They say blood is thicker than water. It's a simple proverb that says the loyalties and relationships within a family are stronger than anything else.
I'm here to tell you how sometimes water is thicker.
It's been a while since I've blogged here. September 28, 2017 is in fact my last post where I said I was going to get back into regular blogging about Deltaville. Shortly after, the unthinkable happened.
Many know the deep seated love I have for our small piece of property in Middlesex County, VA. If you've been a regular follower of this blog, you may have heard mention of family history stories that go back to the time of the Civil War- or the War of Northern Aggression as my late great-great-grandmother Sissy used to say. The truth is that the property has been in the family since 1650. That's 368 years. 368 years of family history on one piece of land. In the course of those 368 years, the property was passed down and divided up and passed down generation after generation until it became the parcels that it is today. And one of those small slices of the original property belonged to my grandparents and upon their death went to my father and his 2 sisters.
All my life I have been going to Deltaville. With the exception of a few trips to Disney World, some camping trips and my honeymoon, all of my vacations have been to Deltaville. Nearly every Memorial Day weekend, 4th of July, Labor Day weekend, week long vacations and regular weekend getaways were made to the small house on Sturgeon Creek. Growing up, my cousin and I would spend weeks at a time there together. And with our great-Uncle next door, more cousins usually showed up during the course of our visit. We played epic games of capture the flag, helped haul fishing nets and crab pots, went on secret midnight prank adventures and spent time boating and swimming. It was and idyllic place and a perfect childhood of camaraderie and adventure.
And there was Pepop. (you can read a post about him here).
Really no words can come close to explaining how much Deltaville means to me. It holds some of my happiest memories as a child, as a parent and as a grandparent. I have always felt a contentment here that I have not felt anywhere else. Even in those times where life was rough or uncertain or just plain ugly and vicious, Deltaville was always there to soothe. Like the sacred Ganges River of India, the waters of the Rappahannock River and Sturgeon Creek healed.
There was an understanding from a young age that Deltaville would always be a part of our family. I can remember my grandmother explaining that as each person passed away, the house would be inherited by the children so that it would never leave the family. It's easy to think that's how things will go.
You trust your family to keep something so important, so ancient, so sacred- protected.
So not long after my last post at the end of September last year, the unthinkable happened. One of my father's sisters passed away unexpectedly. In the aftermath, my father said something I thought I would never hear, "Deltaville might have to be sold."
I can say that in that moment one of my worst fears was realized, and I went tail spinning into a depression unlike any other I have experienced. Still, there was hope that it wasn't a possibility. After all, my grandmother always said it was to be passed to each generation never to be sold. I held onto that belief.
The 1/3 share that was owned by my father's late sister was inherited by her husband and daughter equally. And to make a long and upsetting story shorter- they wanted a buy out. That seems simple enough. The house gets appraised and you offer the person an exact third of the appraisal and everyone is happy. Except people are greedy and vengeful, and they hold something you love hostage while they extort money from you. Because that's what family did here. That's what blood did. The blood that is supposed to value the family relationship above all else. Threats were made to petition the court to have the property sold at auction. It seemed bleak. I refused to go down there. We all just held our breath and waited.
Death is an awful thing for the living. It seems to bring out the worst in some. It feeds the darkest parts of a person, creating a monster that can do nothing but bring about pain and anguish to the already grieving. I'm certain there's a special place in hell for that sort of monster- a spot that lets them fester and rot alone.
On the opposite side of that coin, in situations like this you learn who really is blood. Sometimes it's actual family and sometimes it's just friends you've made there over the years. People who do what they can to help and offer assistance. This town has some really damn good people.
It's with a massive amount of relief and happiness that I can report as of this past Friday,
the house is safe.
Because when there's 368 years of history and untold happy memories, you do what you must to protect it.
As for blood being thicker than water,
the waters of the Rappahannock River and Sturgeon Creek proved to be far thicker than blood.
Give this a listen. I particularly relate to the line:
"I've been searching for something, taken out of my soul, something I'd never lose, something somebody stole"
I never had the pleasure of meeting my great-grandfather Monroe, and that's a sad thing because the stories about him are among my favorites. One in particular is my favorite and demonstrates what a character (scrapper) he was.
Monroe and his best friend M- joined the military back in WWI. They were sent to what is now Ft Lee for training. At the time, they had to wait for all the other newly enlisted men to arrive for the training to begin, so the men were entertained by setting up a boxing ring. There was a Lieutenant who was a big man and from accounts an excellent boxer. The main event was watching this LT take on anyone who was willing to fight him. One by one his challengers were knocked out and carried out of the ring. During all this, Monroe was watching the matches and dancing around with his fists up muttering to himself while he ducked and dodged as though he were in the ring. He even made the comment that he would take out that "SOB".
So when the last guy was carried out of the ring, the Lieutenant invited anyone who wanted to go a round to enter the ring. And before anyone else could make a move, Monroe was in the ring. It was the big burly Lieutenant against the small statured scrapper from Deltaville. The match began. Monroe began bouncing and moving on his feet. The Lieutenant took a giant swing at Monroe but Monroe ducked and the blow missed his head. But as he dodged, Monroe came up with a swift upper cut that hit the Lt square on the jaw. It's said that the Lieutenant was literally lifted off the ground by the blow and was knocked out. As he Lieutenant was carried away, Monroe turned to his friend and said, "I told you I'd knock out that SOB".
Each year near the anniversary of the Tulip disaster, the local Naval Base holds a memorial for the men lost and the 8 men buried at the site of the memorial.
These are artifacts from the U.S.S. Tulip presented at one of the memorial services by the archeologist who dove on the wreck. The slate pictured was one used by James Jackson who was my great-great-great grandfather. Many years ago while doing some genealogical research, my dad asked my great-great-grandmother about James. For a while she refused to discuss him and then one time she offered some information. She said that he had to join the Union Navy because the Confederates didn't want him. This information was hard to accept as the truth as the Confederacy was desperate for men. Needless to say, there are some feelings about the Civil War that still run high. Later there was some information that indicated James may have been forced into service with the Union. The Union needed men who knew the local waters to pilot their vessels. It was insinuated that they were encouraged by gunpoint. I can't say how true that is, but it certainly lends to a colorful family story. I do know that during Union raids on local farms along the water, the Jackson farm was spared because of James Jackson's service and the fact that it was his farm.
Either way, the memorial offers our family a chance to get together, share stories and remember those who served our country long ago.
