Photography By Edwin Remsberg
The sign in front of the modest frame house tucked behind the cornfield confirms that I have indeed arrived at the Chestnut Cove B&B. It’s a comfort after the long drive over the lonely country roads of Virginia’s Northern Neck. More comfort arrives in the “person” of Kiah, the resident golden retriever, and from Bob, who shouts a greeting from his workshop. (That would be Bob Harris, co-proprietor of the place.)
When Barney, Bob’s friendly wife, ushers me inside in her stocking feet, I’m sure it’s gonna be a laidback two days. As I enter the open, airy family room, with its wall of windows and vaulted ceilings, I find Morratico Creek flowing serenely out back, the pillows on the comfy sofas plumped up, and a pile of picture books at the ready on the large coffee table. But the striking front door, with its three large stained glass panels in swirls of red, aqua, and white, reminds me that
I have come not to lounge about but to learn a new hobby at the B&B’s in-house studio, Zekiah Glass.
Barney taught stained glass classes when the couple lived in La Plata, Md., going back to art after several administrative jobs. But, she says, “Everyone is so busy, they would always miss one of the classes, and couldn’t finish a project.” So five years ago, when they decided to move away from the hustle and bustle of the D.C. suburbs, her one requirement was to have a home with a studio where she could offer a weekend dedicated to making art. A unique B&B was born.
Barney has coffee and freshly baked cookies waiting, but it’s time to get to the task at hand. I remember her admonition before I arrived to “relax and enjoy the getaway, and get my creative juices flowing” as we head down to the studio, a garage-sized workspace on the front of the house. We start out at the drafting table, talking about my color preferences, what general subjects I’d like to create, and where my finished piece might go in the house. Then she puts pencil to paper and pulls a design from my brain, channeled through her creative hand. We have a “cartoon,” the blueprint for my artwork—an abstract leaf measuring ten-inches wide by almost two-feet high.
Picking the glass is like shopping, but better—no trying on. There is a rainbow of color choices, made more complicated by varieties of texture and weight, all lined up in bins under the worktable. Some glass sheets are new, about two-feet square; others smaller remainders from previous projects. Then there are the pieces that ended up in the “weird drawer” (Barney stores her supplies in an eight-foot-high wall cabinet of drawers salvaged from a naval base). These are striking: opaque with multicolor swirls or clear with floating leaves or striped, and so on. Before we know it, it’s lunchtime, and we’ve yet to make a cut. But our creative plan is in place. Besides being a talented artist, Barney’s a good cook. Our gourmet-grade lunches, which we enjoy in the new sun room off the kitchen, are healthy affairs: strawberry and spinach salad with poppy seed dressing; chicken, tomato, and onion salad with strawberry and kiwis on the side. I force myself to have dessert just for the energy I know I’ll need: a small heart-shaped devil’s food cake with whipped cream one day, a bite-sized cream puff the other.
As it turns out, I do need it. As the more industrial part of this creative endeavor gets going—the cutting, the grinding, the grozing—I realize that I’m in for some manual labor. The good news is that the time flies. This really is a hoot, if a little scary. I’m surprised that I can take the cutting tool, a pistol-grip cutter with a small diamond wheel at the end, and actually make a successful score in the glass along the pattern piece. I can wield the running pliers and snap off a curved piece as much as eight-inches long without it shattering into a million pieces. The grozier, a plier-like tool that grabs the smaller bits with a vengeance, even gets comfortable in my hand. OK, it takes all afternoon, but what’s five hours to learn a new skill?
The geese are honking, the signal of day’s end, as the sun sets over the field. It’s time to kick back. Inn visitors usually head off to nearby Warsaw or Tappahannock for dinner on their own; Barney and Bob send most to The Oaks over in Lively. But they take pity on this single visitor and share with me their potpie and a host of stories before I head off to an early bedtime.
I have the Rivah Room, with a view of the creek out the back. There are just two rooms here (each has its own bathroom), and they are small by design. Truth is, you’re not spending much time there. (If you’re not in the studio, there are acres to explore—eagles and otters and the like are regulars.) But I’m happy to retire to my waterfront room. It’s restful, decorated in shades of green, with tasteful artsy touches: fishes painted in the alcove, hanging on the wall, and in the design of the shower curtain; a mermaid mirror and wall hanging. The Storybook Room is a bit smaller but still warm in shades of sage and butter, with a castle quilt on the wall and sailing frigates in the large wallpaper borders.
The artists’ touches are elsewhere in the house, from several ornate carousel horses in stained glass (made by Barney) to a breakfront full of Bob’s blown glass space vehicles. Their love of glass traces back to Bob’s career at NASA, where he fabricated scientific pieces, graduating to creating unique sculptures and replicas, awards for space heroes like John Glenn and several presidents.
When Bob’s not helping out in stained-glass class (they can accommodate up to four if both help), he races model aircraft, regularly competing in national and international competitions. He turned that into a business, too: teaching guests to fly a model helicopter (a surprisingly complicated skill using sophisticated computer controls). Couples can split their time, with one out in the field and the other in the studio.
Day two arrives with the smell of fresh coffee brewing. I think about a quiet morning stroll down to the dock, but I’m drawn to the kitchen instead. After a cheery breakfast with bacon, eggs, homemade scones, and freshly squeezed orange juice, we head down to the studio to complete the assembly of the stained-glass puzzle. Van Morrison croons over the speakers as we finish my abstract leaf in shades of wine and jade. I wish my husband were here to see me with that 750-degree soldering tool, making quick work of the joints—silvering, beading, applying the patina, all those finishing touches.
I didn’t get any reading done; I didn’t even sleep late. But I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I made myself proud.
Chestnut Cove B&B / Zekiah Glass
511 Oakley Ln.
Farnham, Va.
804-394-3142 or http://www.zekiahglass.comm
Room rates:
Storybook: $120 single, $186 double; Rivah: $140 single, $206 double (rates include breakfast and lunch).
Stained-glass class: $195/person, plus specialty glass of your choosing.
A day-long model helicopter flight class: $260, with an overnight and meals included
