Hamilton - 1945-1949

In June every four years at the Annual Conference of the Methodist Church, ministers receive a new appointment by the presiding Bishop and families have to up and move to the new city or town where the church is located. When I was born in March of 1945, my parents were living in the little town of Covington--only 5.7 square miles in total land area. Covington is located in Alleghany County in the far western part of the State, a 45 minute drive to Roanoke's Jefferson Memorial Hospital where I was born and not too far from the Virginia/West Virginia line and in close proximity to The Homestead in Bath County and The Greenbrier in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, two fancy places lawyers like to brag about going for retreats. I was pleased to read that Covington's current mayor is not only female but the first African-American mayor of the town. Her name is Stephanie Ross Clark.



The summer of 1945, the Methodist Bishop sent my father to pastor the Methodist churches in Purcellville and Hamilton and that's where I spent the first 4 years of my life.  In doing some research,   I was surprised to find Hamilton and Purcellville on the state map very close together geographically and situated in the very northeastern tip of the state in Loudoun County.  Hamilton, once occupied by several Native American tribes, is only 40 miles west of Washington, D.C. and if you drive 12 miles southeast, you'll be in the town of Middleburg, which is horse country.  European settlers arrived there in the 1730s, I guess that's when the natives had to leave. 


The few memories I have of Hamilton are of the big white parsonage we lived in, the porch, the expansive front lawn that provided plenty of room to run and play, and a hammock tied between two trees in the side yard, perfect for afternoon naps.  I loved to feel the way the hammock would sway back and forth in the gentle breeze on warm summer days.  In exploring this new world one day I came upon a large dog who I probably tried to pet.  Instead he bit me, leaving a scar on my left hand just below my  thumb.  


When I was grown, I found 2 pictures taken of me in Hamilton--in one I am a toddler sitting alone in the sliding green and white rocker on the front porch and frowning at whoever is taking my picture.  In another, I am dressed in an Easter bonnet and suit, standing alone in the  front yard.  I wasn't smiling  then either.  I learned in Hamilton that the world was not a safe place -- dogs could bite.   Even though I had a brother who was 5 years older than me, I have no memories of him in Hamilton.  I have saved a photo of him laughing naked in a bathtub outside in the yard.