Here we go with the beginning :)
Last weekend Dad and I drove to VA to join friend's and family of Mike Lawrence (Cat's godfather and long time friend of Granner, Lita and Dad and me through Triumph Magazine) to celebrate his 75th birthday. We had a wonderful time and spent time with people we hadn't seen in years and decades. An aside: back in the day, in the Triumph Magazine days, I was considered the baby of the group. I was barely 18 when I went to work at my father's magazine. Everyone else was well into their 20's, 30's and 40's +. I was the teenager. At Mike's 75th, I was still the baby of the group. Me, at 65. Makes my head spin for the racing of time.
Triumph Magazine had originally been located in downtown D.C. but many reasons had us moving the office to Warrenton, VA. Just 1/2 hour from my family home, Warrenton was a small town (only the Historic downtown area remains untouched) ~just your average strip malls, offices, car places, shops and restaurants surrounding the Historic Area ~ back then. Broadview Ave. ran straight through outer Warrenton and connected to the areas where everyone who worked with Triumph eventually moved. The "country side" road between Warrenton and DC, a road we travelled to get to D.C. is now transformed. Highways connect to other highways and urban sprawl is everywhere. It's a dizzing maze. Warrenton is now a suburb of D.C for all intents and purposes.
But back then, it was small and accessible and close enough for a decent commute.
Mike and Mary Jo (his wife) still live in the house they built in the spring of 1971 when they followed everyone to our new location. They live some miles out of Warrenton in a small area called Casanova. (The area they live in and the drive out is still blissfully unchanged), They had 4 little one's when they moved and went on to have 2 more. Mary Jo was pregnant with Jimmy (yes, the same Jimmy we used to call your sister Aloise) at our Wedding and their youngest, Meredith, is 1 month older than Clare.
Dad, Bill Marshner (married and went on to teach at Christendom College in Front Royal) and Mark Pilon (now Fr Pilon, living in the Front Royal area and sometimes preaches at the Church where Dad and I were married, my family's parish back in those days) moved to Warrenton a few months before we moved our office from D.C.
Off a country road on the outskirts of town, they rented a farm house ~ a beautiful property. The house reminded me of a mini-southern plantation. The first time I saw it, I danced on the porch, pretending I was Scarlett O'Hara. The mini-plantation was named "Metternich Farm" by Bill Marshner. A nod to a German general and no, I don't know the history behind the name.
The following Fall, Uncle Ron asked could he move in? He was told there were only 3 bedrooms. There was, of course a basement but it was unfinished. Undeterred and happy to have a place to lay his head, Ron moved into the basement.
Metternich Farm became the place to be. It was there that Dad first brought out his guitar and fiddle and introduced all of us to Irish Music. He often recalls the evening people were over dancing jigs he was playing...the whole floor seemed to sway and move under the weight of so many happy feet. People gathered at Metternich all the time for meals and music and good conversation. It was there that Dad caught and killed the suckling pig Bill made for us ~ cranberries and all ~ that wasn't served until almost 10 because he hadn't realized how long it took to roast. It was there that Dad sang to me the day before our wedding, in the midst of many friends, serenading me with a beautiful Irish love song.
A funny memory :
"I'm very invested in your daughter," announced Charlie Harvey ( a Triumph friend) to my father on a drive from Metternich to my family home after a gathering. My father responded perfectly; "Kathy is neither an investment nor a bond!" Hahaha, Charlie. He was a good friend and I was almost embarrassed that I hadn't know he had become "invested" in me.
It was during these many wonderful times at Metternich Farm that I fell for Dad. Big Time. I was 19, he was 26. I was headed to Madrid to pursue studies in Philosophy at then end of the Summer of '71. There was nothing between us when I left for Spain. A hint maybe? But nothing concrete. My last day at the office, getting ready for my ride to the airport, Dad followed me around. He offered a way to help me bind some luggage, I do remember that so clearly. And other small details that spoke to me, I thought, of a mutual affection. He told me later that this was true. That he then experienced a certain hope in maybe something special between us when I kissed him goodbye. But. Poor Dad. That encouraging "kiss" was a fleeting hope when he saw that I kissed everyone in turn before I left.
During my late Summer in Spain I wrote to my office friends a lot. I was so homesick for everything and everyone. What was I doing in Spain? I wrote to Dad and Bill and Mark and others, always hoping it was Dad who would write back. He didn't. They all did, but he didn't. So with no sign of encouragement from Dad, I planned to spend at least a year studying in Madrid. Neither of us could have imagined that by late-November, after coming home from his own trip to Spain in late October, we'd be engaged and I, too, would be making my way back home. Dad picked me up at the airport and we drove out to Metternich. Metternich was our first stop before Dad took me home to my family. It was our first "here we are, engaged to be married" social event, as it were. Friends (including Mike and Mary Jo) who didn't live at the house soon drove over to spend time with us. It was an afternoon I'll never forget.
I think if Metternich hadn't been on the way home to my family home (Montejurra) we would have still stopped there first. The magic and bonds of all who made up Metternich Farm were deeply imbedded.
Fast forward to last weekend. Of course we had to go back to Metternich. We hadn't been there in over 40 years.
But we couldn't find it. We drove a road on and on and on. It had to be the road. It was past the hospital and the the other roads off the main drag were too far past. All the side roads look different now. Huge mansions and smaller homes have been built where there was once only a spattering of dwellings. And we couldn't count on our memories of "what it looked like then and what landmarks to look for" because who pays attention to those things when you drive that road countless time over the course of 4 years? You just drive it.
It was Friday evening when we went searching for Metternich. Saturday we were up early and had some time to kill before Mike's party. (Another post will tell you what we did earlier that day). About an hour before we had to leave for the party, Dad walked out of the room to get some fresh air while I read. He returned some time later to tell me , "I found Metternich!" "What??? And you didn't take me????" Dad said we hadn't driven far enough down the road but there it was ~ balcony and all, where I did my Scarlett O'Hara thing ~ and it was overgrown so that you had to drive around a tall hedge to see it well. A balcony? There was no balcony. I Scarlett O'Hare'd on the front porch, not a balcony. But, my memory? Maybe there was a balcony? In my deepest gut I knew there was no balcony. It was perplexing.
After Mike's party ended at the venue, the Lawrence's invited everyone to join them at their home. As we walked to our cars, Mark mentioned that he drove by Metternich frequently and would take us there. We were joined by Bill Marshner and his wife Connie (in their car) and unbeknownst to us, Tom Barberie behind us. Halfway there the motorcade fumbled and fell apart. Mark was gone and we were on our own again. I have no idea when Bill and Connie gave up. But Dad and I continued, he telling me he knew where the house was because he had found it earlier that day.
When we came upon the house Dad found, I knew it wasn't Metternich. It couldn't be. Not only was the balcony the same balcony that wasn't there in my memory, the place just didn't ring familiar. Yes, the stone pillars in front of the house maybe said "this is Metternich", but even these failed to move any emotional fiber within me.
Back at Mike's, we got the name of the road where Metternich was located. We googled and went out there later that afternoon but still no luck. I was heartbroken. There was nothing for it but to turn around and go back to the Hotel.
We arrived home Sunday and by Monday, Mark had emailed a picture of Metternich to Dad, saying, "Sorry you missed it." !!!! You can see the door of Mark's car left open as he took the picture for us:
That monstrosity on the right wasn't there during our Metternich days. It was all farm land. And. NO balcony! But you can see the stone pillars and the lovely porch even though you can't fully appreciate the "mini plantation" site that took over my senses at my first viewing in 1971.
Oh how I wish we had found our Metternich and had had the chance to walk closer and store in memory again.
But there it is, in all it's charm and beauty and I'm so happy to at least have this little peak of our lives so long ago, full of so many memories of cherished people and times.
PS. In fairness to Dad and his not writing me back when everyone else did. As in, I don't want to paint him as thoughtless, I should mention that trivial elements also entered and operated in my head as I "pondered" who was this Cy Brewster? (Do you know that one evening at our home ~Dad having been invited by Granner for dinner before he began to work at Triumph, January of '71 ~ Granner turned to me and asked, "Have you met Mr. Brewster?" !!!! I was floored. I didn't know Dad well, in fact not at all save seeing him the previous Summer at our school in Spain. But MR Brewster? "Yes, I know Cy," I replied. And just left it at that. Wow. We'd be engaged to be married less than a year later.
Anyway, as to my pondering of who this Cy Brewster was during the Spring/Summer or '71. Well. He had a gorgeous sheepskin coat and owned his car free and clear. This is a MAN, I concluded. Not bad at all.
And. Dad swears I hung out of the upstairs window when I did my Scarlett O'Hara thing. "I thought it was a balcony. It was obviously the upstairs center window. I was there. I saw you hanging out and spreading your arms and saying something about being Scarlett O'Hara." You know what? He's correct. Fixing that image in my head recalls the memory and he is correct. It was a "shouting from the rooftops" sort of thing. But I do remember later dancing on the porch.
1 comment:
So lovely to read about you both so young. A sheepskin coat and a car...that about sums it up!
Post a Comment