DEVELOPMENT I now live deep within a housing development on land which was which used to be "our" family farm.
Many people seem to think that automatically, makes me a critic of all such developments, which is not the case at all.
It is quite true that there were others ways I would have liked to have seen developed over the years. The grand old twelve12-room brick house was bull-dozed to a three-pile mass of hand-made brick, plaster, and heavy timbers - some of them rough hewn. I would have liked to have found a way for someone to restore the house to its one-time 1845 glory but that was "not to be", as we say. It was "not destined to be" a future home but rather a place of memories which will, I'd wager become finer as the years go by and stories are told and retold. Many old homes, remembered, are far finer than what they actually were in their original state, I'm sure.
It was made of brick manufactured almost precisely where we now live; perhaps half a mile south from the highway which was a "development" itself of the ancient Indian trail traversing the length of the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia to the west of the Blue Ridge Mountain range. Even now the land drops off from the old trail and I remember quite well digging ditches and placing four-inch, terra cotta tile to drain excess water away. The fields sloped gradually in broken sections and clay gathered in the level areas. Today residents and builders wonder at the steaks of heavy clay they encounter and I have heard several workmen swear when running into strings of tile I helped place and replace sixty years ago to keep the upper fields drained and tillable.
I have found this to be true in so many case where family farms were sold and became housing developments. To see so many people prospering I have come to feel as l as I am sure my father-in-law would have come to feel to see so many families living happily; with children playing in the front yards; gardens blooming the backyards with, flowers decorating every niche and family groups enjoying home ownership. How can any one regret having provided the very substance of the land on which they live out an amazing variety of individual dreams and aspirations. My father-in-law - Irving Driver was born and raised on this farm, in that house which is no longer here.
I often wish the kids along this street of ours knew of the man to whom they owe so much!
A.L.M March 5, 2005 [c452wds]
