I read the article in The Washington Post on Sunday about the big doings in Washington. And, sorry, I don’t call it Little Washington. Next thing you know, they will want to change the name of the town. Like others, I suppose, I had observed the work on several structures in town, but I thought it was just a part of the ongoing growth of the Inn’s infrastructure.
I can’t say too much about the changes; I don’t live in the town, and the changes on the horizon should not have too much of an impact on me. Having said that, I assume the “development” will stay within the town limits. If the changes move outside the town, that will be a different story. But, it is funny, though. I didn’t know Washington needed to be “developed.”
Many of us old timers, I think, harbor a nagging fear or suspicion that one day Daddy Warbucks is going to ride into Rappahannock in his Silver Cloud, rub his hands together and see all sorts of opportunities to make money.
It is then that we will find out who the true friends of the county are, and whether or not our stitched-together system of building codes and restrictions can stand up to the onslaught of — what shall I call it — opportunity? Greed? I’ll let you decide which is the correct word.
Some will say it was bound to happen. I am probably among them. If you admire sound management and an individual with a dream and the ability to make it happen, you have to have some admiration for the Inn at Little Washington.
But, let’s face facts. An evening at the Inn is outside the reach of many of the citizens of Rappahannock. Their clientele has to come from somewhere, and I believe the current happenings were inevitable. Others see and want a bite of this apple. There will be tests and challenges to our zoning and building requirements. God help us.
In more down-to-earth news, the garden continues to have a good spring. We had the first fresh beets this week. A little butter, a little salt, and they melt in your mouth. The peas will soon be ready to be picked, and when they are, I will slide my hand under the hearty, poison green potato plants and see if I can gravel enough new potatoes to put with them in a creamy white sauce. You may not hear from me for awhile, but don’t worry about me. I will have a smile on my face. Stay well.