We kicked off our summer vacation today with a great road trip. My mom is in town and so the three of us headed 2 1/2 hours southwest to Staunton, VA, home of the famous "farm museum."
I had a hard time believing that it's been 15 years since my last visit, but finding that they had moved a whole farm house about a quarter mile away convinced me that all that time had indeed passed. Still, the place is fun and engaging, and visiting actual reconstructed houses from 17th century England and 18th century Germany, Ireland, and the Virginia frontier is still really cool, and so is the fact that they try to make them working farms-- raising crops and livestock, preparing food, and fashioning tools and clothing in the manner they would have been back then.
As memorable as the day was, it was on our way home, literally on the road out of the place that probably my most indelible memory was formed. A turtle was in the middle of the driveway as we headed out. "We should stop and move it," Heidi suggested, and I agreed. I pulled over and jogged back to the big painted slider. Sensing me, he pulled his head in and snapped the carapace closed. Undeterred, I grabbed him and stepped toward the grass. With that, he let out a huge stream of pee that ran down my leg and on to my shoe.
To my credit, I did not drop him. I deposited him gently on the bank of the pond he was probably heading toward before running back to the car hollering in total disgust.
Ummm? You're welcome, turtle.
I had a hard time believing that it's been 15 years since my last visit, but finding that they had moved a whole farm house about a quarter mile away convinced me that all that time had indeed passed. Still, the place is fun and engaging, and visiting actual reconstructed houses from 17th century England and 18th century Germany, Ireland, and the Virginia frontier is still really cool, and so is the fact that they try to make them working farms-- raising crops and livestock, preparing food, and fashioning tools and clothing in the manner they would have been back then.
As memorable as the day was, it was on our way home, literally on the road out of the place that probably my most indelible memory was formed. A turtle was in the middle of the driveway as we headed out. "We should stop and move it," Heidi suggested, and I agreed. I pulled over and jogged back to the big painted slider. Sensing me, he pulled his head in and snapped the carapace closed. Undeterred, I grabbed him and stepped toward the grass. With that, he let out a huge stream of pee that ran down my leg and on to my shoe.
To my credit, I did not drop him. I deposited him gently on the bank of the pond he was probably heading toward before running back to the car hollering in total disgust.
Ummm? You're welcome, turtle.
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