Just like nothing (else) on earth: Old Waterford Road

By Tim Jon

By the time I arrived, they were all resting – at peace – sleeping the approximate six feet underground; I’d driven up to the Village of Waterford from the south, with a journey through fog and dense greenery – not to mention some incredibly rough roads – and – quite unexpectedly came upon the Fairfax Friends Meeting and Cemetery, as if appearing from the imagination. I had the thought that those remaining here (for most of eternity, at any rate) may have numbered among the lost travelers who failed to negotiate the tight turns, rugged surfaces and innumerable distractions along the way I’d come – along Route 698 – Old Waterford Road. 

This paved, albeit uneven, corridor actually starts in the County Seat of Leesburg only some 10 miles away, yet, to my finding, the distance seemed far greater, in light of the density of vegetation on every side (except – usually – under my vehicle) the persistent, early-morning fog and tricks of light and shadow adding to the mystery. 

The potholes and washboard character of the road, once I left Town, were such that I slowed down to a literal crawling pace to avoid the worst patches and minimize the rodeo-like sensations of the ride. This was the opposite end of the spectrum from your mile-a-minute commute on Route Seven, or most any other highway in the region. In some places I could have walked faster than I was driving, since I’m very familiar with the cost of tires, rims and local towing services. 

Another interesting feature of this rural thoroughfare is just the sheer narrowness of the roadway in selected spots; you’d be doing some serious negotiations with yourself, your vehicle and other motorists along these stretches – should you come upon a school bus, large farm equipment, or a member of the equine community pulling a large horse trailer. Heck, I was concerned about sharing the confined spaces with the local rabbit population, much less anything more substantial. 

Speaking of four-footed critters, you’re no doubt aware of a very healthy cattle industry in Loudoun County, and we’re all familiar with scenes of fenced-in green fields dotted with Angus and other – mostly beef cattle; pulling to the side of the roadway at a particularly tight section, I almost had to duck back into my canopy, as an especially friendly member of the bovine tribe appeared about to try to rub nuzzles. He and his chums seemed happy to welcome me to their morning cud-chewing session, perhaps made all the more peaceful by the music of Van Morrison on my car stereo. Maybe one of these beasts was named Gloria. 

By the time I made it over the hills and through the woods and fog and past the animals and 10 miles of rough road, my senses had long past exceeded the overload stage; I guess this was the warm-up I required to enter the realm of those long passed. 

The Fairfax Friends Meeting House and Cemetery – not surprisingly – appeared like an oasis of permanence after passing through the previous ever-changing landscapes; the worn headstones told a story of much more history than I could recount, the stone walls around the ‘churchyard’ simply marked a clear barrier between the temporal (the immediate, day-to-day concerns of folks like us) and the permanent (the eternal repose of those who could enjoy the peace beyond understanding). 

No wonder: the stone structure of the Meeting House actually pre-dates the American Revolution; I may be getting old, but that’s well out of my league. Some of the founding Quakers of Waterford had initially constructed a log meetinghouse all the way back in 1741. 

I felt a sense of great humility in walking these grounds, as the property had enjoyed such watchful proprietorship for so long. I couldn’t help but wish for another couple hundred years of relative peace within these walls – as well as the rest of the nation in which they lie – with my own lifetime sort of nestled in the middle of that timeline. If I can imagine it, so it can be. We can learn from the past, as well as the present. 

I used the logic from that lesson later that morning, and returned home by a much more well-traveled, if somewhat less entrancing, route. But I’ll remember the way to the Friends Meeting House and Cemetery, and the importance of passing through the gauntlet of experience to arrive there. So will you, once you’ve taken the journey.