(The Old Buckland Mill in historic Buckland on the Broad River.)

It has been raining for four days now. Maybe it is breaking, though the skies are still leaden. The air show was rained out, and the Taste of Culpeper was a trial to all concerned, though still fun.

I was lucky that the weather was so crappy- we have had all the rain we need to climb out of moisture deficit, with nearly three inches recorded at Reagan National over the last three weeks. We are sodden.

Coming down yesterday morning I drove into another band of persistent rain as I approached Culpeper, and the big bend in the road crossing the Rappahannock River.

Rain was coming down so hard that even the formidable wipers of the Panzer barely swept enough of it off to see the still-green fields rolling gently toward the low horizon.

These fields were the site of the sprawling battle of Bristoe Station, fwhich began 150 years ago this very morning. Action between Yankee and Rebel cavalry swirled from the outskirts of Culpeper all the way up to the fortifications around Haymarket, and contained epic encounter that J.E.B. Stuart termed “The Buckland Races.”

In that clash, Federal cavalry under Brigadier General Judson Kirkpatrick were bushwhacked by Stuart, Wade Hampton and Fiitzhugh Lee’s formations. The panicked Union forces, including the dashing George Armstrong Custer, broke into individuals fleeing on foot or horseback for Broad Run and the safety of the main body of the Army of the Potomac at Haymarket.

I always note the spot where Custer was nearly killed by a confederate cannon ball at Buckland Mills, but the yellow-haired solider did not die that day. He would save that for the Little Big Horn. The Buckland Races were just about the last Confederate cavalry victory of the war.

I did not know for sure, but assumed the 34 AT-6/SNJ WW II training aircraft did not perform the air show as planned on Saturday due to weather, and I thought that (if they had actually made it to Culpeper) I might see some of them on the ground at T. I. Martin Field just north of the battlefield at Brandy Station.

I was in luck. The weather was so putrid that many of the aircraft were still in parade parking with their canopies buttoned up against the persistent drizzle. I peered through the fence at the long line of vintage warbirds, and took a couple pictures before getting back in the Panzer to investigate if I could get closer. To my amazement, the ramp was open, once through a wire gate, and I was free to wander along 21 Texans, a P-51 Mustang, two T-28 Trojans and a venerable Yak-9 from Soviet times.

(P-51 Charlotte’s Chariot II on the flight line at T.I. Martin Field.)

I got soaked, of course, but it was nice to be that close to the old warbirds, whose owners are celebrating 70 years of flight this year. I doubt if I will see that many in one place again. The Commemorative Air Force (formerly the Confederate Air Force in less PC times) has a hangar there on the flight line, and it struck me that it might be a volunteer activity that appeals to me.

I wandered past one of the Texans that had been pulled under cover for voyage repairs, and looked at the people who have this aspect of modern life as a passion. They were mostly white guys of a certain age, sort of like bikers with more expensive habits.

I did not volunteer for anything, and left as anonymously as I had arrived.

The rain continued as I cleared off the email and did laundry at Refuge Farm in preparation for attending A Taste of Culpeper.

The rain made things a disaster, as you might imagine, though the amount of wine available for purchase and tasting seemed to have the crowd in a fine mood. There were thirty or forty tents with locally raised foods and crafts, and the cognoscenti had their folding chairs set up under the gabled roof of the Depot to listen to Magick Kat, the band that played beneath an awning to an audience of perhaps a half dozen people under an opposing tent.

I stayed wet, took some pictures and got a look at all the vendors before returning to the farm for a football jolt, and then the only baseball game I have watched this year- Game Two of the Tigers-Red Sox at fabled Fenway. The Tigers did well and looked like they had put the BoSox away in the top of the sixth inning, but faltered and lost, 6-5 in the bottom of the 9th.

(Tiger Miguel Cabrera tags one over the Green Monster in left field at Fenway Park. For naught, as it turned out. Photo AP).

Freaking idiots.

I yawned and looked at the clock in disbelief. I managed to stay semi-alert right to the end, and then slept (unbelievable!) until five thirty. In honor of Mr. Columbus, and of the heroes of Bristoe Station, I turned over and slept for another hour.

Still looks crappy out there, but it feels a great deal like home here.

Oh, I heard that Senator Reid actually talked to Senator McConnell. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot.

Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303