April 17, 2005 4:55 PM
Ode to a dirt road
I live off a dirt road a mile and a half from Waterford, Virginia -- a teensy, 272-year-old village with housing scrupulously maintained in nearly original condition by residents who have taken on a ministry of preserving the past while living in it. They do a stupendous job, raising money each year for the Waterford Foundation, which purchases surrounding land to hold developers at bay.
The only problem I have with them is that they are liberal to a fault -- so that last year's world-renowned Waterford Fair, which charges admission to tour the houses and see residents, artisans, and musicians in full colonial regalia -- was marred by hundreds of anachronistic Kerry/Edwards bumper stickers. All I could imagine was tourists framing pictures of people weaving, whittling, turning bowls or making brooms by hand, only to be foiled by the desperate Democrats who couldn't put down their campaigning for a day.
Still, I love Waterford, which hasn't been contaminated by quaint eateries or clever boutiques. There's only one tiny store in town -- as old as the hills -- with a little of this and a little of that lining the shelves. In between customers, the owner sits in her rocking chair and weaves or tends her sheep in the back yard. The coke machine out front is so old you can get a bottle for 50 cents.
But what I really wanted to talk about wasn't the village, but our dirt roads. For me, dirt roads are more than a way to get somewhere -- they are a gracious way of life.
Dirt roads are always eroding at the sides. When it rains or snow melts, streams form on either side, whisking away a little more road with every storm. As the road gets narrower and narrower, in some places there's not enough room for two cars to pass.
And so traveling down a dirt road becomes a little bit like dancing, as you spot an oncoming car and begin to dosy-do, bowing to your partner as you both are judging distance and noting who has a little more shoulder somewhere to pull over and let the other by.
And those of us who drive dirt roads always wave in acknowledgment of each other as we pass -- a rare and human moment in comparison with driving on a paved road.
You know Dirt Road People when you see us -- our cars are always dirty. On the wet days, it's the mud kicked up by our tires. On the dry days it's the dust. When I go into town to shop, mine is the one with the MEGAMOM license plates, always the dirtiest car in the parking lot.
Paul Harvey wrote "What's mostly wrong with society today is that too many dirt roads have been paved." Read the rest here.
Sometmes people move here who just don't get it. When the seasons do a number and a trip to the village feels like driving down a washboard, they complain. They want convenient. They want safe (as in being able to drive faster). They want it paved.
Not me.
Because there's just so much more to dirt roads than the dirt. I can only hope someday they understand and that no one ever paves over our northern Virginia dirt road paradise!
Comments
I like dirt roads, too. I have cousins that live on them, and my sister did, for awhile. Her children used to run to the window and watch every time they heard a car coming. :-) They have a sense of rootedness, or a connection with history, for some reason.
Posted by: Jschutt | April 21, 2005 9:04 PM
I love this post ... makes me reminiscent of when I lived off a very long, windy dirt road in Lovettsville. At first I begrudged it, then I started to really appreciate it. Those were good days.
And, yes, I did complain about my car being INCESSANTLY dirty!
I hear it's really booming in NOVA right now. (It's been three years since we last visited.) I even heard rumor from a friend that they're going to put a Trader Joe's in Lovettsville. WOW. I have a really hard time imagining this ...
Posted by: Amy | April 25, 2005 6:38 PM
