Not Much Doin’ in Esmont, Virginia

Have you ever heard of Esmont, Virginia? I hadn’t until I found myself passing through on the way towards the tiny Rockfish post office.

How had I even heard of that? Really, what’s a suburbanite from Long Island with no connection to Virginia and whose only recollection of The Waltons was, “Goodnight, Johnboy” doin’ knowin’ about such things? …the Rockfish post office. I mean, c’mon. Surely this space in my brain was meant for something greater like quantum physics, time travel or how to will my legs to stop growing hair. That’d be useful! But, no. I’m cerebrally filing away rickety old post offices.

Oh well.

Were it not for the backroad whims I follow, I’d miss out on a lot of quiet moments in out of the way places. I s’pose that’s part of the beauty of not planning the fun out of everything. You find yourself meandering through places you wouldn’t generally have cause to be in otherwise.

I know I’d miss out on the wonderin’ about the life lived in those tucked away corners of the world if I didn’t slow my roll through places like Esmont.

Who was Miller? Where’d they go? I’ll just have to keep wondering.