A Texan, A Floridian, and a Virginian all die and go to hell. While there, they spy a red phone and ask what the phone is for. The devil tells them it is for calling back to Earth.
The Texan asks to call Dallas and talks for 5 minutes. When he is finished, the devil informs him that the cost is a million dollars, so the Texan writes him a check.
Next the Floridian calls Miami and talks for 30 minutes. When he is finished, the devil informs him that the cost is 6 million dollars, so he writes him a check.
Finally the Virginian gets his turn. He calls Richmond and talks for 4 hours. When he is finished, the devil informs him that the cost is $5.00. When the Texan hears this, he goes ballistic and asks the devil why the Virginian got to call Richmond so cheaply.
The devil smiles and replies, “Since Ralph Northam took over, the state has gone to hell, so it’s a local callâ€.
Portsmouth, Virginia police stood by and watched, making no attempt to interfere as a mixed race mob first defaced the Confederate Monument, erected 1876-1881 and on the National Register of Historic Places, then proceeded to decapitate and then topple the four statues of soldiers and a sailor standing guard around its base.
The monument honored 1,242 men from Portsmouth of whom 199 were killed or died; gave 1,018 from Norfolk county of whom 280 were killed or died; and 1,119 from the city of Norfolk of whom 176 were killed or died in defense of their native state.
Jim Hoft reports a denouement worthy of an M.R. James story.
A far left protester was critically injured on Wednesday when a leftist mob toppled a Confederate statue on top of him.
The young Democrats attempted to destroy a Confederate Monument in Portsmouth, Virginia.
When they knocked over one of the statues it landed on a fellow protester critically injuring the man.
A witness said the protesterâ€™s skull was showing and he as convulsing on the ground.
Nat Morison, heir to Welbourne and uncrowned king of Northern Virginia Horse Country, passed away October 10th, aetatis 83.
He was a proud graduate of the University of Virginia who looked suspiciously at people tainted by association with such Yankee schools as Yale and Harvard.
His tastes were naturally antiquarian. After all, he ate his breakfast daily at the same table where George Washington (a regular guest at Welbourne) made notes for the Constitutional Convention of 1787. One window of his house’s second floor features a never-completed inscription by the “Gallant Pelham,” who was interrupted while writing with his diamond ring on the glass in 1862 with a call to arms.
Nat Morison commonly followed the practice notoriously associated with British peers of dressing with decided flair in century old suits and ties, and shirts, and even shoes, inherited from generations of gentleman ancestors.
His colorful eccentricity and his passionate aversion to change inspired the affectionate tribute of a 2004 film comedy, Crazy like a Fox, in which an impecunious 8th generation Virginia aristocrat loses his stately Virginia manse to a couple of crass Yankee speculators (named Sherman, no less) and then proceeds to wage a guerilla war of resistance.
Virginia and the world are duller places without Nat Morison.
Molliter ossa cubent!
Richard Roberts, Middleburg huntsman, formerly huntsman for the Piedmont Fox Hounds, blows “Gone Away” for Nat.
The Commonwealth of Virginia, where statues of Confederate heroes like Lee and Jackson have recently been removed, is about to erect a monument in downtown Richmond to Nat Turner, the leader of an 1830 slave rebellion.
So now Nat Turner has a monument in Richmond…..a monument to a mass murderer whose band of marauders killed 61 white people, 47 of them women and children. Victims included a 3 year old child who was beheaded by a slave who had previously taken him on horseback rides and who the child trusted. Also included was the murder of the infant son of Nat Turner’s master, whose head was bashed against the fireplace wall. Women, children and old men were forced to watch as they waited their turn while others were beaten or hacked to death. Yeah….great hero, eh? So, yipppeee Richmond! Let’s commemorate”!? Let’s go celebrate a mass murderer while tearing down all those nasty Confederate statues along the way!! Today’s politicians and social justice warriors have nothing on the taliban, which, by the way, does the same kind of thing. Modern day accounts of Turner’s revolt like the one in this article will say that Nat Turner was a brave hero who fought for freedom and was eventually taken down by the superior numbers of a white militia. The truth is more embarrassing for those who would “commemorate” this monster – his revolt was actually stopped by a farmer named Blount, whose farm Turner attacked. Blount, his son, and Blount’s SLAVES actually fought off Turner’s attack. Yeah, Turner’s own people helped snuff out his “revolt.”
The Democratic Virginia delegate who has recently come under fire for sponsoring a bill in the Virginia House of Delegates that would allow the termination of a pregnancy up to 40 weeks old, is also the chief patron of a bill that would protect the lives of â€œfall cankerwormsâ€ during certain months.
In Virginia’s 5th Congressional District, Bigfoot erotica aficionado Denver Riggleman defeated Olivia Wilde’s mom, Leslie Cockburn (Yale ’74, married to Andrew Cockburn, son of the late British communist journalist Claude Cockburn).
If I were still in Virginia, I believe my last residence in Fauquier County would have been in his district.
In Minnesota’s 5th Congressional District, Ilhan Omar, a Muslim Somali democrat won a landslide 78.2% win, despite apparently being handicapped by having fraudulently and bigamously married her own brother in 2009 in order make it possible for him to immigrate to the United States. (Scott Johnson, 2016)
Sarah Huckabee Sanders at the 2018 White House Correspondents’ Dinner at Washington Hilton on April 28, 2018 in Washington, DC.
Virginia is a special place, home of Washington, Jefferson, Madison, birthplace of the nation really. And Lexington is a special little town, home of VMI. Stonewall Jackson lived there and taught both mathematics at VMI and the Bible at a black Sunday School he founded himself and where he promoted black literacy in defiance of state law. Robert E. Lee also lived there, serving as president of Washington College, now Washington and Lee.
Al Perrotta is justifiably indignant that a transplanted Yankee (the kind of specimen that old Ben Hardaway, long-time Master of the Midland Hunt, used to complain about: Northern migrants who “perch in our trees and shit on our ground”) made Lexington the focus of a national news story by refusing service to the President’s press secretary. This kind of behavior is un-Southern, and especially un-Virginian.
Imagine. Youâ€™ve had a rough week at the office. Youâ€™ve had a pressure-packed month that had you traveling halfway across the world for meetings that could decide the fate of millions. Your return has brought no rest. Every day you still have to stand in front of a bunch of people screaming the same questions at you â€” loaded questions, rude questions, â€œLetâ€™s see if I can get trending on Twitterâ€ questions. Questions where one wrong word from you can send markets crashing, foreign leaders vexing, to say nothing of sending talking heads into a frenzy. And you have to take this daily barrage with supernatural control and restraint, despite being genetically wired to be a wise-cracker.
Finally, itâ€™s Friday. TGIF! Escape! You head out I-66 with the job and the nationâ€™s Capitol in your rear view mirror. You head south down I-81. Way south. With each mile you lose the stench of the Swamp, the weight of your responsibility, the burden of a boss who works 17 hours a day and rarely on script. Up ahead is a nice dinner with some friends, a coupleâ€™s night.
You arrive in a quaint town tucked in the Shenandoah Mountains. A haven. You sit down at your table. You breathe. Perhaps for the first time in a month, you breathe.
The owner comes over. Not to say hi. Not even to discuss the nightâ€™s specials. Sheâ€™s there to throw you out. Throw your whole party out. (literally and figuratively). Why? Because she hates your boss, and by extension hates you.
What happened to Sarah Sanders Friday night at the Red Hen in Lexington, Virginia is an abomination. It is a violation of all standards of decency and hospitality. Worse, it is the latest vile display of the unrepentant and unhinged spirit that says â€œThose I disagree with politically I must destroy.â€ (Actually, not the latest. Floridaâ€™s Attorney General got verbally assaulted inside a screening of the new Mr. Rogers documentary Saturday. Itâ€™s an ugly day in the neighborhood.)
Classic Virginia. Delegate Matt C. Farris (R-Campbell) debates HB 1900, an anti-hunting bill which would impose a $100 fine per dog in cases in which hunting dogs stray onto a property where they are unwelcome. A Virginia fox hunt might go out with several dozen hounds, so you can imagine what a case of accidental trespass by a pack might cost.
Keswick hunts a gorgeous territory divided between woods and farmland in the foothills of the Blue Ridge at the southern end of Northern Virgina’s Hunt Country. Its territory includes Civil War battlefields, the birthplace of Zachary Taylor, James Madison’s Montpelier, and the point from which the Knights of the Golden Horseshoe set out to explore the wilderness in 1716. Karen and I were out with them once on a joint meet just a few years ago.
Holland Island was originally settled in the 1600s, taking its name from early colonist Daniel Holland, the original purchaser of the property from the Dorchester County Sheriff. By 1850, the first community of fishing and farming families developed on the island. By 1910, the island had about 360 residents, making it one of the largest inhabited islands in the Chesapeake Bay. The island community had 70 homes, stores and other buildings. It had its own post office, two-room school with two teachers, a church, baseball team, community center, and a doctor. The islanders supported themselves mainly by dredging for oysters, fishing for shad and crabbing. Their fleet of workboats included 41 skipjacks, 10 schooners and 36 bugeyes, some of which were built on the island.
The wind and tide began to seriously erode the west side of the island, where most of the houses were located, in 1914. This forced the inhabitants to move to the mainland. Many disassembled their houses and other structures and took them to the mainland, predominantly Crisfield. Attempts to protect the island by building stone walls were unsuccessful. The last family left the island in 1918, when a tropical storm damaged the island’s church. A few of the former residents continued living on the island during the fishing season until 1922, when the church was moved to Fairmount, Maryland. …
In October 2010, the last remaining house on Holland Island, built in 1888, collapsed.
The land of the island has been subsiding as a result of post-glacial rebound, the return to normal of bulges created by the weight of glaciers elsewhere during the last ice age. This process has caused a major loss of land on the island. Like other Chesapeake Bay islands, Holland Island is primarily made up of clay and silt, not rock. The western ridge of the island is very exposed to waves in the bay, making it prone to erosion as well. The island’s size has been reduced by half, from 160 acres (0.65 km2) in 1915 to 80 acres (0.32 km2) in 2005.
Most of the remaining land on the island is now marsh, and at high tide the island is underwater.
Sweet Briar girls seemed to us representatives of Yankeedom like exotic specimens imported from a distant, more tropical habitat. But, though they were obviously the offspring of wealthier and more socially prominent families than most of ours, they were also clearly the products of a rural culture, and were more interested in talking about their horses and sport than in calculatingly sizing you up, in the manner of Vassar, as a potential husband and breadwinner. I remember having more fun at the Sweet Briar mixer than at any of the others I attended that year.
Sweet Briar takes its name from a 3250-acre plantation, left along with an endowment to create a woman’s college by one Indiana Fletcher in 1901.
One reads today in the Washington Post the sad news that the Sweet Briar board has voted to close the school down next August, being apparently unable in a time of declining enrollment when fewer women desire single-sex education to make end’s meet. I think that is a shame. There ought to be a place like Sweet Briar where young ladies can major in horsemanship along with the liberal arts in preparation for an adult life spent hunting three days a week somewhere in Virginia.
Sweet Briar was renowned for its opportunities for equestrian instruction and activities.