So, Buck is a little different than the rest of the long-term Writer’s Section. He thinks we are funny artifacts of old conflicts. We view him as a breath of fresh air in his ability to tell us what going on in those Faculty Lounges that seem to be manufacturing a whole new history, economic structure and sociology different than the one the rest of us remember. Melissa and the young attorney provide an equitable view of standard male derangement, although the legal beagle is intended to mute opinions that provoke a reaction from the thicket of legal troubles that can be launched by the authorities, and funded out of the taxes they insist we pay.

Buck was on a mission yesterday, and now that his sedan is repaired, free to go as far as the amount of credit left on his Visa can handle at the pump. He was lively already as the rest of us were attempting to get caffeine and nicotine levels correct enough in our bloodstreams to speak without slurring.

“You wouldn’t think a drive up to see the Doc in Warrenton would be a big deal, but all you people seem to hear about are the events observable between the County Road and the Distillery. You should try driving somewhere else and get some perspective.”

Splash gave an excellent grimace. “My trips to Belmont Farms Distillery is not just to purchase fine potable beverages. I am scouting the landscape for potential food vendors if the distribution system has problems in the times to come.” Then he smiled. “I saw a cow the other day.”

There were two frowns and at least three smiles at his statement. Buck sat up straighter. “Yesterday, I saw a property that had native azaleas. With the afternoon traffic flowing out of the capital I was just able to register on how pretty they were against last of the winter gray. They were something else. Tall and airy and graceful with soft shades of pink, rose, orange sherbet and white. Pretty cool. And they paved that car-pool lot off the main road near the Brandy Station battlefield.”

“I like Brandy,” said Splash. “But what about the lot? That is new.”

“Yeah, there is a bunch of folks who like living in a nice rural area and are willing to car-pool up to town.”

“Ugh. I can’t imagine what that would cost these days doing the hundred and forty mile round trip in the car by myself.”

“Remember what Mac Showers told us about how they handled the relocation of Naval Intelligence out to Fort Meade when they stood up NSA?” Melissa waved her coffee cup gracefully toward the trees on the north side of the property. Buck was too new to have known our 93-year-old drinking buddy, and looked puzzled. She tossed her long blonde locks and raised her cup in salute to the heavens.

“There were four guys who worked at the Armed Forces Security Agency that was at Arlington Hall Station. When NSA was stood up to replace it in 1952, they decided Fort Meade up by Baltimore was the place that had room to consolidate. That didn’t get going until 1957, and Navy set up a thing called NFOIO to be collocated with it.”

Rocket shook his head in question. “What the heck was that? Sounds like alphabet soup.”

“It was. ‘Naval Field Operational Intelligence Office’ was the name and they tailored the needs of the Fleet to the new national communications capability.” She took a sip of coffee. “I miss Mac. He used to talk about Bill Hatch, who was in his car-pool. I drove Mac out to Bill’s funeral years ago. He told me Bill had to milk his cows out in the barn in Leesburg before driving to Arlington to meet Mac. Then they would drive up to Fort Meade.”

Loma shook his head. “Gas was only about thirty cents a gallon then. Can you imagine what commuting from Leesburg to Baltimore would cost now?”

There was laughter at the thought. Buck said “The Secretary of Transportation told us to just buy electric cars, since they never run out of gas. But you have to remember inflation. Thirty cents back then is more than three dollars now. And with prices headed up to five or six bucks a gallon, I think that is why they paved that lot at Brandy Station. People can link up there and then share a single car to get up north to DC. It is the only way to afford living out here where the flowers bloom.”

Loma firmly said: “I ain’t driving anywhere anymore.” He paused, and then corrected himself. “At least we won’t have to if the Chairman invests in our own distilling capability here.”

“I like the views on the way to the Distillery just fine,” said Slash firmly. “Plus, it is only three miles away. I figure regular gas and moonshine cost about the same these days.”

DeMille attempted to bring the group to some sort of order before we started talking about energy policy and lunacy. “Gentle Colleagues, please remember the Chairman’s guidance on safe operations of the F150. Drive, then drink.”

Splash shook his head in agreement. “I used to forget which order. But times being what they are, maybe we should start distilling our own and get the truck to run on moonshine.”

“That would eliminate the need for paved parking. Or something, anyway.”

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