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© 2004 Scott K. Brown, Scott K. Brown Photography, Inc. Introduction Essay for Virginia 24/7 The Virginian By Roberta Vowell I fell in love with Virginia out of the rear window of a '59 Rambler. It was 1964, and our big family-six of us kids crammed in the back of a station wagon-was moving from the Midwest to a place we dimly understood was "The South." Dad zigzagged through Allegheny Mountain switchbacks, drifted down into the Shenandoah Valley, then aimed across the Piedmont hills and Tidewater marshes, straight into sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean. All the while he talked about the land we'd call home. People were different in Virginia, he said. And so they are. Conversation unspools slowly, and if you don't know what y'all means, you probably aren't y'all. They still eat fatback and greens and grits. Cradling these differences, the Tidewater retains a certain soft focus, a belief in manners and gentle rhythms, while Northern Virginia, aka suburban Washington, D.C., powers through on an adrenaline buzz. Meanwhile, small towns in between watch their clothing and furniture mills close one by one, and then head out to the track for the latest NASCAR race. Richmond's politicians argue heatedly about taxes and spending behind closed doors and emerge smiling, arm-in-arm-after all, they're Virginians. Virginians: Like the three young girls diving into the waves off Virginia Beach most every morning before school, sea spray tangling their hair, Valkyries with surfboards and Schwinns. Like the Navy F-14 pilot watching his son swing at a baseball on a Norfolk diamond, fretting about the slightly older boys he left back in Iraq. Like the woman with sorrow in her eyes, who lost her daughter to a murderer and now works on the parole board in Richmond, deciding who stays in prison and who goes free. Like the Culpeper writer who shoots down the spring-swollen Rapidan River with his faithful spaniel, Henry, in the bow. Like the couple up before dawn in a Stafford cul-de-sac, fueling up for a 32-mile, 90-minute bumper-to-bumper drive in the noxious stream of cars heading to the nation's capital. Virginians love the old rural ways, but they will entertain the notion of building a shopping mall on a Civil War battlefield. They love their wildlife, but you durn sure don't want to get in the way if they're fixing to gun it down. They love tradition, but they have the wit to tweak it, too. I became a Virginian. I suppose I talk funny. I like old things, and I'll dive into any argument. I order grits and greens, but hold the fatback and give me a slice of that Smithfield ham instead. ROBERTA VOWELL has been a newspaper reporter in Virginia for 23 years. She is currently a feature writer at The Virginian-Pilot in Norfolk. Browse    View All    The Virginian    Hearth & Home    Virginia at Play    Reason to Believe Photos: 129 Photographers: 39 Towns: 61

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