I’ve returned to Bluemont, Virginia to put my 1827 stone Colonial house on the market. When I left Zambia 12 days ago I hadn’t considered selling; I was coming back to supervise a changeover of tenants. But when I walked into the house last Monday — completely empty for the first time since I bought it in 2003 — the word “SELL” hit me so hard I couldn’t ignore it. It was as if the house was giving me an out, pleading with me to walk away from my past in order to fully embrace my life in Livingstone.
“You no longer belong here,” the house whispered. Twelve years after buying it I realized it was right.
Carrington House has always spoken to me. Three previous owners I met when I lived there agreed that it had spoken to them, too. The owner of the house before me lived in it the same number of years I did, and we each made the decision to buy it on exactly the same day, nine years apart. It was in the middle of August. Today, that owner is my realtor. We both shed a tear when we met on Tuesday to discuss the way forward, but we were also reassured by a shared belief that the house had a knack for choosing its next owners.
That I am publishing this post on the first anniversary of starting my blog is fitting. I’m grateful to be writing about letting a place go that, through its unassailable tough love, forced me to grow into myself. I’m strengthened by this cathartic exercise in detachment: an energy clearing that invites in the new owners. It is also blessing a house that led me to my passion for food; a small acreage that invited me to succumb to the therapeutic joy of burying one’s bare hands into soil; a place that dared me to explore the Blue Ridge mountains beyond, and in doing so led me to trust in the healing powers of the natural world.
Leaving Carrington House in 2012 nearly undid me; I thought I’d be in it for the rest of my life. But in the end, after serious financial hardship, I was forced to make way for tenants. I didn’t know then that such a wrenching decision would steer me to a new path … to a charmed life I could previously only imagine, with a man whom I’d always loved, back on the continent from where I’d originated.
Even now I wonder how or why I ended up in Carrington House. It was a good hour’s drive from Washington, D.C., where I worked as the head of a pro-democracy organization. It was like the house called me in, as I mentioned earlier. That it found me, disregarding the fact I wasn’t then an American.
Yet this is the most American of houses. It was built alongside a road that began as a trail forged by the Iroquois Indians when they hunted in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, on land that later belonged to George Washington’s half-brother, John, in a village that played a part in both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. In the Civil War, the house sat in the foothills of a strategic pathway called Snicker’s Gap, between the much fought-over Shenandoah Valley and Union-occupied Northern Virginia. It bore witness — and played host — to both Confederate and Unionist soldiers.
In a written history of our village — which in the 1800s was called Snickersville — it said that an eye-witness, Thomas Osburn of the town, then age 15 or 16, recalled “A Sunday Morning Fight in Snickersville” that took place March 6, 1864:
“Twenty-three New York cavalrymen were surprised by fifteen 6th Virginia cavalrymen under Lt. Joseph A. Gibson and including James Fleet of Snickersville resulting in twenty of the Union horsemen being either killed, wounded, or captured. Sergeant Alfred Caine had been ordered by his Union captain in Hillsboro to take 4 corporals and 18 privates to meet at Purcellville a larger band pursuing a Confederate force near Waterford… The Union dead were placed in the Snickersville church that evening, to be retrieved by men from their unit. The wounded were cared for by Snickersville women in their homes.”
My house was named for Timothy Carrington, an English entrepreneur who finished building it in 1827 and died shortly thereafter. By an interesting coincidence my paternal great-grandfather was called Douglas Carrington Boyle. Some of my English cousins still carry the name today, and I recall how my aunt was genuinely taken aback when I informed her I’d bought Carrington House.
The dining room started out as a tavern, and continued as one for over a century. Its fireplace and wooden floors, the boards worn and uneven, tell a story, at least to me, of talk about livestock and harvesting and military planning; of knocking back home-brewed whiskey and brandy; of fiddle-playing and boot stamping. It’s a masculine room that sits in stark contrast to the Wedgewood blue drawing room across the hallway, where the afternoon sun shines through the deeply-set windows onto a once-scalloped wooden floor and the finely carved mantel—a mantel that in its intricacy illustrates a sophistication uncommon in a 19th century rural American village.
During Bluemont’s glory days as a resort town at the turn of the 20th century — when rich Washingtonians would escape to the mountaintop for cool air in the hot, humid summers — Carrington House was renamed the Virginia House. At the time it was owned by Mrs. Mollie Weadon, who ran a boarding house and was renowned for the food she served. Of all the owners, she lived in the house the longest: from 1891 to 1944.
Following her death the house fell into disrepair, but was saved in 1966 by a former CIA operative and his wife, who had the foresight to recognize its historic significance. They bought it for $7,500, returned the house to its original name, and spent 16 years restoring it, traveling out from McLean most weekends to oversee the finer details, which included installing modern conveniences. They also added a large, well-appointed addition, which today is used as the master bedroom. After living in it for only a few years, they passed the house on to a new owner in the 1980s. Since the restoration, I am the third person to own it.
The basement in the house was once the kitchen, and is still home to a large stone fireplace on which you can cook. My beloved neighbor, Betty Colbert, who has lived next door to Carrington House for over 80 years, told me that as a child she spent many hours in the kitchen with Mrs. Weadon’s venerable African-American cook, Louise Grayson.
In just over a decade Carrington House, built mainly with materials taken from the ground around it, will be 200 years-old. The house was completed before California became a state, or David Livingstone discovered Victoria Falls in southern Africa. It has survived wars, depressions, and even a plane crash into the side of the Blue Ridge mountains in the 1970s. In its lifetime presidents have been assassinated, slavery was abolished, women were given the vote, and a man walked on the moon.
No wonder it speaks to me. It’s been a teacher, an old friend, a womb. Carrington House provided succor after I was banned from Zimbabwe for my pro-democracy work; after my family home was stolen at gunpoint and destroyed. As I later wrote: “I made a decision to buy my first house—to commit to grafting my African scion onto American rootstock—just before the land that had grown me was seized from my farming family’s guardianship forever.”
That commitment to graft my African scion onto American rootstock was illustrated when I became a U.S. citizen on the ninth day of the ninth month of the ninth year of the 21st century: 090909. But what I never foresaw then was how that graft would be ultimately severed by the country’s worst financial downturn since the Great Depression.
What I’ve learned since leaving Carrington House is that when you finally let go, when you admit defeat and completely surrender, oftentimes something far more magical emerges. I’m living proof. That said, I still love my old house, and I hope that whoever buys it next will love it as much as I did.
For anyone interested in viewing the house, please call +1 540-554-4821, or email annabel@annabelhughes.com. You can also reach me via the Contact button above or on Facebook at SavannaBel. Please also feel free to share this post with anyone you think might be interested.
31 Comments
What a beautiful home, and post. Somehow, I just know someone special will buy it.
Thank you, Michelle. I really hope someone wonderful will buy it. This was one of the most challenging posts I’ve written to date. That said, I’m having fun being back in the Land of the Free! All the best to you … Annabel
What a wonderful tribute, Annabel. That house is lucky to have had your love and reverence.
Thank you so much for your super-kind comment, Jennifer. It means so much to me at this poignant time. All the best to you … Annabel
Wow, Bella, what a big decision, but Carrington House was there for you when you needed it, and you now have a new and wonderful life in Livingstone. This is where you now belong. I am so pleased to have stayed at Carrington House and the beautiful garden you created. Easter Sunday in Snickersville is something I shall never forget!! Please remember me to Betty and lots of love to Cynthia too (and Dudu!). Very best of luck with the sale and it will be a sad release, but an even bigger commitment to Chris and your life in Livingstone. Much love, Kate xxxx
Ah, Kate … my special pal. Thanks so much for your lovely comment. I too am so pleased you got to stay in my lovely American house, but what you say is true. I am in the right place at the right time and for this reason I feel so grateful. I hope you’re feeling better and this comes with much love to you … xo
Annabel, what a wonderful homage to Carrington House and Bluemont. You not only enriched our little town with your “Coming to America” you changed everyone who came to know you., especially in our little gully of a neighborhood. When I met you at Cynthia & Antony’s bonfire party, you met Cheyenne who was expecting puppies soon & you made me TRIPLE promise you could have a pup, I knew things would never be the same in our little village! I remember so many good times at your home, sitting in the kitchen while you “threw together” eye dazzling delicious meals with Dudu running in & out hoping a morsel would hit the floor! I remember hours of sitting by your fireplaces, sipping wine & delighting at how special Carrington House was & how lucky you were to have found each other after your heart wrenching loss of your family home in Zimbabwe. I know Carrington gave you a safe haven & a chance at a new beginning, a chance to dig in the dirt, save an old cabin, explore the hiking trails across the creek & make a difference, as you do wherever you go. Your tenacity & vision made it happen. I’m happy you are where you are meant to be & I will see you again somewhere! Whoever is lucky enough to be the new caregiver of Carrington House will be more blessed than they can imagine!
You’ve made me bawl my eyes out, Sandi Wickersham! Such wonderful memories … and oh how we laughed! Special, special Cheyenne. When I was going through my photographs to use in this post, I found a selection from the time the pups were born. There was even one of Jasper, too! My goodness that dog of yours gave birth to cute puppies! And only you know how Dudu has enriched my life. Lastly, I agree with you: the new caregiver of Carrington House will be so, so blessed. Much love to you on the left coast … xo
What a beautiful post, Annabel. I can’t wait to meet the people who choose your house!
Thank you, Cynthia … whoever they are will be fortunate that you live just up the road!
Wow, Carrington House looks stunning, and yet again Bella, what a beautiful description of a house with a history and a soul. It clearly made a significant contribution to your history and soul. Sounds like you have closure – how wonderful – the new chapter has already begun! Good luck with the sale, although it doesn’t seem as if you’ll have too many difficulties there – a remarkable property.
Dearest Bridgey, thank you for your kind comment. Owning this house made me the person I am today. It also led me to where I am today. I let it go with absolute gratitude! xo
Well it’s easy to see how you fell in love with Carrington house. It oozes charm and character. The garden is lovely and I am sure some like minded people will love it the way you did.
A hard decision to make, but life moves in mysterious ways and when one door closes another opens.
Exactly, Gillian … I really do believe that, too. It’s a beautiful house in a beautiful setting. Thank you once again for your very kind comment. All the best to you … Annabel
Interesting brave and heartwarming you are an inspiration Savanabel
Thank you so much for your sweet comment, Carrie … x
I know how you feel, Annabel. All buildings speak to me – especially Domestic ones. My heart was broken when I had to sell a beloved turn of the century (20th) cottage in Simon’s Town, into which I had poured a lot of myself. Improving, renovating…I was never going to leave. Well, I had to and in the process learned that actually, you never ‘own’ a house. You act as a Caretaker until it no longer needs you and you have to move on. In this case I designed and built a Cottage in Franschoek, but never lived in it. It too passed on to someone. I returned to the Country that had grown me up – Rhodesia, but with a different name….Zimbabwe. What’s in a name ! The Country will be there long after we all have gone, You see, you can never own a Country either, just like a house ! Zim was good to me – I started my own Practice and had 10 good years and bought a house in Old Milton Park. 41 Lawson Avenue, spoke to me too and gave me an office and eventually a home when I was going through a lot of turmoil. It looked after me. I was never going to leave it. It would be my home forever. When the dogs of war were again unleashed in that Country, I had no option but to become an exile again and go working where I could get work – the Gulf, Australia, but I was always going to come back one day to our 41 Lawson Ave. The house was good to two Farming Families and then an old lady, who needed shelter. We didn’t charge rent, they just maintained the property and looked after it. In actual fact, the house was looking after them ! One, year, when I was back getting my passport stamped and visiting friends, as we do every year, we went to pay respects to the House and walk around. It was then that I was spoken to, again, like you and I realised that we were both ready to let each other go. The House and me. We spent a year again in Zim in 2013, hoping to make a ‘go of it’ and me starting my Practice again and settling back where we belong. Not to be. But I drove past no. 41, 3 or 4 times a week. I looked every time at my home, which is now providing a roof over a commercial enterprise, and I felt sad…but inside, I know that 41. will continue.
And what of us ? Well, I know that we are not finished with Africa, or conversely, Africa is not finished with us. I do know, that we will never leave it. It’s in our hearts and we must just be in exile for another couple of years and maybe the time will be right this time and we can come home. We will die in Africa.
Thank you for sharing this, John. I guess the most important lesson out of all of this for me is understanding how very changeable life can be, making it all the more necessary just to be in it now … to be present and grateful for what is happening today. I do feel so lucky for having lived in such a beautiful place for nine years.
John, how your story resonates with mine… from parting with your precious house in Zim, to your wanderings in exile, to your longing to come home one day to your place in Africa. Different names and places, same story. Heartwarming to read.
Wow Annabel, this is really interesting. I adore old houses ! I am sure you will find a buyer, and it will be the right one too.
Thank you, Chitaitai. I love old houses, too … and was blessed to have lived in this one for nine years. As I wrote in the post, it’s like the house finds its next owner, so hopefully it will be the right one! All the best to you, Annabel
A lovely story, a gorgeous house, and a truly beautiful garden. Very brave of you to let it all go.
Thank you for your lovely comment, dendymactoodle. As one reader pointed out, it is the polar opposite of where I live now … but where I am now is exactly where I want to be. Some other lucky person will, I hope, enjoy this old house as much as I once did. All the best to you, Annabel
Loved reading about the fascinating history of your house Annabel and how it shaped your life. It is a magnificent house indeed. Consoling to know that the time is right for you to part with such a treasure. Hope all goes well.
Yes … it’s amazing when you ‘feel’ these sorts of things. We had some fun times in this beautiful house. Thank you for your kind comment, vlermeisie. All the best to you, Annabel
What a beautiful home Annabel – and your garden is spectacular- just like Galloway! Your mum must have loved visiting you. I would be very sad to say good bye to such a beautiful home and good luck on the right buyers for it!
Thank you so much for your kind comment, Mandy. It was indeed a lovely home … but it’s time to let someone else enjoy it now. All the best to you, Annabel
I wish I needed to move because that is one gorgeous house. I’ve always been drawn to that style of homes as well. And you’re obviously a spectacularly talented gardener as well! Good luck to you. I’m sure some one special will fall in love with that home.
Thank you for stopping by again, chef mimi. For me, this old house was like a dear friend … as I said in the post. It was here that I learnt to garden, actually … and then of course I fell in love with it and couldn’t stop! I am hoping someone special will move in soon and love the house like I did. All the best to you, Annabel
Fascinating, as ever. All power to YOU, possum
Thank you, Lynne, for your very sweet comment. All the best to you, Annabel
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