Just like nothing (else) on earth: Airmont Store

By Tim Jon

Maybe someday I’ll make it inside; I considered it a quantum leap on my part to actually stop at the property, take a look around, and get a few interesting perspectives with the camera. You see, I had simply passed by this local landmark so many times without further investigation that it may have seemed as if an actual visit would never come to pass; one of my initial rural mail routes (more than a decade ago) brings the carrier right past the front door of the establishment in question—but that’s as close as I ever came to making physical contact with the place.

Admittedly, anyone familiar with the country corner of Rtes. 734 and 719—otherwise known as Snickersville Turnpike and Airmont Road—out in West-Central (“No-Man’s Land”) Loudoun County—will undoubtedly know the subject under discussion: the quaint little, vine-bestrewn Airmont Store.

They, maybe, you also know that the so-familiar-you-forget-it’s-there crossroad store is—as I write—closed until further notice: my suspicions cover the range of current health concerns mixed with the modern-day economic challenges facing any stand-alone “Mom ‘n’ Pop” operation, however affluent the regional populace. Seems, after all these years of offering a local source for a cold soda, or bag of chips, or a pound of ground coffee, or a dozen eggs—not to mention a “Hello! How are you?”—Times got hard for the little store.

Used to be, you could stop in for that after-work treat on the way home. Now, it’s more like: “We get our ice-cream bars at Costco!” And, collectively, more and more of us avoid the physical act of shopping altogether: some of us make just about all possible purchases online—for delivery. Well, perhaps someday our mega-convenience destinations (internet-based included) will offer us a virtual experience of our old neighborhood “general store,” that is if any of us still seek such entertainment.

Now, at the time I paid my one and only official visit, the images I captured indicate a healthy level of commerce at the local establishment—at least during more regular “business” hours (I generally show up about the time the sun makes its morning appearance): major credit cards accepted, expect to show identification in buying adult beverages, some tempting, colorful pictures of assorted old-fashioned ice-cream treats, an American flag on display out front, and carefully tended shrubbery growing in pots flanking the front steps.

And those vines, which seemingly date back to the original Garden of Eden, by the looks of their girth. All it needed (that day, anyway) was a few more hours, and some of the locals would be stopping in for their paper, cigarettes, or candy bars—maybe all of the above.

And I’d wager that a vast majority of those who stopped here enjoyed a first-name basis with the staff (in my relatively limited experience, the now-dwindling number of local “general stores” scattered across our County are usually run by a scant handful of loyal owners, their family members, and a very limited number of actual employees).

You know, it occurs to me, that, at this juncture, we could get that Limey TV food service feller—Robert Irvine, of Restaurant Impossible fame—out here to see what he could do to preserve what few of these unique (and to me, irreplaceable) establishments we have left. He could put his cooking industry experience—and his British Naval training (as well as his not-always-so-gentle people skills)—to good use in creating an absolute must-have kind of destination for today’s commuters and consumers. C’mon, Tough Guy: I challenge you. Save our little stores.

Not that I find anything distasteful about shopping at any of the “big-box” one-stop-fits-all retail sites we have to choose from in Loudoun; they’re a great help for those of us with seemingly dwindling supplies of personal time and energy at our disposal. I’m sure I’ll be just as sentimental about each one of these, if they should—for whatever reason—begin to lose out to the test of time and disappear from the landscape.

But for today, I sure wish I had, at some point, taken a drive—during regular business hours—stopped in for some kind of memorable treat at the Airmont Store; I bet I could’ve banked away the experience for the rest of my days. But who knows? Someday, maybe, I’ll still make it inside.