Tag: Tried it in Cville

Categories
Culture Living

The sport of queens

Boar’s Head falconry experiences with Goldie and Wily (above) are offered daily and require a reservation. Staff photo.

A delightful side effect of writing this column is that people in my life now give me ideas based on their bucket lists and more obscure interests. When a friend said she’d always wanted to try falconry and asked if I would join her, “Heck yeah!” was my nigh-instant response.

Like many wheezy, middle-aged folks, the pandemic afforded me time to become emotionally invested in the birds frequenting the feeders on my deck—to the extent that I intervened when a hawk was trying to make off with one of my mourning dove friends. 

In my youth, the 1982 cult classic The Beastmaster tickled my imagination. I longed to have similar furry and feathered friends, like Dar’s slippery-pawed ferrets Kodo and Podo and his majestic eagle Sharak, whose eyes he could see through. At every ren faire and theme park my family visited, the raptor shows were a must. This is all to say I’ve always been enthralled by birds of prey yet never knew much about them, until now.

What

The Falconry Experience at Boar’s Head.

Why

Birds of prey are very cool.

How it went

While one can’t literally learn to fly by simply touching a falcon, figuratively I floated home.

At the Boar’s Head Outfitters desk, we met our falconer. He gave us each a falcon glove and bottled water before we headed out. In hindsight, I wish I’d left the water behind. Yes, I drank it. Yes, hydration is essential, but I’m a Gen Xer (therefore, part camel), and can make it an hour-and-a-half without needing water. What I found myself wanting during the experience was free hands for bird-holding or picture-taking.

As we walked to the falcon house (obvi not the technical term), our guide provided info about American falconry and regaled us with stories about the Boar’s Head’s falcons, Wily and Goldie. Mischievous Wily (think Wile E. Coyote vibes), an African auger buzzard, would be our companion for the experience. Falconry includes different types of birds of prey, such as falcons, hawks, and others, like our buzzard Wily, who is more akin to a red-tailed hawk. After collecting Wily from his abode, we walked to a picturesque spot near a pond where our falconer showed us what Wily can do.

Tempted by bits of unhatched chicks still dripping with yolk (yes, the visuals still haunt my dreams and inspire the urge to rewash my hands to avoid salmonella), Wily flew back and forth between the falconer’s glove and nearby trees. Our guide explained that it’s the food that motivates the birds, not a relationship with the handler, and that one must walk a careful line when feeding Wily to avoid him getting “fed up.” If a falcon gets full, the bird is not motivated to go back to the handler.

Soon our falconer invited us to hold Wily on our gloved wrists, after he tempted him to join us with more chicken. Even though we’d been awestruck by the beating of Wily’s wings as he flew over and around us, nothing prepared me for the rush of him alighting on my outstretched arm. Falcons pack a lot of awesome power per inch, weighing in at just a couple pounds though they have about 200 PSI grip strength in their talons. It felt humbling for Wily to hold onto my arm. At one point, he did his bat impression, dangling from my arm inverted. 

As I looked to our falcon whisperer for instructions, Wily let go and toppled unceremoniously onto the dirt. Let me tell you, falcons’ extraordinary vision extends to giving superior side-eye. Despite my faux pas, my friend and I must have passed the vibe test, because our falconer commented that Wily spent a lot of time with us during our experience.

Categories
Culture Living

Pull! A tale of sporting clays

Central Virginia Sporting Clays combines skill and intuition in its group lessons. Photo by Stephen Barling.

Since childhood, I’ve been fascinated with the idea of shooting skeet. I must’ve seen it in a Bugs Bunny cartoon or something. My father liked hunting, and to varying degrees, family members enjoyed the venison from his efforts. I grew up around guns and, therefore, grew up with a healthy respect for them.

During grad school, I frequented a gun range, learning to fire just about everything it had. The unfortunate context for my interest at that time was that someone in my life had made threats with a firearm, and my thinking was that if I had to take a gun away from someone, I’d better know how to use it. What I didn’t expect was how much I enjoyed learning about the different weapons and firing them under safe conditions at a gun range using paper targets.

With stationary targets, I’m a decent shot. Still, I longed to try something like skeet, with moving targets. After not shooting for 20 years, I decided to cross skeet off the ol’ bucket list. I called Central Virginia Sporting Clays, and my education began. There are several popular shotgun sports: trap, skeet, and sporting clays. The main difference is how the clays move. With sporting clays, they can go in any direction. I scheduled a group lesson and donned my Elmer Fudd hat.

What

Shooting sporting clays.

Why

Because I’ve always wanted to yell “Pull!” and shoot a moving inanimate target.

How it went

Many clays exploded that day.

From Charlottesville, it’s a bit of a trek to get to Central Virginia Sporting Clays in Palmyra, but IMO it’s well worth the effort. The CVSC site says map apps may not get you there, but friends joining me used their apps with no problem.

Upon arrival, we met up with our instructor who grabbed shotguns before we headed to the five-stand area. Our knowledgeable teacher explained how sporting clay shooting works, shared safety information, and distributed hearing and eye protection. The most Yoda thing he conveyed to us was that shooting sporting clays is more about relying on one’s intuition than aiming.

My friends encouraged me to go first, because they’re kind and I coordinated the outing—but probably more so because the older I get, the less I care about embarrassing myself. The five-stand area has—as you might assume—five wooden shooting stands in a row. After sidling up to a stand, the instructor demonstrated how to load the shotgun properly and coached me on my form. A remote control launched targets from clay throwers in different positions around a clearing in front of the stands. Some clays launched toward the stands while others moved away. Some crossed from the sides, and one thrower skipped clays across the ground to mimic landbound animals (sorry, bunnies!).

My goal was to hit one clay. If I did that, mission accomplished—everything else was gravy. The first clay launched, and I clipped it. I hit three out of four clays in my first round and felt like the queen of the world. But I had just been hitting the edge of clays, making small bits pop off, and I wanted to make a target explode. The instructor repeated the initial training process with each of us, adjusting for our different dominant eyes, body types, stances, and firing quirks. After he finished, we were all breaking clays. I learned that I really enjoy shooting clays—at least trying to—and that I have a proclivity to double tap. Sometimes crossing something off your bucket list results in a new hobby. I know I’ll be back.

Categories
Arts Culture

The glorious goat of improv

The Big Blue Door’s classes and shows have been a resource for storytelling, self-discovery, and hearty laughter in Charlottesville since 2012. Photo by Eze Amos.

One of my favorite things to do is laugh. A hearty laugh makes a bad day a little less bleak and a good one golden. Live comedy has always been something I enjoy and have often fantasized about trying.

As a small child, I enjoyed performing—ballet, school plays, living room magic shows. Then adolescence crash-landed and middle school happened to me (as it does to us all). Self-consciousness rooted and ran wild like the destructive weed it is. I forced myself to overcome stage fright in high school, but it’s a battle I still fight every time I need to appear in front of a group. Though I was a certified “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” addict back in the day, I thought I’d shelved my comedy dreams for good.

Then I entered middle age, and, along with all the less-fun parts like plantar fasciitis and hot flashes, I unlocked that adulting achievement of having far fewer fudges to give about getting embarrassed. And that’s how I ended up enrolled in a Big Blue Door improv class.

What

Taking a Big Blue Door improv class.

Why

To challenge myself to get outside my comfort zone (and hopefully laugh a lot doing it).

How It Went

I’m still laughing.

At the first class, anxiety and excitement duked it out in my guts—very first-day-of-school vibes. The group members quickly realized we’d have little time to sit and think about our nerves though. Our intrepid instructor told us to “circle up,” and before we knew it, we stood playing a game to learn names and one true thing about each other. I didn’t realize how vulnerable and, to quote the introverted goddess Emily Dickinson, “public like a frog” the entire experience was going to be. But, golly, improv sure feels like the right kind of hard, the kind that comes from growth.

Class continued through a series of group and partner activities. Trust grows quickly with classmates from absolute necessity. In my limited experience, improv demands that we’re 100 percent present in the moment—and 100 percent willing to look extremely foolish. Our instructor provided clear, concise directions to get us going, and gentle guidance as we went. He also shared a key insight: It’s really hard to upset people with what we say when performing, so don’t stress. Implied in that wisdom is the notion that what people co-create in real time, improvisationally, is ephemeral. That’s part of the beauty of it, and only the most memorable bits—which hopefully got laughs—will remain in folks’ minds.

Twenty minutes into the class, my nerves had mostly calmed. I was just having fun, and the activities—such as “name five things” in which participants call on each other to name five things in a category: “Francine, name five different sandwiches!”—demanded that I get out of my own head. If we got stuck, our teammates and the instructor moved us out of it. I won’t say much about my classmates because I promised them that what happens in improv class stays in improv class, but they’re awesome.

In its purest moments, the class felt like playing with friends as a child. Do you remember that—the act of co-creating a shared imagined reality with other kids in which anything was permissible? Don’t get me wrong, there were other moments, ones in which I wished the floor would open and swallow me whole to spare me further embarrassment. But those moments were fleeting, quickly erased from memory when the next laugh landed.

At the class’ end, we finished with a game centered on a glorious goat. Circled up, we all passed around a glorious imaginary goat and said a series of repeating lines about it. Writing that now, it sounds ridiculous, and it was, but that’s what made it so marvelous. I’ve been walking around my house exclaiming, “I have the glorious goat,” and it never ceases to bring a smile to my face.

Categories
Culture Food & Drink

Carter Mountain Orchard’s fall food offerings come with a sunset

Fall food trucks line up at Carter Mountain Orchard though mid-November. Check the website for details. Photo by Martyn Kuyle.

It’s crazy that I worked at Monticello for seven years but never visited Carter Mountain Orchard until recently. I’ve had the apple cider donuts (worth the hype), but haven’t gone apple picking or to an event there. As the weather cools and the call of pumpkin-spice everything drifts to us on the autumn breeze, it seemed like a good time to check out the orchard. My original plan was to dig in at a
Fall Food Truck event, but instead I caught one of the season’s last Thursday Evening Sunset Series shows, which also feature offerings from food trucks, plus live music.

Upon arrival, I remembered why I’d never gone to a big gathering at Carter Mountain: my intense dislike of large crowds. Don’t get me wrong, the vast majority of folks in attendance were having a lovely time. I’m an ambivert, meaning I’ve got both extroverted and introverted traits. As I’ve entered my midlife renaissance (read: crisis), I’ve realized more and more that I refuel with alone time and that crowds
are not for me. Despite my social anxiety, I enjoyed a delicious meal along with a view that will only get more dazzling in the coming weeks as the fall colors grace the mountains yet again.—Kristie Smeltzer

What

Sampling food truck fare at Carter Mountain Orchard.

Why

Because enjoying a delicious meal without having to do dishes is awesome.

How It Went

Great—it’s hard to go wrong with ooey-gooey melted cheese. The view: a bonus.

The drive into the orchard from the Route 53 entrance follows a winding road that requires an attentive driver. If you’re visiting for a boozy event, I recommend using a rideshare app or having a trusted designated driver in your party. The path in creates a sense of arrival, of leaving the world behind as nature surrounds you. When I arrived, cars were waiting in a long line to get to the parking area.

Once parked, I noticed the entrance buzzing with activity. If you like that Fridays After Five feel, you likely love the Thursday Evening Sunset Series. The last one is on September 26, but the series resumes in the spring. 

Weekend visits to Carter Mountain during the busy apple-picking season require a ticket for entry, but on weekdays, folks can enjoy the fall food trucks and views between 11am and 3pm without a ticket (looking at you, introverts). The orchard’s country store and bakery offer picked fruit, plus a range of snacking goodies.

At the food truck area, I beelined straight for Raclette on the Run. I’d heard great things about the vendor and I was hangry. Raclette is a Swiss cheese usually served by heating it and scraping off the delicious melty bits to use in dishes. As I stood in line surrounded by jovial UVA students wearing sundresses and cowboy boots, I felt a little ashamed of my enthusiasm watching the cheese porn as the truck’s servers scraped hot raclette off a half-wheel of cheese. I thoroughly enjoyed The Classic, made with Vermont cheddar on hearty white bread with bacon. All the food truck’s sandwiches come with crunchy, salty, delicious tater tots. Yum!

Categories
Arts Culture

Tried it in C’ville: Poppypointe open stitch night

Lauren Ryan’s needlepoint retail store Poppypointe offers a free open stitch night on Wednesdays. Photo by Eze Amos.

To borrow phrasing from “The Golden Girls’” Sophia Petrillo, picture it: Warwick, New York. Late ’80s. Middle schooler me with my aggressively hair-sprayed ocean wave of bangs, oversized cable-knit sweater, and loud plaid Skidz pants (tucked into white scrunched-down socks, of course). Where was this obviously popular youngster headed to after school, you ask? Cross stitch club. Yep, cross stitch club. With that and my commitment to the stamp club, how was I not drowning in social invitations?

Jokes aside (mostly), I’ve always been drawn to making things by hand. My dear Aunt Ruth was an avid cross stitcher and sewer, and I loved spending time with her and making gifts for
my family and friends. What better way to say “I love you” than spending oodles of hours working on something that reflects a loved one’s interests? During the pandemic, I picked the counted cross stitch habit back up, but my momentum working on projects has slowed lately. Enter Poppypointe to the rescue.—Kristie Smeltzer

What

Open stitch night at Poppypointe.

Why

Crafty activities can be fun to enjoy with like-minded folks.

How It Went

I stitched. I peopled. Fun was had!

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I rolled into the local needlepoint store, Poppypointe, for its open stitch night, but I received a warm welcome. After being introduced to the six or seven stitchers present, I settled in with my jellyfish pattern and a thus far unstitched square of 16-count Aida fabric stretched taut in my embroidery hoop. The possibilities felt endless. No mistakes had been made yet, but that time would soon come to an end, as it always did.  

Within my first three minutes, I spotted two needles on the floor. Occupational hazard, of course, but make sure you don’t roll into stitch night without shoes. Conversation drifted between people’s summer vacations, visits to similar stores while traveling, and projects that designers were working on ahead of “market.” I realized I’d stepped into a whole different world. From what I could surmise, there are several seasonal needlepoint markets where avid stitchers find new projects and supplies. Vendors participate to showcase new designs and peddle their wares. Folks also have opportunities to participate in classes and other gatherings. It’s like cross stitch club, but with needlepoint, and on a much grander scale.

The group vibe felt happily low-key, with folks leaving early and dropping in later during the two-hour open stitch time. Everyone else worked on needlepoint projects on painted canvases, and I quickly became envious. While I counted and recounted the number of stitches I had to do, others followed the patterns printed on their canvases with ease as they participated in conversation. They may have made a convert of me to needlepoint because I absolutely want to try using a painted canvas now. Imagine it: I could have a good shot at stitching accurately and enjoying a glass of wine at the same time! (In my experience, mixing vino with counted cross stitch results in regret the next time I pick up that project to find my inevitable mistakes.)

During that evening, I did lose count a few times, but the company was lovely and totally worth it. Poppypointe felt very much like a third place, to use American sociologist Ray Oldenburg’s coinage, meaning a place where folks choose to gather and connect with others. It was nice to share time with kindred stitchers who also know the value of investing time in making something beautiful by hand for ourselves and others. I’ll definitely be back. 

Categories
Culture Living

Life, liberty, and the Women at Monticello Tour

Tour guide Lou Hatch offers new perspectives during a tour of Monticello that honors the women who worked and lived there. Photo via Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello.

Straight out of the gate, I must acknowledge this wasn’t a fair test. Almost a decade ago (where has the time gone?), I worked at Monticello for roughly seven years. My last few roles were Martha-of-many-trades jobs, doing everything from loading buses and giving tours to helping with events and addressing guest feedback. Not surprisingly, I went full nerd (or as my guide would say, I professionally nerded) when I heard that Monticello began offering a seasonal Women at Monticello Tour.

I did worry that even a new tour might not offer much new information for me, because for years it felt like I was in every nook and cranny (literally and figuratively) of that famous historical home. My concern couldn’t have been more misplaced. Our guide and the information she shared blew ye olde wig off. Seriously, every expectation was exceeded. I need to find a perruquier now.

—Kristie Smeltzer

What

The Women at Monticello Tour.

Why

To learn more about historical women.

How it went

I cried, I laughed, and I learned new things.

As directed, I arrived at the David M. Rubenstein Visitor Center with plenty of time before my tour. After meandering through the exhibition gallery, I rode the shuttle up to the mountaintop. Our guide collected us when the tour time rolled around, and our education in the women of Monticello began.

We started on the South Terrace and heard about Jane Randolph Jefferson, Thomas Jefferson’s mother, and Elizabeth Hemings and her daughter Betty Brown, women brought to Monticello while enslaved. In the South Pavilion, which I’d never been in before, we visited the bedroom that Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson, TJ’s wife, shared with him while the main portion of the house was still under construction. 

We toured a few rooms in the dependencies, Monticello’s attached working, living, and storage spaces. In the Granger/Hemings Kitchen, a recently excavated and restored area, our guide shared stories about Ursula Granger’s life experiences, which brought me to tears, and her culinary expertise. I won’t offer any spoilers, but know this tour will be emotional. Many of these women had hard, hard lives. Our guide also spoke about Sally Hemings and her relationship with Jefferson. Despite the extreme imbalance of power between them, Sally Hemings made a deal with Jefferson that resulted in her adult children escaping slavery. Though not part of the tour, an exhibit about Sally Hemings has been added in the room they believe she lived in later in her life. I missed seeing it this time, but I plan to go back to check that out (though maybe in the cooler autumn weather).

Just as our sweat became distracting, we entered the house proper and basked in the glory of historically inaccurate—but delightfully refreshing—air conditioning. We moved through spaces that are familiar to those who have been to Monticello before, but we were prompted to view them through a different lens. Our guide shared moving stories about Jefferson’s daughters, Martha Jefferson Randolph, Maria Jefferson Epps, and Harriet Hemings, as well as prominent female visitors and granddaughters.

While history doesn’t change, our interpretation of it evolves. We learn more. We unearth untold stories and honor the many lives left off the pages of previous texts. The Women at Monticello Tour offers one way to do just that.

Here are some practical tidbits for your own visit. Keep an eye on the temperature. If you typically go from zero-to-melting in 60 seconds, you’ll want to pick a cool-weather day to do the Women at Monticello Tour (and be sure to hydrate!). The tour is available now through September 1, Fridays through Sundays at 2:05pm daily, and will resume for part of October. 

Categories
Arts Culture

Making contact with the eyes of the world

Dean Dass’ exhibition “Passenger Manifest” is on view at Les Yeux du Monde through June 30. Photo by Stacey Evans + LYDM.

Art has the power to transform us, to transport us through time and space. Sometimes it takes us to other worlds or allows us to see our world differently. In short, art is powerful, and I haven’t seen enough of it lately. Aside from attending an interesting art exhibition at Visible Records a few years ago, I haven’t done enough to explore Charlottesville’s thriving art scene. When someone told me about Les Yeux du Monde gallery (the French translation is “the eyes of the world”), I knew how to sate my art craving. The current exhibition, from renowned artist and local legend Dean Dass, is titled “Passenger Manifest,” and it runs to the end of June.—Kristie Smeltzer  

What

A visit to Les Yeux du Monde art gallery.

Why

To let my soul wander (and wonder) in the presence of moving visual art.

How It Went

Magnificently—I see the world a bit differently now, and you can, too.

My journey began as most do these days … with GPS guidance. It’s worth using GPS, even if you know the way, just to hear how the bot pronounces “Less Yucks duh Mond.” Somewhere a Parisian citizen just toppled over in pain, and I’m sorry—but the pronunciation is solidly funny.

The silliness ended there (mostly) because as I drove the long, winding lane flanked by trees, it felt like entering a different world. Sculptures appeared in clearings: whimsical, brightly colored constructs that invited the imagination to play. As I crested the hill, the gallery came into view. The unique structure looks both foreign to the verdant setting and completely at home, nestled into the surroundings with abundant windows to let in the outside world.

Gallery Director Hagan Tampellini welcomed me into her mother Lyn Bolen Warren’s vision. Hagan continues her mother’s legacy, running the gallery since Warren’s passing in 2021, and based on her enthusiasm for art and the artists the gallery represents, I can only extrapolate the magnitude of her mother’s passion for modern art. The gallery is open Thursday through Sunday from 1-5pm and by appointment. Exhibitions change every other month. The building looks deceptively small from the outside, but inside the high ceiling and vast number of windows make it feel expansive yet intimate. Hagan staffs LYDM with the help of interns, and visitors can explore exhibitions solo or get insights from the knowledgeable staff.

As Hagan led me around, I marveled at Dass’ dedication to his craft. The collection features oil paintings of various sizes and other works that include drawing and collage techniques. But here’s the thing: Dass invests his effort and expertise into every stage of the act of creation. The paper? He makes that from flax and hemp that he grows himself. Even the frames are Dass originals, and their subtle differences in size and color add to the character of the collection. The work feels both cerebral and approachable (I say like I know much of anything about art).

This exhibition includes imagery that frequently appears in Dass’ work, such as clouds, helmets, tents, orbs, and landscapes. Its central idea is that we’re all vulnerable beings traveling through life, which sometimes (or often, according to Dass’ big, beautiful brain) means one should wear a helmet. Some pieces burst with kinetic energy, while others invite a sense of stillness that feels spiritual. Beyond the power of the art itself, the space enhances its impact. Thoughtfully placed windows perfectly frame trees outside, and you can shift your gaze from one of Dass’s ethereal landscapes featuring floating pink orbs to the natural world beyond the gallery, each view enhancing the other.

I’d never experienced an art gallery with so much natural light before, and Hagan explained how the light shifts through the day, as well as with the seasons. You could visit the gallery many times and each experience would be subtly different. I plan to do just that. 

Categories
Arts Culture

Trapdoors, from both sides now

The American Shakespeare Center’s Blackfriars Playhouse in Staunton is a deeply researched replica of the original Shakespeare theater that burned down in the 1666 Great Fire of London.

Something enchanting happens when we cross the threshold between illusion and what lies behind it. That’s a fancy way of saying that I’m a sucker for a behind-the-scenes experience. I’ve always been a huge theater fan, to the point of becoming the president of my high school’s International Thespian Society chapter. As you can imagine, I was very popular.

My cousins and I have a decade-long tradition of seeing A Christmas Carol each winter at the American Shakespeare Center’s Blackfriars Playhouse in Staunton. During the worst of the pandemic, we watched via livestream. Other plays there have also been wonderful, of course. If you haven’t attended a show at the Blackfriars, I highly recommend it. This spring’s season features Julius Caesar, Pride and Prejudice, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Performances at the Blackfriars are unlike those at other theaters. As its description of the staging conditions coyly states, they “do it with the lights on.” Actors play multiple roles, and the sets and props are minimal—just enough to give the imagination a scaffold. These Shakespearean staging conditions result in an unparalleled intimate theatrical experience.
For years now, I’ve wanted to do a Playhouse Tour to glimpse behind the curtain, beneath the trapdoor on that stage. Finally, that wish came to fruition.—Kristie Smeltzer

What

A tour of the Blackfriars Playhouse.

Why

Because learning more about the Bard, the re-creation of Shakespeare’s indoor theater, and the inner workings of the theater company could only enhance appreciation for the American Shakespeare Center’s performances.

How it went

Seeing the underside of the trapdoor that I’ve watched many Jacob Marleys erupt from (with chains they formed in life, link by link) warmed the cockles of my theater-loving heart.

Playhouse tours are typically offered Monday through Saturday, at 10am and 2pm. Tickets are $10 per person and must be purchased in advance. I met my guide in front of the playhouse 10 minutes ahead of the tour time. His expansive knowledge and enthusiasm for the subject matter were apparent from the start.

Inside, we began on the stage. What a truly humbling experience to walk the planks where such fine actors work, performers whose efforts have given me and mine so much enjoyment over the years. The guide shared information about the structure itself, describing the meticulous attention paid to re-creating Shakespeare’s original Blackfriars, with a few concessions to modern amenities. (Yay! No ye olde privies.) Two notable deviations from the original theater’s design exist, occurring due to a lack of information during construction. You’ll have to take the tour to find out those differences.

As the guide spoke, actors mustered for a rehearsal. I forgot how much I love the way the energy in a theater changes when populated, building exponentially as the players fill the space. We moved off the stage and peered into the backstage area, which is surprisingly compact. From there, we meandered past handmade tapestries, replications of those that would have been gifted by a patron to the original theater.

Next stop, the lobby, where the guide conveyed a wealth of knowledge about the modern company’s workings, players who graced the stage with Shakespeare himself, and the history of theater (and theaters) in England in the Bard’s time. If you know a fair amount about Shakespeare and his work, you’ll hear familiar information, but it’s still worth it to learn from a passionate guide while standing in a re-creation of where the magic happened hundreds of years ago in England.

Our last stop was the “backstage” areas below the main theater, peeking into rehearsal, dressing, and costuming spaces. Anecdotes were shared. Laughs were had. And when the guide opened the door “to hell” and invited me to step into the space where I peered up at the underside of that magnificent trap door, my heart nearly burst.

Blackfriars Playhouse
americanshakespearecenter.com

Categories
Arts Culture

Go with the glow

Mary Esselman at Veritas Illuminated. Supplied photo.

My Christmas spirit sense starts tingling early and often here in Charlottesville. Way before Carter Mountain Orchard serves its first apple cider donut, I’m half-deranged with holiday anticipation, eager to push past the trick-or-treating munchkins on the Lawn and the dry forkfuls of Thanksgiving dinner, just to get to the good stuff: 

  • running the Downtown Mall dressed like Santa Claus.
  • snuggling into Lost Saint, the subterranean speakeasy, for a frothy winter Flip.
  • wassailing ’round the fire at Potter’s Craft Cider.
  • wiping away a Tiny Tim tear at the Shakespeare Theater’s A Christmas Carol.
  • and enduring Sherry Taylor playing “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” for the 1,000th time on 95.1 because I know if I hang on long enough she’ll play Stevie Wonder’s “Someday at Christmas,” and all will be right with the world.


Call me Buddy the Elf (I do resemble a menopausal Will Ferrell), but I can’t help loving this time of year, with its weird, wonderful traditions and discoveries. Somehow they help me make sense of an upside-down world, as if I’m watching glitter settle slowly on a peaceful snow globe scene.

This particularly dark December I needed to find light—strong enough to pull me from the pallor of my laptop, and bright enough to reveal hope for humanity.

That’s how my beleaguered husband (you try living with Buddy the Elf) found himself driving us, on a chilly Thursday evening, down Route 151 to check out a fancy winery light display, and a not-so-fancy winery homage to National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

What

Veritas Illuminated light display at Veritas Vineyard & Winery, and a boozy pop-up Christmas Vacation experience at Flying Fox Vineyard & Winery (Veritas’ hip, younger sibling).

Why

To find twilight against the mountains, twinkling in the trees, and an irreverent cup of Cousin Eddie cheer.

How it went 

A bedazzling, hilarious combination of comfort and joy.

Veritas Illuminated was like a fizzy, festive cocktail of an experience, warmed by the sunset glow over the mountains and the crackling fire inside the tasting room.

Flying Fox Christmas Vacation was like an eggnog chaser served in a plastic Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer mug—creamy and sweet, with a ticklish kick.

In 20 years we’d never been to Veritas, and I was surprised by its natural beauty and charm.  I’d expected something more country clubby, where we’d feel underdressed and out of place. But we felt comfortable goofing off right away, snapping selfies under the lit-up gazebo and within the giant, holiday-wrapped photo frame near the patio. 

Stepping inside the tasting room, however, we were momentarily struck dumb by the picture-perfect holiday scene: what looked like the cast of White Christmas sipping wine before the massive stone fireplace; a towering evergreen, merrily bedecked; friendly staff serving hot chocolate and mulled wine; and breathtaking views of the purpled mountains in the darkening night. We feasted on stew and a fried chicken biscuit, then headed out on the half-mile walking path through the illuminated woods.

Ah, the lights! Traipsing through the sparkling grove felt like traveling through the seven levels of the Candy Cane Forest, past the Sea of Twirly-swirly Gumdrops—and also a bit like wandering through the woods in Narnia with Lucy and Aslan: magical, exhilarating, and full of sweet surprises.

When we’d had our fill of outdoor wonder, we stopped by Flying Fox for the yang to Veritas’ yin. What a hoot. A holiday “Schitt’s Creek” motel vibe on the outside, and Cousin Eddie’s powder-blue leisure suit vibe on the inside. National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation plays on an old-school TV as you enter. Multi-colored tinsel and ticky-tacky taxidermy grace the ceiling and walls, and you can nurse your eggnog on the groovy sofa near the life-sized plastic manger scene.

Somewhere between the Veritas glow and the Griswoldian splendor, I realized I’d found the imperfect but hopeful humanity I’d sought, what Yeats called “the uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.”

So don’t be a cotton-headed ninny muggins this holiday season: go find joy in the light.

Veritas Illuminated

https://veritaswines.com/veritas-illuminated

Christmas Vacation at Flying Fox

https://www.flyingfoxvineyard.com/

Categories
Culture Living

C’mon, get happy at the Brooks Family YMCA

There’s more to it than meets the abs at Brooks Family YMCA. Supplied photo.

Let’s say you hate going to the gym, i.e., dragging your flaccid, corporeal form over to that place where, when you walk in, you’re supposed to stride toward a bunch of metal contraptions and cables and bars, as if you know exactly what you’re doing — all while avoiding eye contact with a Noah’s Ark of mammalian shapes and sizes who are grunting, huffing, and swinging around you. You hope that they’ll wipe down the equipment when they’re done and that you won’t run into any of them naked in the locker room, should you find yourself needing to use the bathroom.

Can’t you stay healthy without the gym? Especially during the holiday season, when it gets dark at 4pm, and you eat pumpkin pie for breakfast and family stress for lunch? Why add the gym to your plate?

My eggnoggy friends, I’m here to tell you that the Brooks Family YMCA is the perfect antidote to holiday hell. Because technically, yes, it is a gym, but emotionally, it’s a warm hug of community love (like a Hallmark Christmas movie, minus the cringe, and yes, I mean you, Lacey Chabert).

What

Building physical and social muscle at the Y. 

Why

Because in an age of debilitating loneliness, the Y offers an affordable, accessible playground for people of all ages and backgrounds.

How it went 

Here’s how much I love the Y before I even walk in: I love the view of the trees and softball fields when I pull into the parking lot. I love glimpsing the city bus out front, and knowing people from all across town hang out here. I love seeing the morning sky reflected in the floor-to-ceiling windows, checking out the children’s chalk drawings on the sidewalk next to the Little Free Library, and I love mumbling “hi” and “thanks” to the folks ahead of me who hold the door and let me go first. 

I haven’t even started working out, and already my heart’s grown three sizes. 

The Y is like some kind of gift you’d find under the tree if you spent the holidays with Mr. Rogers and the Grinch (after he learned to love the Whos). I walk in the front doors and briefly flash back to my favorite-ever day of kindergarten. Friendly staff greet me with just the right measure of cheer, even if they opened the place at 5:30am. Festive seasonal decorations drape the front desk, along with bright fliers and handwritten signs announcing food drives, teen night out, rumba lessons, fun runs, and a general cornucopia of community stuff that warms me to my hammertoes.

Yes, yes, they have all the machines and weights and classes you’d want from a gym. You’ll get your steps in and your blood pressure down, your muscles as swole as the Rock if you like. You’ll try Deep Water Intervals with the old folks, and realize it has kicked your cream-cheese behind. 

But better still, you’ll work out in full view of the woods behind the building—glorious. You’ll discover the frittatas, pastries, and Grit coffee at the Kindness Cafe + Play, which employs adults with cognitive disabilities, and spreads goodness to all. You’ll slam the battle ropes like a damn Marvel hero, then recover while watching a dad teach his kid to swim, or what could be the cast of Cocoon schooling each other on the pickleball courts.

It is fun to stay (for a workout) at the YMCA, to paraphrase some wise Village men circa 1978, and more than that, it’s good for your heart, especially when you feel stressed or lonely. “Look for the helpers,” Mr. Rogers said. That’s you, and your neighbors. That’s community. That’s the Brooks Family YMCA, where, any time of year here in Hooville, you’ll find the strength of 10 Grinches, plus two.