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It is raining here, just south of the Rappahannock River. Cold rain, but filled with a certain mirth at the warmth of the fire inside, good company, and the promise of a new year less filled with strife and uncertainty. I ran across an old clip of what a young man thought about these placid pastures when he lived on them. It was 1862, the year after everything went bad. Here is what he said, quoted by Thomas Nast:

It is raining, a gray pelting moisture that makes the fire inside a welcome thing. It makes me think of the kids, and growing with them, happy that they knew the peace my father’s generation won for them, and earnest in my hopes that it will continue. No polemics this morning. I have had enough of that, for these few days, and am satisfied to hear the drops hitting the steel roof and thinking of warmer times and old pals.
I got sucked into those times yesterday on a project. I was trying to resurrect memories of those circles of fine and memorable friends who define a life. There were teams of young fellows in sporting activities in school. An aviation squadron filled with rough-and-ready buddies; good guys in strange warm places. Extraordinary ladies, vibrant and wise and filled with laughter. And kids who show us the nature of the miracle of birth and life.
The memories of people with whom I was happy to accompany into dangerous waters. Later, a cadre of smart people who knew the business and the intricate ways of the human heart. Later, a wonderful decade in a go-go section of what we know now as The Swamp. And now, living a much more quiet time in the country.
Seeing the peaceful fields that once held such astonishing energy is a revelation. At the Farm we are cooking a seven fish dish to celebrate the season with neighbors good enough to be family. That is the reward for a delightful and completely unprogrammed life- friends and family and abundant joy.
So many sacrificed to get us to this season, healthy and warm. Let us enjoy it together for a bit, before we get back to changing everything we knew and loved. There will be time for that aplenty.
Merry Christmas, my friends. From Refuge Farm, south of the Rappahannock that swells today with the gift of heaven. We embrace our living pals and remember those who have gone on but left us the essence of their lives. We will join them soon enough at the Fleet Landing on the other side of the Styx. There is happiness in this day and this time, and we intend to savor it.
With love.
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Copyright 2020 Vic Socotra
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