Just like nothing (else) on earth: Franklin Farm

By Tim Jon 

The morning of my last visit, it felt as if the slate of the entire world would be wiped clean; a very pronounced wind made its presence felt, as the actual temperature hadn’t risen appreciably enough above the freezing mark – at least for my sensitive tastes. 

Sensitive, that is, for someone who grew up in the infamous flatlands of southern Minnesota, where we used to joke about anchoring our vehicles down so they wouldn’t blow away in the blizzards of deep winter. Not so far from the truth. But here I was, on an early March morning, in Northern Virginia, choosing of my own free will to scale the largest, highest piece of elevation in reasonable walking distance. 

Art – if you could describe this by that particular moniker – has certainly never been an intellectual pursuit for this writer. And, so I braved the cold and the biting wind for what I hoped would be some rewarding views of … well, just about anywhere you look; see, if you wanted to select a spot where one could clearly see out to the Blue Ridge Mountains in western Loudoun County, as well as much of the bowl-shaped valley to the east, you could do far worse than parking your car in the lot just above the Performing Arts Center in the largest municipal playground in that part of the locality – namely, Franklin Park – and walking skyward – up the hill, on and between a number of athletic fields. 

And that was my plan, but Nature took a hand in matters and covered up most of the sought-after long-distance views – not only with frigid moving air, but irascible blankets of fog. 

Oh, well, I thought, at least we got some exercise, and there’s nothing like a thumping heart to soak up any creative inspiration in the vicinity, at least to my finding. I took temporary refuge in one of the hillside gazebos – which really didn’t offer much in the way of a windbreaker – before heading back down the hill to take in some of the views of the aforementioned, local theatre building. 

Now, I’ve been inside the Franklin Park Performing Arts Center numerous times; as the last news director for the former Wage Radio in Leesburg, I’d been on hand to see some of the first artistic renderings of the construction plans. 

Many of the people with whom I’d become good friends were on hand at this meeting, as well as the timber raising – oh, one summer in the late 1990’s. I’d participated in some local fundraising events for the facility as well, donating talent from my local theatre group at the time – Not Just Shakespeare. 

I even ended up directing one of my favorite plays of all time in this space – a production of Macbeth, in the spring of 2009. So, I guess (no, I don’t guess, I feel very strongly) that I’m qualified to talk and write about the place. 

But, between the closing of the Scottish Play and this latest morning’s teeth-rattling visit, I’d only been inside the Performing Arts Center a handful of times – the last being a wonderful ‘homecoming’ concert by one of our favorite local musicians – Andrew
McKnight. And even that show was several years back—just as we were all learning a bit about the oncoming coronavirus epidemic sweeping across our world. 

So – yes – I was able to ponder quite a few personal, public and professional details involving this local creative beehive. And many of the friends I’d made in the intervening years (over a quarter century), connected in some way to this Performing Arts Center, were by this recent morning, merely fond memories in the store-bank of my emotions. 

So – on my last visit, did I venture inside the building, to soak up the vibes of years, productions, relationships, and times past? No – I held to my solitary stroll around the ‘Barn’ and took some memorial photos, then moved on to some of the other facilities within the Park that competed for my attention. 

I didn’t circumnavigate the body of water just down the hill to the east of the Arts Center; like the early-arriving redwing blackbirds, I sought warmth – using just about any excuse to grab a couple of quick snapshots and head back to my vehicle and civilization. The setting was even more austere at the Franklin Park swimming pool; some maintenance workers, dressed head to toe in cold-weather garb, wrestled with their equipment – so I presumed – in readying the popular local facility for the upcoming warm-weather season. I didn’t even make it to the small, red barn that still stands in the southeastern corner of Franklin Park; I’d always enjoyed seeing it as a familiar landmark in delivering mail along the road that skirts that edge of the local facility. 

And for that day, my visit sufficed; rest assured, I’ll return, for another inside look at the theatre building, and a personal recounting of the many friends I’d spent time, energy, talent (at least on their parts) and a love of live performance. Maybe I’ll be thinking of you, and maybe you can return the favor.