Keswick Life

Lifestyles in Keswick and its environs

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WEDDINGS: Manning – Henry

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Photos by Lynne Brubaker Photography

screen-shot-2016-11-29-at-8-14-51-pmChris Henry and Katie Manning were married September 17 in Keswick, Virginia, at Grace Episcopal Church. After the ceremony the couple rode in a horse drawn carriage to Castalia Farm, owned by the bride’s parents Diane and Paul Manning. Friends and family gathered in the property’s restored 1903 cattle barn for the reception. Katie’s 25-year-old former junior jumper Guinness, aka Clown, welcomed guests on the patio during the cocktail hour.

Chris parent’s Patricia Mehrmann and Alan Henry from Roanoke, Virginia, hosted the rehearsal dinner at Maya restaurant.

screen-shot-2016-11-29-at-8-13-15-pmChris and Katie became friends in the fall of 2007 at the University of Virginia where they both studied history. They started dating three years later while Katie studied journalism in graduate school at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C. After a few years working abroad – the groom in Africa and the bride in Chile – the couple moved back to Charlottesville to be together. The newlyweds now live downtown with their two loving labradoodles Billie Jean and Elvis. Katie reports as a freelance journalist for local and national media outlets. Chris is the general manager/COO of Stony Point Design/Build, a Charlottesville-based construction development company.

WHAT’S COOKING: Papas Aplastadas – Crushed Potatoes

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By Three Guys from Miami

The recent KHC Oyster Roast featured an alternative meal for those non-oyster eaters – a Cuban themed meal prepared with love by a great group of friends for their fellow club members. What stood out was a potato side dish, called Papas Aplastadas – Crushed Potatoes.

The backgound is simple, Cubans are known for eating many types of root vegetables: yuca, malanga, boniato. But they do also enjoy potatoes, the number one root vegetable of Americans! This recipe uses new potatoes, the small red potato you see in the supermarket. The skin of the new potato is very thin, so leave it on! It gives this dish a great flavor and nice color!

Prep time: 10 minutes
Cook time: 20 minutes
Total time: 30 minutes
Yield: 4 servings

We came, we saw, we smashed to make a delicious potato side dish.

INGREDIENTS:

  • 4 strips bacon, chopped
  • 12 to 16 new potatoes, unpeeled (golf-ball size)
  • 1 cup chopped green pepper
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil
  • 3 cloves garlic, minced
  • salt to taste
  • 1/2 teaspoon black pepper (to taste)
  • 1 1/2 teaspoons cumin (to taste)
  • 3/4 cup chopped green onion
  • 1/2 cup grated sharp cheddar cheese
  • 1/2 cup grated Monterrey Jack cheese

Cover potatoes with lightly salted water. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover and simmer for about 15 to 20 minutes or until the potatoes are fork tender. Remove from heat and drain.

While the potatoes are cooking, sauté chopped bacon in a large frying pan until crispy. Remove bacon bits but do not drain the oil. Add the green pepper and a little olive oil to the pan and sauté until tender. Add the minced garlic and sauté an additional minute or so only.

Lightly grease a jelly roll pan, pizza pan, or baking sheet; you need a flat pan with a raised edge that can go under the broiler. Arrange the cooked potatoes on the pan. Spray the bottom of a coffee cup with some vegetable spray, and use the cup to smash the potatoes until they are crushed and flattened in a thin layer that more or less covers the bottom of the pan. Crush — don’t mash — the potatoes! They should look like you dropped them on the floor, NOT like you ran over them with your SUV!

Drizzle the potatoes liberally with olive oil and sprinkle to taste with salt, pepper, and cumin. The amounts listed in the ingredients are approximate. The best way is to start conservatively, taste a bite of the potatoes, and add more spices are needed! Top the potatoes with the green pepper, green onion and bacon bits.

Evenly spread the grated cheese over the top of the potatoes. Place in the oven under the broiler at the LOW setting. You want to bring the dish back up to serving temperature and melt the cheese. Your goal? A pan of potatoes that looks gooey and bubbling with the cheese lightly browned on top.

Make sure you keep the pan low enough (NOT the top rack!) so that the cheese isn’t immediately scorched. This dish needs only a few minutes for the cheese to melt and brown slightly, so watch it carefully! Once hot and bubbly, remove from broiler and serve immediately.

ONLY IN KESWICK: About Detritus

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By Tony Vanderwarker

Detritus is what my favorite Venusian calls “misplaced stuff ”. Using a word with a Latin derivation, she characterizes out-of-place objects as an offense against nature, like bestiality or sadomasochism.

To me, it’s a coffee cup sitting on the counter. To her, it might as well be a dead mouse. “There’s detritus all over this place,” she says with a sweeping gesture. The definition of detritus is “loose material that results directly from disintegration.”

And she picks right up on it, pointing around the bedroom and saying, “It looks like a bomb went off in here. There’s detritus all over the place, look, two pairs of shoes, all kinds of clothes scattered around, a beer can from two nights ago, damn Stickies pasted all over the place, magazines, books—c’mon! Maybe you’re comfortable being a slob, but I can’t live like this.”

So I have to sheepishly trundle around harvesting detritus.

But that’s not the end of it. Because to properly convert a piece of detritus back into an object, it has to go in a special place. Otherwise you get, “That’s not where the spatulas go, that’s for forks. Spatulas go here!” This is where she slams the spatula down in its proper place and the dogs go run and hide.

That’s part of my frustration. How am I supposed to know where everything goes? There must be over a thousand objects chez nous and while my memory is still chugging along, I couldn’t begin to tell you which drawer the meat thermometer goes in or what racks in the wine cooler are for white and which for red.

My buddy Bob gets badly hung up on the dishwasher. He can never remember the proper area for wine glasses and the right one for drinking glasses. Shrugging, Bob says, “Sometimes I load it so badly, Claire comes up and elbows me out of the way, huffing, ‘I’ll just have to unload it myself and start over.”

Detritus can also be found outside, on the car for instance. “I can’t stand the car being so dusty—just look at it!” We have a gravel drive so our cars are dirty all the time. Me, I buy into it, but the Venusian I live with can’t deal with it. “We can’t go to this party with the car looking like that!” Never in my life did it occur to me that our friends would think less of us for having a dusty car. But that makes no difference because I always end up washing it.

See if you don’t agree with me that sometimes Venusians plant detritus just to nail us. I swear I didn’t leave my sweatband sitting out on the dining room table. But sure enough, she finds it, snatches it off the glass and holds it up accusingly.

Just like my drill instructor did at Quantico. After we’d spent three hours scrubbing every square inch of the head, he came in for an inspection. Now we had used toothbrushes to clean around commodes, buckets of water and tons of rags. I mean we had that place completely spic and span.

We’re standing at attention as the D.I. goes in one stall, checks it and goes into another. He disappears into the third and suddenly we hear this loud CRASH as he kicks the door open with his foot and slowly exits, dramatically dangling a banana peel in our faces. Twenty-eight of us had cleaned that place, no way we would have missed a honking big banana peel. He proceeds to scream at us that we’re a bunch of lousy, no-good incompetents who will never make good marines and orders us to clean the latrine again.

The other thought you have to keep in mind is Venusians don’t have detritus. Nope, instead, they have another classification–what they call things. It doesn’t sound fair but if they are things, they can be anyplace and get a free pass. As in, “Those things I left out on the table—they are to go to Ada’s” Or, “All the things on the bed in the guest room are for my trip to D.C.”

But one Martian’s sweatband is a Venusian’s detritus. And with so much stuff in the house, there’s no way to win—unless you spend every waking hour searching out your misplaced possessions.

So just get used to losing the detritus wars. For Martians it’s a lost cause.

LIFE, MAKE IT HAPPEN!: Election Fallout

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By Mary Morony

ivotedYesterday was the day, the first Tuesday in November. Eager for the onerous task to be done, I got myself to the polls early. The outcome never meant so much to me, nor did I care about it with such angst. Elections, in my lifetime, tended toward Tweddle Dee/Tweddle Dum options for the Oval office. The only seeming difference between the candidates was their party’s twist on graft, corruption, gerrymandering and the court, or whatever agenda du jour happened to make the ballot.

In the days before we became so fractured, our elected officials were hard to tell apart because the electorate was more homogenous. Not so much these days. Americans lost our innocence when those planes flew into the twin towers. Fear took over, driven by ego and greed.

I envied the verve women all around me felt for breaking the ceiling, but, oh, why her? Even the passion the basket of deplorables mustered for their candidate, I wished for some of it. For the last six months my abiding question: why can’t I get past the despicable personalities and focus on the issues? All I can see are two loathsome talking heads spewing invectives, pointing fingers and doing their utmost to separate our country into reds or blues. Name calling, and judgments ran like a leaky toilet for the past year.

After I voting my conscience, I took the canine friends off to the woods to clear my head hoping of find something positive to write. For most of the walk, I told myself the deplorable choice we all faced today was, in fact, our shadow staring at us. Like in comic strip Pogo, “We have met the enemy, and he is us.” A noxious voice in my head retorts I was spouting new age hokum.

There is a favorite passage from A Course in Miracles I like to recite to remind myself of my purpose when I fall off track or to quite the noise in my head when it reaches a crescendo.

I am here only to be truly helpful.

I am here to represent Him Who sent me.

I do not have to worry about what to say or what to do, because He Who sent me will direct me.

I am content to be wherever He wishes, knowing He goes there with me.

I will be healed as I let Him teach me to heal.

Those words echoed on my tongue as I happened upon a bearded man, decked head to toe in camo, carrying a rifle. After exchanging greetings and pleasantries, we discussed his black powder gun and the size of my dogs. Did my hounds scare away his game? He assured me that it was no problem. Then confident of my candidate’s win, I left him with a gratuitous show of largesse, despite my certainty of his political leanings; I said, “don’t forget to vote.”

He responded, “Yes, ma’am I sure would if I could figure out which one I disliked least. You would think we could come up with better choices, wouldn’t you?”

I couldn’t stop it, I opened my mouth and out came my thoughts on how I believe we are responsible for this. If we want better representatives, there is work to do. No lecturing, just saying out loud what I had been thinking.

He said, “it’s in us. We are going to make the changes in our hearts if we want better leaders. Our hearts are going to have to change.”

We went on our ways. Still mulling what to put on paper, I half heard what the man said. Still grousing about the horrible the choice we were forced to make, focusing on the divided nation listening to my ego. With every step, my sadness increased until by the time I was back home I was near tears, still deaf to the hunter’s words. I had an appointment with a wise woman I admire. We talked, as I struggled to maintain my composure.

Off topic, I began to tell her the story of meeting the hunter and what he shared with me. He had repeated my thoughts back to me almost verbatim had without my knowledge. No words exchanged, I had made my mind up, dismissing him and his wisdom while going through the motions of conviviality.

My friend said, “You saw an angel today.” I wept in gratitude for the truth of what she said. Also, in humiliation for my judgment, which caused me to missed his essence.

This morning, I am challenged to love the parts of me I shove aside, dismiss as not worthy or despise. I can no longer afford to straddle the fence and condemn. The time is here to reject my ego’s siren’s song. The time is right to heal to learn to love every part of me for all our sake.

TRAVEL: Peanut Island

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By Joseph S. Shields

There is a place called Peanut Island.  It is in Florida and I have been there.  You would think it is shaped like a peanut, but it’s not.

Peanut Island was created in 1918 with excavation debris from the construction of the Palm Beach Inlet.  It was originally called Inlet Island, but the name changed after plans were made to use the island for a peanut-shipping operation.  The venture never happened but the name stuck.

Aerial photographs reveal the tiny landmass is perfectly circular, as you would expect from an artificial undertaking by humans.  The inlet connects Lake Worth lagoon to the Atlantic Ocean and maintains a depth of 35 feet.

During the Cuban Missile Crisis, Navy Seabees built a nuclear fallout shelter on Peanut Island for President John F. Kennedy.  The bunker was situated 5 minutes by helicopter and 15 minutes by boat from the Kennedy estate in Palm Beach.  The bunker would have literally been JFK’s last resort.

People often visit Peanut Island Park to tour the bunker and the U.S. Coast Guard Station that used to be situated there.  My kids, however, weren’t interested in a maritime museum or remnants from the Cold War.  Instead of spending part of the day underground, we spent the afternoon underwater swimming with fish.

The children asked the captain if they could jump in after he dropped anchor.  Captain Ron (yes, like in the movie) was worried about the current and tossed a line out so they could grab it and pull themselves back to the yacht.

“I can’t get much closer,” he said.  “If you guys are good simmers and want to swim to the island you can.”

My brother-in-law arranged the afternoon excursion for a break from late-December holiday festivities.  His friend owns the boat—we’ll call it “Cliché” (Newport, Rhode Island)—and keeps it in Palm Beach during the winter season.

“They grow up so fast!” my brother-in-law exclaimed, watching his niece and nephews jump overboard.  All three were quickly taken away by the flow of water.  They expertly swam against the current and grabbed the rope.

“You should avoid using annoying clichés,” I said.  “That one has had its day.”

“But cliché’s are always true, which is why people started saying them.”

For once in his life he had a point.  I took my shirt off and jumped in before he could say: “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Captain Ron served lunch: shrimp cocktail, fruit platter, and cheese and crackers.  My kids devoured the food like dogs and quickly returned to the water to escape my brother-in-law and his girlfriend.

My brother-in-law—let’s call him “Lighthouse,” a nickname he earned in college because of his height, pale white skin, and fear of the sun—was badly sunburned in the Galapagos Islands as a child and spends his free time covering his body with globs of SPF 70 sunscreen in all climates.  The practice becomes more extreme the closer he gets to the equator.  And the madness is contagious; his perfectly “normal” girlfriend—let’s call her “The Girlfriend” because she has taken a leave of absence—inherited his illogical fear of sunlight.  Both wore large-brimmed hats designed for African safaris and clothing intended for fishing guides.

The 30-minute voyage to Peanut Island was fantastic. When I wasn’t enjoying the scenery—to the east, waterfront estates hidden behind walls of greenery and privacy hedges, and to the west, high-rise condos and industrial Riviera Beach—I witnessed the happy couple force sunscreen onto the bodies of my offspring.   Annoyed, the three looked at me for help, but I considered the benefits: a return to shore without sunburns.

The après-lunch activity took the prize. Lighthouse and The Girlfriend reapplied sunscreen to the children and then all five dove into the water.  Rings of the sunscreen’s potentially harmful synthetic ingredients—oxybenzone and octinoxate—appeared on the surface of the water.  The swimmers emerged from the plunge and bubbles fizzled away the messy slick.

Captain Ron and I tossed them snorkeling equipment.  Each swimmer struggled putting on his or her mask; excessive sunscreen application did not help matters.  Fortunately, Cliché did not have enough flippers onboard, which limited the struggle to masks and snorkels.

After Lighthouse had his mask and snorkel ready, he asked me to throw him the plastic bag full of sunscreen.

“You should consider living in Norway,” I said.

“Come on, just throw me the bag.”

“But we have a couple-hundred yard swim?  And it only takes ten minutes to circumnavigate the island?”

“I told him I would carry it,” said The Girlfriend.

I threw her the bag and instructed my children not to go near either one of them as the couple attempted to swim towards the artificial reef near the shoreline.  Lighthouse performed an Olympic-paced, disturbing version of the Australian crawl, leaving The Girlfriend behind to flail in his troubled wake.  The sun shirts they wore on their backs appeared to pull them under.

“You can’t make this stuff up, can you?”  I asked the captain.

Concerned, he said, “Can she swim?   And what is he doing?”

“No,” I replied.  “And he is damaging the water.”

“There won’t be any fish left if he keeps that up.”

“At least the bag of sunscreen floats,” I said, before hopping in with my apparatus.

Underwater, the six of us were overcome by the hues of transformative, striped reef fish.  I recognized a few: the sergeant major, with its yellow sheen, silvery gray, and oftentimes darker shades of blue; the flat, disk-like angelfish with colorations that boggle minds; and the Atlantic porkfish, with its solid yellow forehead and two black vertical bars.

I read the shallow, rocky Peanut Island coastline has some of the best snorkeling in South Florida.  The water, as advertised, was waist-deep, and we played among the lime-rock boulders near the southern edge of the island.

We mainly encountered smaller, schooling reef fish, but I had read and was certain that barracuda, sharks, tarpon, and green moray eels often made an appearance in these waters.  I intermittently studied the fish and watched the kids marvel at the welcome assault on their senses.  When I wasn’t absorbing the marine life, I studied my children’s scuba masks, which were half-full of water.

We practiced clearing the masks, both underwater and above water, but the basics of snorkeling were too difficult to teach that afternoon.  My kids did not understand the dynamics of the shaped tube; typically it should remain above sea level.  Nevertheless, they breathed through their contraptions, partially drowning, always wanting to get closer to fish.

After an hour or so, we swam to the beach and walked around the island.  Lighthouse noticed my shoulders were red.  He offered sunscreen but I refused on principle.  I enjoyed the burn.

We walked past families picnicking under the shade of palm trees.  Kayakers beached their crafts and ate their lunches on the sand.  A man cast his fly rod; the clouser minnow sailed through the air as his children flew kites from atop a hill.  We passed JFK’s bunker and the museum and came full circle to the artificial reef.

Captain Ron waved and it was time to go.  The yacht looked very far away.

Clouds moved in and blocked the sun.  Lighthouse and The Girlfriend reapplied sunscreen.   I ventured into the water first and raced to the channel, testing the current, looking for careless boaters, and searching for sharks beneath the sea.  In the absence of sunlight, the visibility we previously enjoyed had deteriorated.

Halfway to the boat, at an uncertain depth in 20 feet of water, I turned and watched as three dark forms swam towards me.  Rays of sunshine suddenly broke through the clouds, penetrating the water.  The light illuminated the creatures with stripes and brilliant colors my eyes could no longer recognize.

BOOKWORM: Give the Gift of a Great Book

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By Suzanne Nash

Thanksgiving has come and gone and Christmas shopping is in full swing.  If you have book lovers on your shopping list I have a few suggestions…

41wpm68rtxlFor your youngest readers,  I often return to three favorites…Waiting for Winter by Sebastian Mechenmaser, Christmas in the Country by Rylant/Gabe and How Six Found Christmas by Tina Schart Hyman.

51gs9di1qwl-_sy344_bo1204203200_For grownups who enjoy thrillers, a good fit might be The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins.  I know the movie has just recently come out in theaters and many have seen it but the book is a marvelous ride and I admit I didn’t see the end coming.  It builds and builds and with the unreliable narrative you are never sure if you are getting reality or some skewed drunken perspective from the protagonist, Rachel, as she tries to discover what happened to a girl she used to see every day in passing from her commuter train window.

poisonFor a story with a completely different feel, take a look at Poison by Sara Poole. Renaissance Rome is the setting for this historical mystery and it follows the story of Francesca Giordano who is trying to figure out a way to avenge her father’s death.  When she takes her father’s place as the poisoner for Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia, she is thrust into the middle of political and religious intrigue that rocks Rome from the Jewish ghetto to the Vatican. This is an interesting foray into the world of the renaissance poisoner and the house of Borgia was a keen user of their talents. Poison was a favored type of political assassination since, if the poisoners were skillful, the poison could mimic so many natural diseases.

the-hotel-at-place-vendomeIf you think your reader might enjoy fact rather than fiction The Hotel on Place Vendome by Tilar J. Mazzeo is a wonderful choice. Paris during the occupation was a crazy time and The Ritz Hotel was in the center of it all, quite literally.. While Paris was in the throes of war, those who occupied the Ritz lived a very different life.  Actresses and spies rubbed shoulders with top Nazi leaders. Secrets were traded, murders committed and loyalties were tested. From Coco Chanel and Goring to Hemingway and Dietrich, they all passed through the doors of The Ritz and left a story…and it is all here in this masterful piece of work by the author of The Widow Cliquot.

the-lemon-treeMy latest favorite find is the beautifully written creation by journalist, Sandy Tolen , called The Lemon Tree.  While you might not think another look at the Israeli Palestinian Conflict is something anyone wants to read during the holidays…I found it inspiring and compelling and once I started I couldn’t put it down.  When a Palestinian family has to leave their family home and find they can’t return is upturns their world.  Years later a family member returns to his hometown to meet the current Jewish owners.  It is heart wrenching and will make you look at how two opposing sides can speak with kindness and love in the face of their countries conflict. I applaud the authors attempt to present both sides of the argument with equanimity and gentleness.

May you all experience the love and joy of this season and hopefully I will see you in the bookstore!!

COMMUNITY: UVa’s Madison House Brightens the Holiday Season for Local Families

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By Keswick Life

It’s all about the kids,” fourth-year University of Virginia student Morgan Gronbeck as she surveyed a room full of boxes packed with all kinds of gifts and household items, from stuffed animals and soccer balls to cereal and canned vegetables.

A Madison House program director, she and other student volunteers work for the Holiday Sharing program year after year, she said, because of seeing those children’s faces light up as they see their gifts of bicycles, toys and more.

Coordinated by Madison House, UVA’s student volunteer center, and in partnership with the Salvation Army of Charlottesville, the Holiday Sharing program invites the UVA and Charlottesville communities to collect food and gifts for local families in need. The program has been an annual tradition for almost 30 years.

Bikes, bikes and more bikes! As the Holiday Sharing program head program director, fourth-year student Emily Brown oversees about 50 Madison House volunteers and helps inventory donations.

Bikes, bikes and more bikes! As the Holiday Sharing program head program director, fourth-year student Emily Brown oversees about 50 Madison House volunteers and helps inventory donations.

This year, with the support of donors from UVA offices and departments, Greek organizations and alumni from across the country, as well as area nonprofit groups, the program collected more than $40,000 in donations of food, gifts and money that will be distributed Saturday to 150 local families referred by the Salvation Army.

The families are invited to pick up their packages during a festive party at Madison House, where they can decorate cookies and enjoy snacks while holiday music plays.

As busy as Santa’s elves, UVA students gathered at the center this week to pack food and gifts for local families to help them enjoy the holiday season.“Seeing the reactions of the families, how grateful they are, makes it all worthwhile,” said fourth-year student Emily Brown, the Holiday Sharing head program director who oversees about 50 Madison House volunteers. “Many recipients have expressed that without Holiday Sharing, celebrating the holidays in their household just wouldn’t be possible.”

Aidan Kilrain, a third-year biology major, leads one of five teams who work all semester on soliciting donations, running a food drive at local grocery stores, keeping an inventory of all the packages and planning the celebration for the families. It’s a great experience to help people in Charlottesville, he said, and offers students a chance to meet others beyond the on-Grounds bubble.

COMMUNITY: All Saints Chapel Adds Parish Hall

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By Keswick Life

stony-pointOn Sunday, November 20, All Saints Chapel at Stony Point hosted a ceremony dedicating its new addition: a parish hall including a large meeting area, storage and vesting rooms, and kitchen and rest room facilities.  Officiated by the reverend Miles Smith, rector of All Saints and of Grace Episcopal Church, the occasion drew well over fifty members of the two churches, donors, and construction contractors.

All Saints Chapel is a mission of Grace Church, founded in the 1920’s by Grace Church rector F. Leslie Robinson and now the sole survivor of three chapels built on the west side of the Southwest Mountains as outreach to those living in those outlying areas.  The original structure, completed and dedicated in 1929, was designed by architect Stanislaw J. Makielski, then a professor in the University of Virginia School of Architecture and designer of many historical structures.  Highly symbolic in its design, it has remained in active use since its opening. Completed in 1929, All Saints Chapel is the only survivor of several Grace Church missions .Its exterior of rough boards painted the white of purity, its fence shaped as open arms, and its broken roof line to show the cross on the turret-shaped chimney as its highest point are features of the highly symbolic effect conceived by the architect, Stanislaw Makielski (1914-1968), whose papers are archived at the University of Virginia Department of Special Collections.

Recently Thomas J. Crenshaw, a lifelong member of the All Saints congregation, died, having expressed his wish that his estate could help the chapel.  Many of his legal heirs donated funds for the addition.  These were expanded by other donations and by a grant from the Episcopal Diocese of Virginia.  After necessary permits by Albemarle County had been secured, a member of Grace Church, Ralph Dammann, acting as general contractor, engaged the services of Robertson Renovations as builder.  The plans, designed by architect Adams Sutphin, follow faithfully the style of the original chapel.  He and septic installer Wayne Gentry contributed their expertise as donations.

The congregation is small, averaging fifteen to twenty people for semi-monthly services, which follow the rather traditional Rite One of the Episcopal liturgy.  It is hoped that the addition with its new features will enable more diverse activities and attract additional community and other attendees.

Services are held twice monthly at 9:00 am, consisting of Holy Communion on the second Sunday, celebrated by Grace’s Rector, the Reverend G. Miles Smith, and Morning Prayer on each fourth Sunday, celebrated by a lay reader. All services utilize Rite One. The usual congregation numbers about 15 to 18 persons, in addition to occasional outside visitors. Increasingly we have been joined by regular attendees of Grace Church who wish to enjoy worship in the quaint chapel building or who take this opportunity for an early service within the parish. The lay officiants for the Morning Prayer services are Alden Bigelow, Susan Hoyt, and Corky Shackelford. The three of them follow each other in rotation on fourth Sundays. We enthusiastically invite all those who are interested to come for a simple, traditional service in a beautiful setting. All Saints Chapel is located at 3929 Stony Point Road on Route 20 North, about 8 miles from Free Bridge and the Charlottesville city limits. From Cismont, one can take Route 600 (Stony Point Pass) to its end, then left about 200 yards on Route 20.

COVER STORY: Foxhunting Etiquette

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With thanks to Norman Fine “Foxhunting Life” with additions from Keswick Life

Watercolors by Larisa Zorina

shutterstock_376658644This year 2016/17 being the 120th season of the Keswick Hunt Club, we often need to refresh the traditions and etiquette of this age old sport. Foxhunting is meant to be a fun sport, after all most foxhunters have risen early, cleaned a horse, tack, clothes etc. shipped to the meet and then are expecting a fun morning in the sport.

Foxhunting has been a countryside tradition for many years. Hunting on horseback began in the Middle Ages; however, during the 16th Century the British developed foxhunting into the aristocratic sport that it is today. All civilized societies adopt rules of etiquette and conventions that allow individuals to interact without conflict. By the same token, unique activities, and especially those involving a measure of risk (motor driving, sailing, foxhunting), develop of necessity their own unique rules and conventions to help assure a safe and pleasant outcome at the end of the day for all participants.

Thus, the courtesies and conventions of the hunting field, developed over the centuries, aim to produce an environment in which an exuberant sport may flourish pleasurably and safely. As each new season begins, it is never inappropriate to remind ourselves of the courtesies at the beginning of the meet, all from the master, hunt staff and field should greet each other with a pleasant “Good Morning” starting the day to the  “Moving Off” sound of the huntsman’s horn, awaiting a fun day of sport.

Landowners

If there is one single overarching concept to understand about foxhunting, it is that we are guests on someone’s land and enjoy our sport solely through his/her goodwill. Without the landowner’s hospitality, there is no hunting. The question is: How do we maintain that goodwill? We answer that question every hunting day in the way we treat our landowners’ land, crops, and livestock.

•    In general, commit no act that might test the landowner’s goodwill.

•    Greet the landowner cheerfully and respectfully if you should see him/her.

•    Arrive at the meet early enough to get tacked up and mounted before hounds move off. The Master does not want latecomers straggling over the landowner’s country, and the huntsman does not want latecomers heading the fox if it has circled back. If you are unavoidably late, stay to the roads after mounting up and wait for the best opportunity to join the field.

•   All gates should be left as you find them. Closing a gate that was open might deprive livestock of their access to water. Leaving a gate open that was closed may allow livestock to escape or mix improperly with other stock. When in doubt, close the gate and tell the Field Master what you have done.

•    If the field is passing through a gate, listen for the command as to what to do with the gate. If it is to be closed, you will hear, “Gate please.” If it is to remain open, you may hear no command at all, but you may hear, “Gate open.” In either case it is important that you acknowledge with a signal that you have heard the command. Likewise, if you are giving the command to those behind you, be certain your command is acknowledged. That is the only way to be certain the command was heard.

•    If a gate is to be closed, it is the responsibility of the last one through to close it. It is common courtesy for one or two riders near the back to remain behind to help if necessary and to keep the gate-closer’s horse company.

•    Never leave a gate for the second field or the hilltopping field to deal with unless they are close enough to acknowledge their understanding of what must be done.

•    If a fence is damaged and cannot be repaired on the spot, advise the Field Master immediately so he or she can make appropriate and timely arrangements for its repair.

•    Stay to the edge of all crop fields and seeded fields. If field members are crossing a pasture, it is best to spread out rather than erode a single track across the field.

•    Slow down if livestock are running. Walk past dairy cattle. Walk past livestock during the calving, foaling, or lambing season. Do not ride between livestock and their offspring.

•    Do not jump fences unnecessarily. You might break one and needlessly create a situation you have to resolve.

•    Keep up with the field. If you are having difficulty keeping up, ask to be excused and fall back to the second field or the hilltopping field. Neither Master nor huntsman wants to see riders or small groups strung out across the country. The Master is concerned about the landowner, and the huntsman is concerned that if the fox doubles back it might be headed and the hunt spoiled.

•    Unless you have specific personal permission, do not hack across private property on your own. Permission granted to the hunt does not bestow similar privileges on individual hunt members.

•    Do not litter. Carry used food wrappers back home in your pocket.

•    If you choose to leave the meet early, ask the Field Master if you may be excused and ask his advice regarding your route back to the meet. In general, you should hack back on the roads so as not to disturb any covert yet to be drawn.

•    Do not sweep manure from your trailer at the meet. The landowner does not need your mess, nor should he have to worry about your horse’s de-worming regimen.

Master and Staff

shutterstock_310696436It is a Master’s responsibility to set the example and enforce hunt standards to make a day of foxhunting enjoyable for the field. The ideal Master of Hounds possesses many exceptional qualities; a love for hounds, horses, nature, wild animals and conservation; a consuming passion for foxhunting’s lifestyle; a dedication to organizing the best hunt and best sport possible; a willingness to sacrifice much personal time for the good of the hunt, realizing that the reward will be the privilege of being a Master of Foxhounds; and a willingness to live by a time-honored code of ethics that identifies you as a gentleman or lady and establishes that your word is your bond.

In the early days of foxhunting, most Masters were born into the sport. Most hunts were private packs and the Masters had the means, owned the land and managed their own hounds and hunt. They invited friends and neighbors to hunt with them, and often the children of these Masters took over as age or circumstance dictated, keeping hunts within families. With few exceptions, those days are long gone.

While now there are a few Masters who are wealthy and a few who make it on a shoestring, today the average Master is middle income. Most Masters are either elected or appointed to office, depending on whether the hunt is a subscription or membership pack. Private hunts are the rare exception. It is estimated the average Master’s term of service is eight (8) years, so Masters come and go fairly frequently, often with little direct experience to prepare them for mastership.

Short masterships are detrimental to hunts in many ways. One needs time to learn and develop knowledge of and friendship with landowners, to make competent and well considered breeding decisions, to earn respect from hunt staff, members or subscribers and develop wisdom about all aspects involved in maintaining a first class pack of hounds. These necessary talents are hard to develop with short-term masterships. Masters who were brought up by a father or mother and lived in the hunting life, who hunted as children and were tutored by parents who were Masters are extremely rare.

At least one Master should always be present on hunting days. Good organization is the key to good sport. It stems first and foremost from good relationships with your landowners whose land you may access. It is also vital to have the good will of lessees of the land you hunt. The Master organizing the day’s hunting should do the following: contact landowners and lessees whose land is likely to be used that day to seek permission for that particular day’s hunting. Ensure the Master and huntsman  recognize farmers by name and show courtesy to landowners or farmers that you encounter on the day. Whenever possible get off your horse when meeting them and take off your hat. Instruct your field to smile, wave and get out of the way of anyone they come across. The best time for the Master to visit all landowners is prior to Autumn hunting.

The Huntsman controls the hounds, indicating to them by signals where he wishes them to draw for a fox, and he is responsible for a fox being well hunted when found. His technical decisions must be quickly made, and staff and Field must abide by them or utter chaos will ensue. As the Huntsman is quite often a professional he originally was described as a Hunt Servant and in the modern world of Foxhunting, the Huntsman should also realize he must be respectable, smart and clean in appearance, civil and well-mannered. The character of the hunt may be fairly judged by the manners and turn-out of the servants.

The Whippers In assist the Huntsman in controlling hounds by turning them back to the Huntsman or by encouraging them forward to him as necessary. Also, they are used by the Huntsman as scouts to get notice of the movement of a fox. No one except the Huntsman gives orders to Whippers-In. No one except by request of the Huntsman or MFH should accompany them or attempt to assist them.

The Field

•    Greet the Master politely upon arriving at the meet. Thank him and thank the staff at the end of the day. When departing, it is correct to say, “Goodnight,” even if it’s still morning!

•    Don’t talk to the huntsman during the hunt. His attention is and should be elsewhere.

•    Never come between the huntsman and his hounds.

•    Don’t crowd the huntsman or his hounds.

•    Don’t pass the Field Master. Follow, but don’t press. He is constantly revising his planned route based on how hounds are running, what the huntsman is doing, and how the terrain is unfolding.

•    Be quiet when the Field Master stops. He is listening for hounds.

•    The whippers-in and the huntsman have the right of way. Always defer to them and allow them room to pass. When standing, always point your horse’s head toward them as they pass.

•    Never talk to a whipper-in during the hunt. His huntsman demands that he keeps his full attention on the hounds and the quarry. Any distraction at the wrong moment that causes him to miss something he should have seen can irretrievably ruin a hunt.

Hounds and Quarry

shutterstock_363567305•    Hounds always have the right of way.

•    The worst crime one can commit in the hunting field is to allow one’s horse to kick a hound. You must do everything in your power to train your horse against this vice or punish your horse immediately if he commits such a crime.

•    Never ride ahead of hounds or ahead of the quarry. Never get between hounds and the quarry.

•    When hounds are drawing for a fox or casting after a check, remain still and quiet so as not to distract them.

•    In general, never speak to a hound. That is the job of the huntsman and whippers-in.

•    If hounds come near to you, turn your horse’s head toward them.

•    If you view a fox, never startle it with a holloa. Its scent will change, and hounds will be confused. Wait quietly until it is some distance from you, then tell the Field Master what you have seen. Let the Field Master make the decision whether or not to holloa. If hounds are hunting well, the huntsman will not want to lift them and will not want them distracted.

•    Do not bring an unprepared horse into the hunting field. Of greater concern than the danger to yourself is the danger you pose to other innocents.

•    If your horse is fractious or out of control, remove him from the hunt field immediately. Don’t bring him back until you have solved his problems.

•    If your horse kicks out at other horses occasionally, braid a red ribbon into his tail and keep him in the back of the field. If he cannot be cured of the vice, find another job for him away from the hunting field.

•    If someone is riding too close behind, and you are afraid your horse may resent it, place one arm behind your back, forearm horizontal at the waist, palm out. This is a universal warning that your horse might kick. Likewise, if you see the rider in front give you such a signal, fall back.

•    Do not allow your horse to nuzzle, nip, or rub the rump of the horse in front of you. Even a non-kicker can be provoked to kick.

•    Do not coffee-house and chatter while hounds are hunting, even if you are far removed from the pack. Other field members are trying to watch and listen.

•    When warning other riders of holes or other hazards (i.e., ’Ware hole, ’Ware wire, etc.), turn and speak loudly enough to be heard only by the riders immediately behind you. Do not shout the warning so as to distract hounds. Point to the hazard with your whip, crop, or finger. If the warning has been repeated several times before you arrive at the hazard, and you think the people behind you are already alerted, it may only be necessary for you to point at it.

•    When queued at a jump, be certain the rider in front of you is safely over before you jump.

•    If your horse refuses a jump, go to the back and allow the other field members to jump ahead of you and go on. Everyone wants to keep up with hounds, and it is rude to prevent them from doing so if your horse is being obstinate.

•    Before bringing a guest to your field, seek permission from your Master. If you bring a guest, introduce him to the Master as soon as possible. Your guest is your responsibility. Acquaint him with any local protocol and stay nearby to assist him.

HORSIN’ AROUND: Keswick-Bred ‘Stellar Wind’ Heads to Breeders Cup

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stellarwindStellar Wind is a chestnut filly with a white blaze bred in Virginia by Keswick Stables & Stonestreet Thoroughbred Holdings. She is from the third crop of foals sired by Curlin winner of the 2007 Preakness Stakes and Breeders’ Cup Classic. Stellar Wind was the first foal of her dam Evening Star, who won two minor races as a four-year-old in 2010,[3] and was descended from the mare Omayya, who was the ancestor of many important winners including Tepin, Americain and the Irish Oaks winner Melodist.

In August 2013, the filly was consigned by Bluegrass Thoroughbred Services to the Fasig-Tipton Saratoga Yearling Sale and was sold for $40,000 to Vernan Lee Stables.[5] Less than two months later, the filly returned to the Fasig-Tipton auction ring and was bought for $88,000 by Barbara J. Houck.[6] The filly was initially sent into training with Donald Barr. For the 2015 season, Stellar Wind entered the ownership of Kostas Hronis’ Hronis Racing and was sent into training with John Sadler.

Stellar Wind began her second season with a step up in class as she contested the Grade III) Santa Ysabel Stakes over eight and a half furlongs at Santa Anita Park on February 25. Ridden for the first time by Victor Espinoza, she started at odds of 7/1 in a seven-horse field headed by Light The City, who had finished second in the Grade I Las Virgenes Stakes in her previous start. The filly drew away in the final stages to win by two and three quarter lengths from Light The City. On April 5, Stellar Wind moved up to Grade I level for the first time in the Santa Anita Oaks, which was run over the same track and distance as the Santa Ysabel Stakes. Starting as the 6/5 favorite, Stellar Wind was restrained by Espinoza while at the rear of the seven-horse field, moved up on the outside approaching the final turn, took the lead a furlong and a half out, and won by five and a quarter lengths from Luminance, with Wild At Heart three lengths back in third. On 1 May Stellar Wind started as the favorite in a fourteen-runner field for the Kentucky Oaks over nine furlongs at Churchill Downs. After racing towards the rear, she made progress on the wide outside on the final turn but never looked likely to win and finished fourth behind Lovely Maria, Shook Up and I’m A Chatterbox. In the Summertime Oaks at Santa Anita Stellar Wind started odds on favorite despite conceding five pounds to her opponents. She took the lead a quarter of a mile from the finish but was hard-pressed to maintain her advantage in the closing stages before prevailing by a nose from Tara’s Tango.Stellar Wind’s next appearance came in the Grade III Torrey Pines Stakes at Del Mar Racetrack on August 30. Starting odds-on favorite against five opponents, she took the lead three furlongs out and pulled clear in the straight to win by four and a quarter lengths from Big Book. For her final race of the year, Stellar Wind was matched against older fillies and mares for the first time in the Breeders’ Cup Distaff at Keeneland on October 30 where she  finished second by a neck . At the Eclipse Awards in January 2016 Stellar Wind was named American Champion Three-Year-Old Filly after taking 108 of the 261 votes. On her first appearance as a four-year-old, Stellar Wind was matched against the outstanding racemare Beholder in the Vanity Mile at Santa Anita on 4 June and finished second, a length and a half behind her older rival.. On 30 July Stellar Wind faced Beholder again, this time in the G1 Clement L. Hirsch at Del Mar, and turned the tables on the Champion mare to prevail in a thrilling stretch run. On October 1st  Stellar Wind won one  of the most anticipated races of her career – the $300,000 Grade 1 Zenyatta Stakes at Santa Anita Park in Arcadia, California. Hronis Racing’s 2-1 second choice  Stellar Wind once again got the better of her nemesis, three-time champion Beholder for the second straight race – this time in a typically terrific duel down the stretch.

Stellar Wind will be racing in the Breeders Cup on November 5th At Santa Anita.