Don't Go Changin'

I'm not that crotchety old person standing on my lawn, shaking my fist at people, but I'm not happy, either.

On today's walk to Chapel Island, one of my favorite nature hangouts, Mac and I were met by large machinery blocking the path to the island's best overlook. Not yet sure what it signified, I posed atop the behemoth so she could snap my picture and we continued along, only to be greeted by a road.

This will only sound illogical to you if you've never been on Chapel Island. You see, the beauty of the place is how wild it's always felt, how completely separate from the goings-on of the city just across the canal.

Trails were narrow and often overgrown. After storms, saplings sometimes straddled pathways. During high summer, the vegetation was so thick you couldn't see the river that surrounded you. Spider webs and the occasional snake were the norm.

Hands down, my favorite part of the island was the overlook on the south side, complete with bench and prime views of Rockett's landing and small boat fisherman trolling the shore line. More than a couple of them even waved when they spotted life on Chapel Island.

Gone, all gone now. A chasm exists on the spot where once there was a place of reflection and vistas.

Oh, we walked around to investigate, amazed that in the relatively short time since our last visit to the island so much land had been moved, so many trees and bushes cut down. Spotting more machinery down the newly minted "road" that followed the river, we set forth in search of more clues.

All we found was more denuded landscape, more big machines and more disappointment that we'd heard nothing about the desecration of one of our favorite natural spaces in the entire city.

And it's not like I don't pay attention to such things - hell, we'd come to the island this morning directly from the Valentine's strategic planning charrette seeking input about the museum's future. I go to mayoral forums and coalition-building meetings at the drop of a hat. I did four weeks of a neighborhood charrette about what could be imagined at a significant corner of Jackson Ward.

You see, I'm that city-loving nerd who's willing to devote some of my spare time to sharing my opinion about almost anything going on in Richmond and Mac is much the same.

Yet here we were, jaws dropped, at one of our top walking destinations, looking at it like it had been subjected to bad plastic surgery since we'd last met.

We followed the road until we found access to the canal walk, but it was an unsettling experience. Sure, the views of the railroad trestles were great under I-95 (the century-old supports almost sculptural in their design) and we got several first-time river vantage points, but we'd left behind an unrecognizable island.

Once home, it didn't take long to find information saying that they're doing a significant expansion of the Shockoe Retention Basin as well as of riverfront access from the island.  It's all there in the Richmond Riverfront Plan, along with an amphitheater and a place to launch small boats.

Sorry, my heart's just not into it.

Chapel Island, all I can say is how grateful I am that I had these years of enjoying you in your natural state throughout the seasons, because I can't promise I'll be nearly as attracted to you once you're all tarted up.

Now get off my lawn.

Victim of the Modern Heart

Make the most of it, that was the plan.

So even though I'd walked a couple of miles this morning, by afternoon, I'd found a willing accomplice for another, more ambitious walk. After all, the polar vortex is coming.

Meaning, while it was 51 degrees today and the projection is for 69 tomorrow, we're also looking at a low of 28 degrees tomorrow night. I'm going to freeze my patootie off come my Wednesday trek.

But for today at least, the weather was brisk but bearable, so we set out on foot. Our first stop was at Perly's where we were told they were closed although it wasn't even 2:00 yet. No doubt they were running out of ingredients and patience by that point.

Hey, Perly's was on the way. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Never one to let denial stand in the way of a diverting afternoon, we continued on down Second Street, admiring the magnificent vista of the James at the top of Brown's Island Way. A young woman was coming up the hill, pushing her bike and puffing a bit, giving us the look (it sure is steep).

Crossing Brown's Island and greeted by gusts coming off the river as we walked beside it to the path leading down to the Pipeline Walkway, thrilled when the sun appeared and added its warmth to that of movement.

Then it was east along the Capital Trail (I shared my wish for a parallel raised walkway for pedestrians only under the train trestle) to Chapel Island to look at the remains of the Trigg Shipbuilding Company.

Besides the particular pleasure of being on an island, I was amazed at a photograph of the stadium-like structure once on the island that would've been drained so they could build the torpedo boats in it and then filled with water to launch them into the river. Brilliant 19th century technology.

Wandering back along Tobacco Row to admire the warehouses turned lofts and apartments (my favorites had narrow balconies on the first floor, created from the lip of the former loading dock), we wound our way over to Cary to see the recently-completed religious freedom sculpture erected in front of the new Marriott Hotel. It's a fitting replacement for the painted wall covered up by hotel construction that honored the site where the Virginia Assembly passed the Statute for Religious Freedom.

That's the kind of thing that matters to us heathens.

The good news on Main Street downtown is that finally (finally!) there are retail signs of weekend life down there. Subway had a sign on the door touting new Saturday hours and even the CVS recently began Saturday and Sunday hours. Hotel guests and downtown dwellers alike will fist bump in approval.

By the time I was back in J-Ward, we'd covered a 5 1/2 mile route, a worthy addition to my earlier couple of miles.

Although my morning oatmeal and fruit had carried me that far, I was ravenous by then. Coincidentally, my fellow walker had an itch to watch the Detroit game, so we drove to Gus' Bar and Grille, although at less than two miles away, it wouldn't have been much more of a walk. Kick-off, however, wouldn't allow it.

And while I (understand and) can watch football, I'd yet to dive into today's Washington Post, so I brought it along. Walking in to Gus', a guy in a Redskins jersey approaches us and leads us to a booth, "So it'll be easier for you to read your paper," he graciously says. It didn't hurt that there was a TV in the booth for the fan to watch.

Over 20 hot wings, I meandered through the kinds of stories I look forward to in the Sunday paper. A review of a new Peggy Lee bio (hadn't known she was the basis for Miss Piggy), where I learned she was a nutcase (and had four husbands).

An opinion piece about the use of the word "feminist," a subject near and dear to my heart (that will be an entire blog post one day soon). Touring whisky distilleries in Tasmania (traveling with someone originally labeled "ex-boyfriend" but by the end of the piece, "husband"...ah, the power of whisky). The new Elaine Sturtevant retrospective at MoMA (why it matters, why it doesn't).

A ridiculous two-month study showing that kids make better lunch selections in the school cafeteria if you reward them for healthy choices with stickers and fake tattoos (let's bribe their taste buds and reinforce the need for constant praising/rewarding). One-derful Records' recording of the Jackson 5's "Big Boy" and the subsequent unearthing of that master tape that pre-dates the Motown years.

In between sections, I kept an eye on Detroit's best field efforts on the mute screen, celebrating when they did something right and returning to the paper when they couldn't move the ball. Favorite player name: Golden Tate (did his parents know he was going to play football?).

Mostly I tried to ignore the very drunk trio of guys nearby high-fiving and lamenting being mid-40s and still single. Based on their corny, loud obnoxiousness and infantile humor, it was hardly surprising women weren't flocking to them.

My bowl of chili (I cook carrots in my chili so I'm always a little disappointed when no one else does) arrived with a plate of blue, red and yellow corn chips, so I scooped my sports-appropriate dinner out of a bowl with reds and blues as the clock ticked down and Detroit players put on their sad faces.

It's not whether you win or lose, boys. How about if we give you a sticker or a fake tattoo to make it feel all better?

If not, try Rose and some 1987-era Earth, Wind and Fire, say "Touch the World" and see if that doesn't send you over the moon.

Make the most of what you got, whatever it is. Right?

Meantime (Little Notes)

Reasons why this is already shaping up to be a fine day:

A cloudy walk to Chapel Island with a view of raindrops dotting the canal.

An Amtrack conductor hanging out of the stopped train waving to me from the tracks overhead as I walk the Capital bike trail. Hello, stranger.

The shift from clouds to sun as I reach the island and walk over to a favorite spot on the far side to survey the river. Nothing much happening today.

Crossing Cary Street and hearing my name called by a friendly wine rep and stopping to chat about the pleasures of outside showers and  rooftop bars, both past and future. Top of the Tower? Nope, before my time.

Running into a culture-loving friend in front of the National box office waiting to buy tickets for Trampled by Turtles. He looks at me like he's never seen me in walking attire - shorts and a t-shirt - before, which I then realize he hasn't.

Coming home to a message from a good friend saying, "I miss you! Pick you up at 12:30? Yeah!"

Lunch right here in the 'hood at Lucy's, which is satisfyingly mobbed with eager eaters. A former Floyd Avenue neighbor stops to chat, I wave hello to the cattle farmer and the proprietor tells us there's a real estate convention in town.

The shrimp po' boy salad is stellar, full of fat fried shrimp under a drizzle of thousand island dressing with picture perfect end-of-the-season grape tomatoes still bursting with flavor.

Conversation tumbling out out of both of us as we discuss Cape Charles, not fitting in, out of town restaurateurs and Gullah culture.

Dessert of panna cotta with strawberry coulis, a worthy substitute for our usual post-lunch Rose, off limits since my friend has a meeting after we finish. 

Writing assignment completed and ready for my final edit tomorrow, still several days in advance of deadline.

And it's only mid-afternoon. Feeling as sunny as the day turned out to be.

Staking my Territory

So I'm becoming this great explorer, discovering new things with every new walk.

Today I set my sights on Great Shiplock Park, a chance to see the half bascule bridge and walk the Capital Trail.

Starting out mid-morning, I was walking due east, not the easiest route that time of day.

At 18th Street, I picked up the Capital Trail, thrilled that it wound underneath the train bridge to provide shade.

An Amtrak train rattled by overhead, headed to Newport News. I know this only because of how much I've taken the train this summer.

Given the cloudless blue sky, I wasn't exactly thrilled when the trail moved from under the train bridge to along Dock Street, completely unshaded and more than a little steamy after the comfort of the shaded trail.

I passed two large men out getting their exercise, both sweating profusely, but both taking a moment to smile and say good morning.

Looking both ways - as the sign instructed-  to cross the train tracks, I was suddenly in Great Shiplock Park, which appeared considerably spruced up since I'd last been there maybe six years ago.

New to me were recycling containers and a PortaPotty, both thoughtful additions.

Just then, one train car rattled over the tracks I'd just crossed.

But it was when I crossed the canal that I realized I had new territory to stake.

I was now on Chapel Island, so called because an Episcopal chapel was situated there until 1741 when St. John's was built on Church Hill.

How crazy is that? A church on an island between the canal and river? Who knew about this?

After that, the sign said, it was home to a fishery, Mrs. Jane King's ice house and William Trigg's ship-building business.

Since I'm all about some island trail walking, I set out on the wide, gravel trail only to stop dead in my tracks when I saw a black and gold snake sunning itself in the trail eight feet ahead.

Not that anyone was around to hear me, but I said something along the lines of, "Oh, no, get out of here!" which the snake ignored until I picked up a handful of gravel and tossed it in his direction, causing him to slither into the underbrush.

Bugs I can do (well, squash, and the spiderwebs were rampant - clearly this trail isn't walked often or the spiders are just unusually industrious) but snakes I want no part of.

Once he scrammed, I kept on, amazed at this little island I'd never heard of. There were even a couple of boat ramps.

When I got around to the other side, I could hear the river and it soon appeared through the trees.

I found an overlook, although not very high, with a couple of rustic benches, a marker and a view of a guy in a boat trolling along the shoreline, fishing rod in hand.

Naturally, I did what any explorer would do. I threw my arms in the air and yelled to the river that I was queen of Chapel Island. No, really, I did.

But it was also a learning experience because according to one of the signs I'd read, you can even catch blue crabs in this part of the river, where the river is tidal (although not salty).

Damn.

Walking back around the trail, I marveled at this brand new-to-me island only 2 1/2 miles from my house. I can't wait to show it some of my favorite walkers.

After retracing my steps on the Capital Trail, more pleasant with the sun on my back, I opted for my favorite way to cover the distance from 14th to 5th Street (despite having to walk further south to catch it): the pipeline walkway.

It's amazing how much shorter those nine blocks seem when walking on a shady trail with the river on both sides of me.

Of course, my first stop was the little sandy beach where I ditched my shoes and socks and waded out into the river up to my shorts, a reward for my feet and legs for the first three miles of the walk.

Heading back up the hills away from the river, I felt pleased as punch with myself for having made a discovery today.

Some queens send out explorers; others do the exploring themselves.

Me and Mrs. Jane King, women for the ages.