Hargrave in the fall

It is a cool 43 degrees today and windy here in northern Virginia. The leaves on the trees are spectacular in their range of colors. Halloween and Thanksgiving are just around the corner. For some reason, it just feels like Hargrave today. I sense this powerful desire to go find my black jacket.

I recall always being cold. There was certainly nothing warm and cozy about the barracks. I can still feel the icey wind blowing through the obviously poorly caulked window in our (... my roommate was Fernando Manrique of Colombia) room. That old radiator (great for drying socks and underwear) beneath our window sometimes gave off sufficient heat and sometimes very little. I guess it depended on how well the boiler was functioning on a given day. Those old standard-issue wool blankets (dark olive color) were adequate, but it took a while to warm up once you slid into bed.

Getting up in the chilly mornings before the sun rose and standing in formation waiting to march to the mess hall for a powdered eggs breakfast certainly didn't give me a toasty feeling either.

Yet, there exists a strange longing in my gut for southern Virginia, Chatham and Hargrave in the fall... cold hallway floors and bathrooms and all.