This blog is intended to entertain by describing the town I live in and love, as I see it. That, of course, doesn't mean all of my opinions are shared, or, indeed, that any are shared. But, it is such a great place, with all its quirks and colorful people, that I hope you'll enjoy my descriptions, both factual or highly exagerated!
Middleburg is beautiful small town in Virginia's Piedmont. Almost story book in this era of chain stores, Middleburg has worked hard to retain its historic architectural presence, despite its position less than an hour from Washington, D.C. Undeniable charm floats from the stone, white washed brick and subtle stucco homes and businesses along busy Route 50, which also makes up Main Street.
Often called the capital of horse country, Middleburg is actually more of a geographic area, than a town, as so many of those who call the bustling Post Office their own live on large, glorious farms down narrow, windy gravel roads that intertwine across this fox hunting mecca.
But, as once described in The Washington Post, there are also a lot of "wannabes" that wrestle and wrangle for Middleburg P.O. boxes, hoping that will grant them the "cache"of living in Middleburg. They really live 20 miles away in new fake brick mansions plunked in the middle of old cow pastures with nary a tree or a bush, the victims and, at the same time, instigators, of land-scarring development. Glance at the Sunday Post real estate ads and there will be ads for homes near Middleburg, that are really closer to West Virginia.
At any rate, to live in Middleburg does mean something. Those in the NEQ (Northeast Quadrant) of these United States may not know much about Virginia, other than from history books, but they have often heard of Middleburg. Perhaps they ride, or perhaps their prep school roommates or State Department friends have weekended at a colleagues country home here. Somehow they know Middleburg, just like they "know" New Canaan or Newport. If you are from Middleburg, they nod as you might be "one of them", surrounded by this delightful aura of the "old money club".
Truly, Middleburg is a great place to live, which is why those in the know of classic old-time luxury and "good taste" have heard of it. Those rich fox hunters from Orange County, New York, weren't looking for an ugly place to ride to hounds; they found the best. It is a place of extraordinary rural beauty for and because of the old horsey set that shined it up and the new horsey set that works feverishly to preserve the land through conservation easements. The billowing open fields, once kept in crops or for grazing by the old money co-mingling with real farmers, are what make this area so attractive. Yet the people that are moving here because of those fields, are the ones chopping them up into tic-tac-toe boards.
Middleburg is the playground for the equine-inclined, and for those who envy them. Tourists and newcomers able to buy into this dream can be recognized because they look like they see themselves with one foot up on a three board fence, wearing what they think is the just-right "perfectly casual" fall look for that fabled fantasy country weekend a la Ralph Lauren. Especially in the fall, ladies who want to look what they think is the Middleburg part walk around town in faux riding boots, wearing only colors from the autumn pallette. Their attractive male companions dutifully seek to achieve the Prince Charles at Ballmorral look, tweed and oil skin jacket, little tweed cap flat as road kill...
Its that same trying to be the real thing, but not quite getting it, that is causing Middleburg to crumble. The same overly pressed and fresh from the box look just isn't right, whether its in clothing or the horsey "estates" that want to be "part of the lifestyle". It is causing the demise of why everyone wants to live here by fencing and cross fencing and building mega-homes even thought the kids will be off to college in a few years. Ten or even 20 acres sounds huge in Great Falls or New Jersey, but here it is taking an open field, a breath-taking fox hunting gallop, and chopping it up...destroying the very land they moved here for.
We would certainly rather have small horse-farmettes than those sterile backyards that bare witness to the fact that the family never leaves its air-conditioned media room. They may peak out their copper covered bay window occassionally, but play outside? Never. So, yes, build your farmette, if you must, but do your best to help preserve what you can. Plant some trees. (the late Ambassador Charles Whitehouse wrote a fabulous booklet on how to care for hunt country- no pretentious gates! no street lights at night to bother the nocturnal animals! Find a copy.)
So, just as a real Middleburger would never put up huge gate posts and electronic gates to proclaim their property, in a human version of an old hound lifting his leg, I will admit that "real Middleburgers" are tryng their best to be subtle, to not stand out. You may be among the richest in town, but a real Middleburger does not need to brag. The best houses are those you can't see. The richest people aren't afraid to be seen at the Safeway in muddy boots and pet fur encrusted pants, perhaps even with helmet head hair after a day outside on a horse or tending to their own animals. Face lifts and highlights are discreet. Make-up is minimal. This is the anti-Beverly Hills.
I always think of Garrisson Keillor and consider Middleburg a place where "the men are good-looking, the women are strong, and all the kids are above average". The next few blogs, we'll talk about that and all things Middleburg, from clothing to dogs to schools.
