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about moving to a place even smaller than Shenandoah. To paraphrase Lewis Grizzard, an Atlanta columnist, my friends told me that Rappahannock wasn’t near nothin’ but the ground.
Somebody went so far as to say Rappahannock is the only county in the state without a stoplight. I knew better. I stopped for the light along U.S. 522. If you count the lights coming and going from the construction site, we’ve got two stoplights now.
I knew Rappahannock was horse country. The last time I was on a horse was when some camp counselor told me the best way to get over being thrown was to get right back on the horse. Manure, I said. The best way to get over being thrown was never to again set foot near a horse.
Besides, during my sentence at day camp I was more concerned about chasing Kathy Snead than I was posting to the proper diagonal. Kathy was the best-built 12year-old in camp that summer, and is today a source of fine memories.
In a year or two when I look back on my stay here at the News, I’ll probably remember the 45-mile commute in my
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