{"id":152,"date":"1998-12-31T15:38:22","date_gmt":"1998-12-31T15:38:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/zuschlag.us\/?p=152"},"modified":"2024-08-31T00:50:11","modified_gmt":"2024-08-31T00:50:11","slug":"1998-christmas-letter","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/?p=152","title":{"rendered":"1998 Christmas Letter"},"content":{"rendered":"

December 28, 1998<\/p>\n

Dear Friends and Family –<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I<\/big>‘ve been deluged by “Christmas Letters” from the unlikeliest sources over the last several years, so I guess it’s safe to finally test the waters of what, until recently, seemed to be the exclusive province of suburban housewives bragging about their kids.\u00a0 I’m not a housewife, and I don’t have any kids, and certainly wouldn’t be caught dead in the suburbs, so my attempt at this genre might not be as polished as some, but I thought I’d give it a shot anyway.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 T<\/big>his past year has been a quiet one.\u00a0 It wasn’t filled with exciting adventures, exotic travel, or major milestones, but it was intensely satisfying nevertheless because I got to do what I’ve always wanted to do – spend time working and playing on my farm.\u00a0 More and more it’s become the focus of my life (yeah, I know, you’re thinking to yourself “focus – ha!\u00a0 It’s the obsession of his life!”), but I like watching it evolve from dream into reality.\u00a0 In 1998 I built a lot of stuff (work room, fences, pergolas, brick paths, etc), started a bog garden, finished the orchard, had memorable visits from friends and family, and added several new types of critters to my expanding menagerie.\u00a0 All in all, I had a great time, so you’ll just have to bear with me while I try and brag about it…………<\/p>\n

\u00a0 T<\/big>he year started out with the one and only snowfall of the year – six inches of white powdery stuff New Year’s Eve.\u00a0 Despite champagne bubbles still careening around inside my head, I was able to lure Ann Marie, Denise, Bruce, and Johnno out to the farm to go sledding New Year’s Day.\u00a0 We had a great time and spent the late afternoon nursing our bruises by the fire and devouring Denise’s terrific shepherd’s pie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
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\"Denise<\/a>
Denise Climbs<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

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\"Defaul14\"<\/a><\/td>\n\"jan2\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
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Denise climbs\u00a0\u00a0 <\/small><\/p>\n<\/td>\n

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Ann Marie soars<\/small><\/p>\n<\/td>\n

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Yours truly gets stuck <\/small><\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 F<\/big>ebruary<\/strong> included a trip down to Tryon, NC<\/a> for a surprise visit to the parents.\u00a0 Mom turned 60 this year, so the whole family surprised her by showing up unexpectedly with gifts, speeches, and a home-made family quilt that seemed to capture the true spirit of all her children (especially that of youngest brother Ray……).<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 M<\/big>arch<\/strong> saw the start of my first lambing season.\u00a0 I was more nervous than<\/p>\n

\"Newborn<\/a>
Newborn Kids<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

the sheep, who seemed to handle it all pretty well without me.\u00a0 We had seven lambs and two kids (that’s baby goats to you city folk) born at the farm this year.\u00a0 Not bad for a first crop, but since only two were ewe lambs (which I kept), my flock didn’t expand by very much.\u00a0 Spring weather also brought out the first flowers, friends, and<\/p>\n

\"Newborn<\/a>
Newborn Lamb<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

more construction.\u00a0 Some “volunteers” came out one Saturday afternoon to help me put in the posts for the orchard pergola.\u00a0 We had a great time and even managed to get most of the posts in straight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
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Daffodil Hill in early March<\/small><\/td>\nGoslings fresh out of the box<\/small><\/td>\nCheap urban day laborers<\/small><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 B<\/big>y April<\/strong> the lambs were bouncing, the grass was growing, and the goslings arrived in the mail from Oregon.\u00a0 Six small baby American Buff geese<\/a> popped out of the box and made themselves at home at the beginning of April. \u00a0They grew by the minute and soon were running the place.\u00a0 They have appointed themselves as the official farm security staff and take their job very seriously, but are (mostly) hospitable to visitors.\u00a0 April is also time for the local hunt’s annual point-to-point races, and Touchstone Farm’s space at the rail drew some curious glances this year – my lack of culinary skills (and a long story we won’t go into here) resulted in a sushi hunt tailgate – definitely the first of its kind in the history of the Old Dominion Hounds, and (I hope) the last.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
\"Defaul7\"<\/a><\/td>\n\"Defaul6\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Ewes and lambs <\/small><\/td>\nLocal rednecks causing trouble at hunt races<\/small><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n
T<\/big>hanks to steady Spring rains, by May<\/strong> the grass in the pastures was growing faster than the sheep could eat it, and desperate measures were called for.\u00a0 I finally broke down and bought a tractor.\u00a0 It’s a ’75 Ford 3000 and it’s a beaut. \u00a0Great condition and low mileage.\u00a0 After suffering from severe tractor lust for several years, it’s sheer heaven being able to bush-hog my own fields and push dirt around with my front loader.\u00a0 I’m having more fun with it than any kid playing in a sandbox. \u00a0 When Heike visited from Germany with her boyfriend Richard, she quickly debunked my misogynistic theories about women and farm equipment – she handled it like a pro. \u00a0\u00a0 Other May visitors included old high school buddy Mike Damal who came out for his annual woodchopping weekend.\u00a0 I always enjoy a visit from Mike because he likes using the chainsaw even more than I do, and I’m amazed at how much we get done together. \u00a0 I dread going to visit him in Austin, TX, ’cause he’ll probably arrange for some sort of horrific labor payback for all the work I make him do here.<\/div>\n
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\"Defaul8\"<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Heike shows Richard how it’s done<\/small><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<\/div>\n

Summer arrived on right on schedule this June<\/strong>, and friends and neighbors came for another Summer bonfire to celebrate the season (our celebration must have made summer welcome, ’cause it arrived in June and was still going strong until early December).\u00a0\u00a0 <\/a>David Thompson took time out from his busy task of re-electing Barbara Boxer<\/a> and hanging out with movie stars in LA to spend a day with me while on a trip back to the East Coast. \u00a0I also made time for my one mini-vacation this year – a long weekend in East Hampton, NY to visit with friends Gary and Chris, who graciously put up with me every year.<\/p>\n

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David and Luna Moth<\/small><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0Summer reached its peak on the 4th of July<\/strong>.\u00a0 This year’s Independence Day was memorable for several reasons.\u00a0\u00a0 First, because I’m on the board of the organization that puts on the annual Washington VA Fourth of July Celebration <\/a>, I found myself directing traffic that afternoon, standing in a downpour.\u00a0 Second, because my youngest brother Ray came for a visit.\u00a0 \u00a0Third, because Ray brought with him my long awaited peafowl.\u00a0 This may need some explaining – You see, years ago I’d seen a stunning white peacock running across a lawn in England, and was so struck by the image, that I knew once I had a country place of my own, I NEEDED to have one to strut across my lawn too.\u00a0 With that in mind, I’d ordered several little white peachicks<\/a> from a breeder in North Carolina. \u00a0 White peafowl are not only hard to find, but apparently they’re also hard to breed, ’cause it took him a while to finally hatch out eight white chicks.\u00a0 (“Did your “chickpeas” arrive yet?” Eric Meyer kept inquiring). Finally the wee beasties were born, and the breeder called to coordinate how best to get them to me. \u00a0\u00a0 It just so happened that Ray was planning on driving up from Georgia to visit at the same time and his route would take him right by the peafowl farm.\u00a0 I told the breeder my brother would be “delighted” to stop by on his way and convey the precious (trust me, at those prices they were pretty preciou$) fowl to me.\u00a0 Needless to say, Ray was less than “delighted” when I explained what I wanted him to do. \u00a0 “You want me to pick up WHAT?”\u00a0\u00a0 But, like the rest of my family, Ray has long been convinced that I’m a complete nut case and should be gently humored, so Ray not only picked up squawking peachicks and drove them eight hours to Virginia in pouring rain, he also got out of his car and promptly spent the next two hours out in the downpour helping me direct sodden 4th of July revelers to the proper parking places.\u00a0 Such was his welcome to Rappahannock County, VA<\/a>.\u00a0 I apologized to him profusely about the rain (not knowing that it would pretty much be the last we’d see of it until October), dried him off and gave him a beer.\u00a0 It was good to see him.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 T<\/big>o tell you the truth, I don’t really remember much about August<\/strong> except that it was hot and dry – very dry.\u00a0 The drought really decided to get serious in August, and to prove just how serious it wanted to be taken, it decided to dry up all my spring-fed streams and kill my newly seeded pasture.\u00a0 \u00a0I was not a happy farmer in August (nor in September and October for that matter).<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 S<\/big>eptember<\/strong> finally came, but neglected to bring with it some cooler weather.\u00a0\u00a0 I escaped the scorched landscape by heading to Chicago for my nephew Drake’s<\/a> birthday.\u00a0 The midwest was annoyingly green. \u00a0 Later in the month Rolf Ehrhardt left his gene tinkering research<\/a> in California to visit his old haunts back East.\u00a0 Rolf was sorely disappointed to find Virginia doing a very credible imitation of Northern California – he was looking for greenery too.\u00a0 At least the local vineyards<\/a> were happy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
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Meg and Will<\/small><\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 O<\/big>ctober<\/strong> brought brother Geoff, his wife Sandy, and young Meg and Will for a short visit, and they were kind enough to bring with them the much needed rain.\u00a0 For the two days that they were here it was rainy and cloudy, and I kept grinning like an idiot as I apologized for the weather and saying stupid things like\u00a0 “I’m just so sorry you can’t see the mountains through the rain, trust me, they’re there – but isn’t this rain great?” \u00a0 I hope they’ll come back soon to actually see the mountains.\u00a0 Especially now that my little nephew Will can run around at breakneck speed – he’d make a great sheepdog.<\/p>\n

U<\/big>sually, October is one of my favorite months of the year.\u00a0 The days are mild, the nights cool, and air so clear that the mountains seem to loom closer than ever. \u00a0 Alas, there was one missing ingredient in the mix this year – the fall foliage. \u00a0 The drought pretty much closed down that annual performance.\u00a0 Leaves basically just dried up and fell off the trees, or, if they were really ambitious, turned a dull yellow for a few weeks before they dried up and fell off.\u00a0 Not a very glorious autumn this year.\u00a0 Glorious it was however, for my 14th annual climb up Old Rag Mountain<\/a> on October 24th. \u00a0 Almost every year for the past seventeen years (‘cept for the three years we didn’t quite make it) I’ve led a group of friends up one of the most dramatic peaks of the Blue Ridge, to stretch our city legs and take in views of the Virginia Piedmont’s pastoral splendor.\u00a0 Each year I used to bore them all with big words about how “some day I’d have a little farm off there in the distance.”\u00a0 Now I bore them by pointing out the little farm off there in the distance (“No, not there, over there behind that hill…. see where that orchard meets that road….”). \u00a0\u00a0A surprising number actually not only tolerate this and my camp counselor demeanor (complete with clipboard agenda), but they return year after year.\u00a0\u00a0 This year the weather was ideal and 55 stalwart hikers braved sheer rock walls, forded mountain streams, and fended off rabid cub scout troops to reach the summit.\u00a0\u00a0 After an exhausting but welcome trek, we all repaired back to the farm for a bonfire dinner and tall tales about the day’s exploits (and an unforgetable exigesis of the Gilgamesh epic<\/a> from Tom Palmer<\/a>).<\/p>\n

\"Defaul11\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Happy Hikers<\/small><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 N<\/big>ovember<\/strong> came and with it, some slight relief from the drought (i.e., it rained a few times), but it remained as warm and balmy as in July. This was good for doing farm projects – but it played hell on my intentions to do more writing projects (hard to sit at the computer when the brush cutter and chainsaw keep whispering sweet nothings in your ear “go outside…. go outside”) .\u00a0\u00a0 Mid-month I got up several times in the wee hours of the morning to witness the spectacular Leonid Meteor showers<\/a>. \u00a0 On the 21st I headed down to Richmond to check out the Virginia Poultry Association’s annual show (Ever been to a chicken show?\u00a0 Imaging a couple hundred loudly crowing roosters and lots of fat people walking around and you’ll get a pretty good idea.) and wound up coming home with a colorful passel of the most scatter-brained chickens you’ve ever seen.\u00a0 Despite their stupidity, they’re kinda nice to look at, and they delight the geese, who find pestering chickens much more rewarding than pestering me (chickens squawk louder).\u00a0 Thanksgiving was spent in Tryon, NC with the folks, brothers Ray and Wayne, and my radiantly pregnant sister-in-law Audrey (who will cringe reading this), but, hey, she radiated. Mom decided we needed a bit of culture while we were there and treated us to a day at the Biltmore<\/a>. \u00a0 I also visited old friends Trip and Alan (who have definitely imported some badly needed Virginia “style” into the Tryon hunt scene) and are the toast of the town.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n
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Virginia Chickens <\/small><\/p>\n<\/td>\n

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and Carolina hounds<\/small><\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 W<\/big>inter took its time making an appearance this December<\/strong>. \u00a0 It was still warm enough to have an outdoor picnic on the 5th (guests were a bit taken aback to find chickens and peafowl begging for handouts under the table instead of a dog). The annual onslaught of Christmas parties brought out some Christmas spirit, but it’s only as I write this (Christmas Eve) that it feels like Christmas, with lower temps, and believe it or not, snow.\u00a0 The sheep are appreciating this cooler weather and are bouncing around like idiotic lambs today.\"Defaul17\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Christmas Eve at Touchstone Farm\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <\/small><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 U<\/big>nfortunately 1998 was not all benign and gentle.\u00a0 There were moments of great sadness as well.\u00a0 I will greatly miss my cousin Jim Coleman, and my good friend Carroll LeTellier, both of whom were taken from their families and friends at far too young an age.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 S<\/big>o that’s been my year.\u00a0 Quiet, perhaps, but aside from a little more rain, if 1999 felt the need to plagiarize, I wouldn’t complain in the least.\u00a0 Not to get too mushy, but I consider myself awfully lucky to live where I do, and have people like you in my life.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 W<\/big>ishing\u00a0 you all the merriest of Christmases, and the happiest new year ever,<\/p>\n

Alan<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

December 28, 1998 Dear Friends and Family – \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I‘ve been deluged by “Christmas Letters” from the unlikeliest sources over the last several years, so I guess it’s safe to finally test the waters of what, until recently, seemed to be the exclusive province of suburban housewives bragging about their kids.\u00a0 I’m not a housewife, … Continue reading 1998 Christmas Letter<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-152","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-christmas-letter"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/152"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=152"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/152\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5951,"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/152\/revisions\/5951"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=152"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=152"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/zuschlag.us\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=152"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}