Face to Face With Rappahannock's Rural Charms

Clyde Humphrey, co-owner of West Wind Farm in Castleton, Va., communes with one of his 23 llamas. (West Wind Farm)

Nutrient-rich compost might be just the thing a rare Japanese maple sapling needs for impressive growth. And a few miles away is a husband-and-wife team that grows exceptional maples in a stunning setting.

In a secluded hollow near the town of Washington, Francie and Henry Eastwood have amassed more than 300 varieties of Japanese maple trees, in both greenhouses and field rows, on their 60-acre farm, purchased in 1971 as a weekend retreat. At Eastwoods Nurser ies , prices start at $10 for a common seed-grown red maple in a six-inch container; they climb to a whopping $50,000 for a breathtaking mature lace-leaf cultivar not much taller than a big SUV.

How did two former commercial photographers from Capitol Hill wind up specializing in maples, of all things?

"It was a process of elimination. We first tried tomatoes, then pumpkins, then pigs. From one marginal business to another," says Henry, 63, who this day is sipping a Guinness stout under an open-sided tent.

As they tell their story, in the late 1980s the Eastwoods noticed that a growing number of people around the county were raising Christmas trees.

"And I said, 'I like maples,' " says Francie, also 63. "More and more people have smaller yards."

Japanese maples also do well in containers and, with their graceful, slow growth, easily take on the appearance of a fastidiously pruned bonsai.

Like the llama junkies, there are connoisseurs who show the maples and collect varieties. (Many come from the Carolinas and Ohio, where there is a large Japanese maple following.) On a stroll with Henry through a greenhouse, I marvel at the feathery varieties and at variegated trees in shades of yellow, orange, green and burgundy. Some don't look like maples at all.

That's when Eastwood stoops down next to one of his favorites, a gorgeous suminagashi. Cupping a deeply divided, blazing-red leaf in one hand, he says, softly, "This is an orderly mind's idea of perfection." At Eastwoods, there is great love of plants.

There is more love nearby.

Just outside the town of Sperryville, in a restored Civil War-era log cabin, John Hallberg, 43, shares his affection for mead and music. This fall will mark the 10th anniversary of Hallberg's tiny Smokehouse Winery, which produces less than 1,000 gallons of honey wine per year. It's also the home of the winemaker's dulcimer museum .

On average, in fair weather, about a dozen people per weekend stop in. Hallberg says many are "mead geeks" who come by for a sample and then shoot the breeze about everything mead.

"They want to know how long it has been fermented [eight months], what kind of yeast I use [champagne] and the type of honey [it varies per batch; he likes to experiment]," says Hallberg as he pours a taste, which goes down smooth, like a light, sweet sherry. A bottle sells for $15.

I'm not familiar with the dulcimer. "It's similar to a fretted zither," he says, which doesn't help me much. Displayed proudly on a wall are 20 of the stringed wooden instruments, native to the Appalachian Mountains.

"I play if they ask, give a strum or two and see if they're interested," says Hallberg, taking a seat on a stool.

The sound brings Celtic music to mind. Like the mead, the vibrations are sweet and typical of the surprises that wait up many a hollow in the Rappahannock hills.