The seal of the Confederate States of America

The Southern Legal Resource Center wants to use the Civil Rights Bill of 1964 to protect the civil rights of a generally unrecognized minority. It wants persons of Southern Confederate ancestry to be recognized as a racial group. Sounds fair to me. But what about more recently arrived Confederates like myself? I was born in Pennsylvania, and my ancestors were all residing in Lithuania at the time of the late unpleasantness, but I currently do claim citizenship in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Shouldn’t more recent immigrants be able to claim “Confederate Southern American” status via naturalization?

I guess I’ll just have to fill out my census form as suggested, and take my chances.

Via Federal Eye.

3:35 video

The Ashland Bassets met yesterday at Huntland.

It’s been blizzard after blizzard since mid-December. We’ve been covered in snow, and most of the hunting season in Northern Virginia was a write-off this year.

Yesterday, though, for the first time in months, we were finally able to go out. Happily, favorable weather coincided with a special occasion. Dr. Betsee Parker had invited the Ashland Bassets for a guest meet last Sunday at her historic Huntland Farm, a century ago the home of the renowned sportsman Joseph B. Thomas, Master of several illustrious packs, and author of Hounds and Hunting Through the Ages.

The opportunity to see Huntland was a particular treat, and the typical Sunday field accompanying the Warrenton-based basset pack was supplemented by an unusually large group of guests representing hunts from all over the region.

The architectural details are particularly delightful at Huntland. The shutters feature a fox’s head, and the shutter stops are cast in the form of a bunch of grapes. Joseph B. Thomas’s left gate panel (see above photo), greets the visitor with a “Salve,” and then quotes Virgil’s Georgic III, 42-45:

En age segnis
Rumpe moras; vocat ingenti
Clamore Cithaeron
Taygetique canes domitrixque
Epidaurus equorum
Et vox adsensu nemorum
Ingeminata remugit.

Lo, up! the horn calls
Break off delay! with ringing cries
Cithaeron summons,
Taygetus with his hounds
and Epidaurus trainer of steeds,
and from the applauding woods
the call echoes back redoubled.

Rabbits proved to be in short supply, but hounds and people were positively thrilled to be out of doors and hunting again. The well-populated field was keen, and everyone’s exertions were more than adequately rewarded by glimpses of the charms of Huntland’s magnificent architecture and broad acreage.

At the end of the day, Dr. Parker welcomed the entire company inside the great house, providing a post-hunting “tea,” which could have been more accurately described as a buffet banquet. Prior to the the current owner’s occupancy, this wonderful house had been neglected and sat empty and unused for many years, and it was a real pleasure for visitors to see the superb job of restoration and decorating which has again made Huntland into such a spectacular showplace.

Karen’s photo essay has yet to be edited and uploaded, but I will add a link to it as soon as it becomes available.

Huntland staff awaiting guests with stirrup cup in front of the grand house.

Tazy atop snowbank

Karen took a few pictures of the dogs playing in the snow yesterday. Uhlan, the 7 month old Tazy, very nearly nailed a small snowbound doe, just before Karen came outside. In photos 9 & 10, he is running again through the track in the deep snow made shortly earlier by his pursuit of the deer. He couldn’t follow it once it got to the driveway and made it into the road. We have an electric fence that keeps our dogs inside the property.

Where exactly we are going to put more snow is not clear.

Yesterday, backyard fence nearly buried in the morning. It snowed until evening.

Robert Kennedy, Jr., Spetember 24, 2008 in the LA Times:

In Virginia, the weather also has changed dramatically. Recently arrived residents in the northern suburbs, accustomed to today’s anemic winters, might find it astonishing to learn that there were once ski runs on Ballantrae Hill in McLean, with a rope tow and local ski club. Snow is so scarce today that most Virginia children probably don’t own a sled. But neighbors came to our home at Hickory Hill nearly every winter weekend to ride saucers and Flexible Flyers.

In those days, I recall my uncle, President Kennedy, standing erect as he rode a toboggan in his top coat, never faltering until he slid into the boxwood at the bottom of the hill. Once, my father, Atty. Gen. Robert Kennedy, brought a delegation of visiting Eskimos home from the Justice Department for lunch at our house. They spent the afternoon building a great igloo in the deep snow in our backyard. My brothers and sisters played in the structure for several weeks before it began to melt. On weekend afternoons, we commonly joined hundreds of Georgetown residents for ice skating on Washington’s C&O Canal, which these days rarely freezes enough to safely skate.

Meanwhile, Exxon Mobil and its carbon cronies continue to pour money into think tanks whose purpose is to deceive the American public into believing that global warming is a fantasy.

Via David Freddoso.

Colonel John Singleton Mosby, CSA

In the part of Virginia I live these days, the memory of Mosby is still green, and his ferocious defense of the territories of Loudoun, Fauquier, and Clarke Counties against the far more numerous forces of the invader are remembered with appreciation and honored even today.

After Appomatox, Mosby negotiated a truce, which he desired to continue until General Joseph E. Johnston ceased the struggle in North Carolina. General Hancock of the Union Army declined to extend the truce, threatening to lay waste to the theater of Mosby’s operations if he failed to surrender immediately.

Unwilling to surrender, but also loath to inflict further suffering upon the civilian population, on April 21, 1865, Mosby disbanded the 43rd Battalion, 1st Virginia Cavalry rather than surrender to Union forces.

In his 1906 memoirs, John W. Munson of Company B wrote of that evening, “The outlook for the morrow was gloomy…. Colonel Mosby, like the rest of us, showed plainly that his heart was heavy. The blow had fallen with awful force and, though little was said, the gloomy faces of the Partisans told how tumultuous were the thoughts surging amid the memories of past achievements…” (Munson, John W., Reminiscences of a Mosby Guerilla, p. 269.)

The following morning, at Glen Welby, the home of Major Richard Henry Carter, Mosby requested writing material and composed his farewell order. (Munson, p. 269). He then rode to Salem, (now Marshall), Virginia where he had ordered his regiment to rendezvous. James J. Williamson, of Company A, described the scene in detail in his memoirs: “The men came in slowly. It had rained in the early part of the morning, and a thick fog hung like a pall over the face of the country. The damp, raw air did not strike the feelings with a more chilling influence than that which was sent to the heart by the gloomy aspect which every object seemed to wear. Not a smile was to be seen on any of the faces… all looked sad. Mosby was walking up and down the street, occasionally stopping to speak to one or another of the men as they rode in. About noon the order was given to mount, and the companies formed. The whole command was drawn up in line on the green… Well-mounted and equipped, the men presented a magnificent appearance, and… Mosby rode up and down the line… When all preliminaries were arranged, Mosby s Farewell to his command was read by the commander of each squadron to his men.” (Williamson, James Joseph, A Record of the Operations of the Forty-Third Battalion Virginia Cavalry…, pp. 391-393)

Williamson recalled, “While the address was being read, a profound silence reigned; and when the word ‘farewell’ was uttered, it fell like a knell upon the ears of the assembled band. They gave Mosby three hearty cheers and the order was given to break ranks. Then ensued a scene trying to all… The men pressed forward around their officers to bid them adieu, and soon hardly a dry eye could be seen. Strong men, who had looked unmoved on scenes which would have appalled hearts unused to the painful sights presented on the field of battle, now wept like little children. Mosby stood beside a fence on the main street and took the hands of those who gathered around him. His eyes were red, and he would now and then dash aside the struggling tears which he was unable wholly to suppress. Men would silently grasp each other’s hands and then turn their heads aside to hide their tears; but at last it became so general that no pains were taken to conceal them. It was the most trying ordeal through which we had ever passed. A number of ladies who had assembled to witness the disbanding of the command were apparently as much affected as we were.”

Mosby’s Farewell to his Command read:

Fauquier, April 21st 65

Jno: S Mosby
Colonel

The original manuscript of Mosby’s Farewell to his Ranger Battalion is being auctioned by Heritage Galleries, February 12, 2010, Lot 5900 of Sale 6039.

Leon Panetta’s CIA leaps into action to deal with terrorism originating in Yemen (now designated “Al Qaeda Arabian Peninsula” (AQAP). The CIA will be increasing the number of analysts focused on Yemen and Africa. The jihadis are doubtless trembling in their sandals at the thought of fresh teams of coffee sippers hunting them down on computer screens from Tyson’s Corners.

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Erik Eriksen marvels that the environmental left has been so quiet after the Copenhagen conference ended whimpering in a blizzard. He concludes that warmist mouths have been frozen shut.

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How can democrats hope to regain a majority in Virginia? Give hundreds of thousands of convicted felons back the right to vote, quickly, before Governor Kaine leaves office.

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Former CIA Officer Reuel Marc Gerecht, in the Wall Street Journal, notes that al Qaeda did to us exactly what we intended to do to them: use a mole for a lethal strike against high-value targets.

click on image to open photo essay, then click on first image to enlarge and use right arrow to proceed. (Photos by Karen L. Myers)

Karen went out yesterday in the middle of the storm and photographed Cadet (two year old Basset Bleu de Gascogne) and Uhlan (5 month old Kazakh Tazy) playing in the snow. She certainly got some spectacular action photos.

Huntsman Dennis Downing salutes, as he leads out the Blue Ridge hounds at Chapel Hill (Click on images for larger version)

Yesterday’s hunt met at Chapel Hill, in front of the historic stone house which was once the home of “Wild Bill” Donovan (1883-1959), Medal of Honor winner and founder of the OSS.

This handsome fox had no difficulty eluding hounds (photo: Karen L. Myers)

Members of the Blue Ridge Hunt first flight gallop down Swift Shoals Road in Boyce, Virginia yesterday endeavoring to catch up to hounds (click on image for larger version — clicking again on the second page will make the photo larger still)

Doesn’t this look like fun?

Huntsman Dennis Dowling and the Blue Ridge Hunt round a corner coming out of the woods earlier today at Pagebrook in Boyce, Virginia (Click on photo for larger version)

Rightwingliberal is extremely impressed with the success of the democrat’s stimulus package. The government’s own web-site (Recovery.gov) demonstrates that Washington has managed to figure out a way to spend money, and save jobs, in Congressional districts that don’t exist.

I really, really wanted to believe this was an Onion move; then I actually feared some clever lefty had laid a trap for over-eager center-right bloggers.

It is neither. The Stimulus tracking site really does tout – and proudly, money that goes to phantom Congressional Districts.

Bill McMorris (Watchdog.org) has the details on North Dakota.

On a whim, I took a look at Virginia.

Among other things . . .

Over $2.26 million was spent in the “12th Congressional District,” which only exists in the fevered recesses of Tom Davis’ ambition.

Another $2M- plus went to the “00 Congressional District” (creating or saving exactly 2.5 jobs in the process)

More than $2M went to such venerable Virginia Districts as the 36th and 26th (neither seen since the 19th Century), plus the 79th (which can only mean Obama has created a new and more perfect dimension to spend the money)

Hat tip to Adam Bitely.

89-Year-Old Huntsman Melvin Poe leads the Bath County Hounds out on a beautiful November morning (click on image for larger picture)

The Bath County Hounds are a private pack, founded in 1992, after Melvin Poe’s retirement as huntsman of Orange County, by George L. Ohrstrom to hunt his 3000-acre Fassifern Farm at Warm Springs, Bath County, Virginia.

The rolling countryside of the foothills of the Blue Ridge near Poe’s home in Fauquier County, where the Bath County Hounds hunt in the intervals between trips to Warm Springs, was hunted in the decades before WWII by the Cobbler Hunt, whose master in the early 1930s was (then) Major George S. Patton, Jr.

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Who wouldn’t want to look like that and ride like that at 89?