(It was picture perfect at Refuge Farm on an early November day. The sky was North Carolina Blue, if I may be permitted the geographic anomaly. Photo Socotra).

I think we should just let the clocks alone. I have been up since “0300” and this is an affront to nature.

it was lasagna with the Russians last night here at the farm. Matt put it together as he struggled with practicing the Oral component of a large proposal. The backdrop of uncertainty about literally everything has all of us a little nervous, but this will all be over soon.

Please.

Anyway, assembling the lasagna helped keep his mind off all that, and eating certainly kept my attention later. The table was nicely filled. Since I was not responsible for the main course, I provided a garden fresh salad and hot corn bread, all of it at least claiming to be local.

The food was great, and rather than barreling straight down, I took the time to stop at a farmer’s market south of Haymarket. The place is Buckland Farms, a neat little operation that specializes in local food. The selection is magnificent, the vegetables and eggs fresh and from right around here.

The market is on the site of the famed Buckland Races, the battle in which J.E.B. Stuart routed the Yanks for the last time, chasing the Blue Coats all the way from Warrenton to Haymarket in a pell-mell rebel-yelling riot.

The salad fixings and cornbread accompanied the lasagna nicely. Matt and Tatiana came by to pop the foil-covered pasta at three, and with the time change coming up I could not figure out if it would be longer or shorter to happy hour, and decided to split the difference. The wine from the Old House vintner was fantastic.

With the entrée in the oven, it was time to walk the grounds and check out the efforts of the Works Private Administration over the course of the week and survey for storm damage from Super Whatever It Was Sandy.

Aside from the nervous laughter about what was going to happen to the Defense Budget regardless of who wins, there was scarcely a hint of politics in the crisp air.

First project was the pavers. The Original Janet who commissioned this odd little place had used circles of sawn lumber to mark a path through the Garden of Whatever She Was Thinking, and over the years the wood had swollen and disintegrated into mulch. Hence, the pavers. The color is a little raw, but should weather nicely. I liked what Don’s crew had done:

(This is the view walking back past the antenna field which monitors the Geostationary Satellite that provides television, radio and agonizingly slow internet communications to the HQ. Photo Socotra.)

(The new look to the approach to the Garden of Whatever. Photo Socotra.)

The power-washed and re-sealed deck looked great. I walked the pavers around back and went down to the pastures to see what had crashed into the fences in the torrent.

(The view from the starboard pasture looking back up to the run-in for the invisible ponies. That is another project, maybe for when I am on the property full time.)

Astonishingly, nothing was out of place. All was right with the property, and in the course of the inspection I spooked something big down by the stream at the back property line. Something that might have been a whitetail, but it was moving fast.

Walking back up the gentle hill, I checked the weather-vane. Somehow I need to get the big copper pony back up on top of the barn, and I am not sure I want to engage a crane to do it.

It is a long way up there on very thin roofing, and the copper pony that used to sit atop the N-E-W-S letters blew off two years ago. Need to figure that out at some point.

I asked Don’s guys to remove the young trees that had taken seed in the gutters. An excellent fall project, and they complied, gratis. They are good workers and I like the relationship.

(Clean gutters is an act of Godliness.)

Here is the new flagpole. It will be installed on the pad dug next to the Big Ass Rock in the driveway. It is 20ft LOA, with 18ft above ground. It is a sturdy fixture, rated to 140kts. I will continue to fly the national flag, as befits a veteran-owned mortgage, but wanted to have a means to demonstrate which allegiance I am celebrating on any particular day.

You have to have something on which to run up the Jolly Roger, just in case, right?

Anyway, it was a good day to be deep in the Virginia country, and have the crisp breeze blow out the Beltway fog of what is next. Who cares? The Earth lasts. Shoot, it positively abides, it does. I am taking a leaf out of that hymnal on this Sunday. The clock may lie to us like the politicians, but the land does not.

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com