip and a jump from downtown Washington --people make things. At one spot, Loudoun Valley Vineyards, they make good stuff. Bree Ann Moore, and her husband, Cameron, make things. Wine. A line-up of very locally indigenous wines.

Tasting Room, Loudoun Valley Vineyards

Photo Credit: Michele Surwit

Their grapes are grown, harvested, fermented, and oak-barrel aged within a unique micro-climate. The vineyards are located near Waterford in the rolling foothills of the Shenandoah mountains. The weather and the alkaline soil resemble regions in Southern France and California’s Sonoma Valley.

Bree Moore, 30, the youngest vintner in Virginia, with whom I talked last week at her Vineyard’s “tasting room” is an heir to the art and science of winemaking. Her father operated a vineyard in Sonoma Valley. Bree is obviously keen on the challenge of creating fresh wine labels emerging from the local conditions of the Virginia countryside.

Travelers take note. A journey to a place like Loudoun Valley Vineyards, and other specialty wine makers in the Virginia countryside, offers a refreshing contrast for long-time Washington residents, visiting business people, and traveling vacationers alike.

It’s a short drive from downtown Washington. And there are several limousine and hotel shuttles that will take you out of the Washington intrigue toward a refreshing aside.

Things -- wine and the hospitality that go with it -- are made at this small family farm in Loudoun County, Virginia.

The cares of Washington -- the policy, the publicity, the lobbying, the calculating, the idealism, the long busy work hours -- all these melt away as you meet your equal enthusiasts at the tasting room and maybe a large friendly Virginia dog on its veranda.

At my tasting, along with my photographer friend Michele, I met several fellow appreciators. Folk from Germany, Switzerland, Russia, and England. And a pair of motorcyclists cruising the Virginia countryside who had more knowledge about wine than I do.

One informed me, “Virginia wine has a different taste. There are many good wines in the world. But here they are in a class by themselves. I

like this Classic White. It is sweet, but smooth. Only place you can find it on this earth.”

The view outside the tasting room is made aesthetic by the facility’s generous glass windows and doors, its tile patterned floor and its abundant outside verandas.

What your eyes see from the tasting tables are six acres of chardonnay and five acres of chambourcin grapevines in orderly vineyards that gently roll out in different directions against the backdrop of the Blue Ridge and Catoctin Mountain ranges.

It makes for a relaxing view of one of the unique Loudoun County micro-climate’s landscape and bounty. There is live music many days and evenings in the tasting room.

“Ninety-nine percent of our wine is sold right here,” says Bree. “The other one percent we sell only to boutique delicatessens and wine shops. We don’t sell to big chains. We give exclusive rights to independent boutiques.”

“This is small farming,” Bree continues. “It doesn’t emit the global warming methane gasses in the huge quantities of industrial farms. We do fertilize with some nitrogen. But we also have a trade arrangement with many equestrian VIrginia farms.”

“Horses love to eat the grape must [part of the grape skin] which we dispose of anyway. So we ship the must to the horse farms. In return, they truck us back the horse manure that is THE best fertilizer for grapevines.”

There is something fundamentally human and god-like about wine and wine-making. And you feel it in the atmosphere of Loudoun Valley Vineyards. Theater, the ancient ancestor of our modern movies, began at the Temple of Dionysus,dedicated to the god of wine, in Greece. And Virginia celebrates this heritage in its many theaters and provides many settings for modern movies.

If you go to Loudoun Valley Vineyards or other wineries around Virginia, there are many ways to get there. You will see some transportation methods and directions in the sidebar below. There are also many other attractions in the area which are referenced.

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© 2009 Bethesda, Maryland. All rights reserved. Text copy is owned by Russ Barnes. All original photos are owned by Michele Surwit. Licensing of either may be arranged by contacting russ@bonmeasure.org or msurwit@gmail.com. Or call 301-637-7841.

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IF YOU GO:

Loudoun Valley Vineyards. www.loudounvalleyvineyards.com

Custom limousine tours. Point-to-Point: http://www.visitloudoun.org/things-to-do/details?id=77822

Specialized tours at http://www.visitloudoun.org/things-to-do/details?id=49603

Nearby attractions at www.VisitLoudoun.org; www.YouTube.com/VisitLoudounHD

Austin, Texas

Hello everyone. I'm off to Austin. Hope you like this one. Russ

AUSTIN, TEXAS

By (c) Russ Barnes

Austin photo (c) Michele Surwit

She liked the idea of Barton Springs,

pure spring water into a pool, no chlorine no chemicals,

twice as big as a football field,

where you don’t have to wear clothes unless you like.

Sleeping together every night.

Someplace her son is more likely to visit

more than Washington. Young in spirit.

Not a bunch of old white-guy geezers

harping on the same old themes day and night.

Music every joint down the block from the 60s, 70s,

hip hop, Mexican, blues, jazz, whatever.

Alice's restaurant, next door to City Hall,

where you walk in and there’s no roof above

and you look up and see the stars way out in space.

There is a steel band from the islands

and everyone is smoking MJ and drinking beer.

Bumper stickers that recommend, “Eat at the Y.”

Guys, middle of town, in jeans with no shirt.

Blue sky with a whiff of slow-cooking barbecue smoke

rising in old smoke-signal puffs. The bats at sundown

charging out for their meal of central Texas bugs.

And everyone saying, “Wow!”

People say, “Howdie,” and they mean it.

You say, Howdie” back and you mean it too.

Where you drink watermelon juice and eat huevos rancheros

for breakfast with pico de gallo on the side.

Where the women tilt their heads to the right

and are fierce for reality and not for social norms,

and they speak and act that way.

They spank their men and then stand by them.

Where the men are willing to take a risk, even lose,

and still think of themselves as men.

Text and photo owned respectively by Russ Barnes and Michele Surwit. Permissions for use available upon request at russ@bonmeasure.org.