Boydton (VA)

At 11:45 AM on the last Saturday in October, our much anticipated journey was underway.  A little over three hours later, we checked-in at our first stop—Rudd’s Creek Campground in Boydton, Virginia.  This densely tree-laden recreational plot is a partial by-product of the US Army Corp of Engineers creation of the 50,000 acre John H. Kerr Reservoir.  After traveling 170-miles , I added another ten in a metronomic exercise of pulling forward and backing up—trying to get the RV perfectly positioned on the narrow campsite pad. 

Once leveled, with water and electric hooked-up, the realization took hold that our future dreams had arrived.  We sat there, enjoying the moment.  The towering oaks and maples providing a pastel canopy above us; the crows gossiping loudly from their lofty domain; the earthy smell of the fallen damp leaves composting back towards the roots that once fed them; and the drays of squirrels as they leap from the crunchy fallen leaves and seemingly dismiss the laws of gravity as they move amongst the timbers with effortless precision. 

We were in a trance of sensory overload, reaching that most excellent relaxation point, when…

…SSSCCCHHHWWWWAAACCCKKKK!!!!!

From out of nowhere came this unnatural, crackenly-harsh sound—like someone shot a jaw-breaker with a sling-shot against the roof of our slide  With the abrupt and rude end to our tranquil state, we quickly tried to diagnose the sound.  Hail?  Kids with sling-shots & jaw-breakers?  Then it happened again; but this time the it hit on the rubber roof…and bounced all the way down the RV.  Then another one, with the same pattern.  I thought to myself, “Those damn squirrels are playing craps on my roof!”  It was at that moment that I stepped to the door to see if I could spot what had hit the roof with such force.  I looked around, but saw nothing except a bunch of leaves and acorns littering the campsite.  <DOH!>

"Today's mighty oak is yesterday's nut that held its ground."  - David Icke

Even though many years had passed since we set camp trail-side on the Appalachian Trail, we immediately resumed our foraging habits—collecting fallen limbs for our campfire, and stumbling upon a bounty of black walnuts in a secluded grove.  It was at this location that we were able to witness the birth of one of these prodigious trees, which live to be 130-years. 

A short drive from Rudd’s Creek is the historic town of Boydton, Virginia.  Although this small (524 acres), sparsely populated (427) town would make an excellent living stage for Back To The Future XII, it also boasts some historic interests.  The most popular is The Boyd Tavern, an 18^th Century structure that exudes the classic colonial era architectural lines.

“In the middle of the road, you see the darndest things.” – The Pretenders; Middle of the Road

Another notable site in Boydton is the site of the Boydton Plank Road.  Although the original road has been long gone, a replicated static display sits on the edge of town with an authentic wagon from that period.  The original road was constructed using wooden planks 8-feet long, 1-foot wide, and 4-inches thick.  This road—totaling 73-miles (380,000+ planks)—connected the agrarian tobacco & wheat communities with the urban shipping markets.  In 1853 it was considered a superior roadway—free of potholes and ruts—and it would not be until the 1930’s when a hard-surface road would be built to rival its reliability. 

Although these two historic displays are interesting and impressive, the most impressive fact about Boydton cannot be found in Boydton.   During the course of American military history, millions have served; however, only a miniscule percent earned the distinction of “Buffalo Soldier.”  Similarly, The Congressional Medal of Honor—being an exceedingly rare award—has only been presented 3,468 times.  On June 11, 1850, Sergeant Henry Johnson was born in Boydton.  He holds the distinction of being only 1 of 18 individuals who were both Buffalo Soldier and Congressional Medal of Honor recipient.  Unfortunately there are no schools, libraries, or statues in Boydton honoring Sergeant Johnson.  On cool October night just outside Boydton, sitting next to a campfire reminiscent of those that use to burn on the open plains, a toast was raised in honor of an exceptional American soldier.

After taking-in the local culture and nature, we cast our eyes further westward—the Blue Ridge Mountains.  As we made our plans to increase our elevation, forecasts of freezing temperatures and snow began to cloud the equation.  To further complicate things, Rudd’s Creek would be closing for the season in a few days.  We decided to take a chance and delay our trek towards the hills—just to see how the weather would play out.  By chance an older camper told us about another Corp of Engineer campground that—although advertized it closes 1 November—keep one small loop open year-round.  This campground was only 16-miles away.  It was a good “Plan B” should the weather not cooperate.  November 1 arrived.  The weather report from the mountains was not favorable.  “Plan B” was promoted to “Plan A”, and we chartered a short course for North Fork Campground.

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