The first year we owned Glen Burnie there were no pears, so imagine our surprise when the next summer hundreds of pears appeared on the innocent looking tree between the kitchen and the pool house.
I have a history with pears. We had a pear tree when I was growing up and truthfully my entire family eventually loathed pears. Later, a wonderful client of Randy’s would gift us a box of pears every Christmas from Harry & David. My mother and grandmother always found this particularly funny. I would have been thrilled yo have any kind of fruit tree except for a pear tree.
For the last 3 years we have forcibly “gifted” pears to everyone we know – neighbors, friends and unsuspecting acquaintances. We bourbon poached 24 jars of pears last year – half of which are still in our refrigerator. So when a hard freeze in early spring derailed a lot of fruit trees we were actually hoping for a smaller crop. Nope – more than ever!
A chance meeting at the Historical Society has given us hope. An introduction to a local cider maker resulted in an offer to make sparkling peary out of this year’s crop. We enthusiastically accepted.
He came by the house to see the tree and was visibly shocked by the number of pears. We are picking 150 to turn into 5 gallons of sparkling peary.
This year our friends and neighbors will get a bottle of peary instead of a bag full of pears. I have a feeling our joy will be contagious!
John McClellan (1751-1775) was one of the first commissioned officers in the Continental Army from Cumberland County Pennsylvania. John was the first lieutenant in Captain Hendricks company of riflemen. His younger brother Daniel was a private in this same company.
John’s family had fled Scotland for the American colonies after the failed rebellion of 1715. Unlike many they apparently managed to hold onto a good portion of their wealth as they established themselves in central Pennsylvania. By 1775 John was 24 years old, married and had a daughter.
To celebrate receiving his commission, his parents had Richard Butler craft a tomahawk pipe for John to carry. Long rifles had no bayonets so a tomahawk was necessary equipment. In 1775 John’s company became part of Benedict Arnold’s expedition to Quebec.
The march was anything but pleasant. In October 1775 John McClellan wrote to James Chambers from Maine that he should be eternally grateful Washington did not send his company on what was surely the most miserable march ever. Less than a month later McClellan was dead of pneumonia and the tomahawk was given to his brother Daniel.
Daniel fought in the Battle of Quebec, was captured and the tomahawk was confiscated by a British officer. The tomahawk was purchased by the Earl of Warwick and displayed in the Tower of London. It remained in the Warwick collection until it was sold in 1997 to an American collector. The tomahawk was part of an exhibit that was at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington DC.
Daniel McClellan survived the war, returned to Pennsylvania and eventually migrated to Kentucky – where he was reputed to have the finest library in Bourbon County. John’s wife , Elizabeth Martin, never remarried and she lived under the protection of her father-in-law with her daughter Priscilla ,18 mos old at the time of her father’s death. Elizabeth passed away when Priscilla was 13. John’s sister Nancy McClellan Sanderson raised Priscilla to adulthood. Eventually she married David Grier and had 4 children of her own.
When experts describe the tomahawk pipe they tout its intricacies and remarkable condition. Much is made of the skill of Richard Butler and the beadwork of the Shawnee Indians with whom Butler traded. It is one of the very few tomahawks whose provenance is traceable which increases its value.
John McClellan is my DAR patriot ( since he only had one child tracing descent is easier). My oldest son also represents him in the Society of the Cincinnati. We both decided that he deserved to be honored and more importantly remembered for the sacrifice he made. When I see that artifact I don’t see an object of significant monetary and historic value. I see a 24 year old making a decision to fight for what he believed this country could become. I see a wife mourning the loss of her husband and a daughter growing up without her father. I see the people who fought and sacrificed so that there could be a United States of America. The value of the tomahawk pipe is in the story it tells.
Why do I collect? For me the answer to that question is easy – I collect things I love and things that evoke memories or people that I cherish. Collecting is not random or impulsive. It is gathering physical pieces that represent people, places and times in my life that are meaningful. The process itself often becomes a significant memory of time spent together and interests shared.
My love of blue and white began with a childhood fascination with the antique blue and white pieces my grandmother owned. I loved the story depicted on her blue willow transferware and fell in love with the old and storied rather than the new and shiny. I collect feather edged creamware, blue and white transferware and chinese export dishes. When my mother was 20 yrs old she got on a boat to Canton, China and a job at the US Consulate. I realized as an adult that my grandparents only allowed it because a much older Wise cousin was already there as a member of the Flying Tigers. The collection of mud men figures is in honor of the ones my mother brought home with her. Not all of them survived our childhood but a couple were still intact and I have added to the collection over time.
When we were finally empty nesters and our weekends belonged to us again, we started antiquing on the weekends in Charlottesville. Ran is generally a good sport about this and I reciprocate by attending an impressive number of UVA football, basketball and baseball games. At some point he began to hunt down really ugly or weird pitchers and we have an impressive collection. My favorite is the German lady with the fish and I still can’t think of anything I would want to drink that came out of that fish’s mouth.
I have a large collection of German smokers that my husband and sons gave me over the years for Christmas. Now that they are grown we gift them a different one each Christmas so that they have collections of their own.
At this stage of life I am refining my collections, paring them down to those pieces that hold the most special memories and only adding when I find something truly exceptional.
i come from a family of collectors and my older son and his wife have followed in this tradition so I know that those pieces that hold the most precious family memories will continue to be cherished by future generations.
In the end collections are really special pieces of your past that you can hold in your hand.
Houses don’t all immediately become “home”. There is a period of introduction between the owners and a new house as the house shows you what it needs and you begin to figure out how to accommodate those needs and yours in a way that satisfies both parties. Glen Burnie was a needy house. Neglect or indifference can kill a house just as surely as active destruction – the process is just slower and less obvious. We chose to honor what was original while creating comfortable spaces for modern living. Our design/build team was totally on board with this concept. Today the house looks like it did 200 + years ago but has a fully functional modern kitchen and 5 brand new bathrooms – none of which strike terror in the hearts of people who use them.
I have very definite tastes and style. I love walls. Defined spaces make me happy. Glen Burnie is a dream because the rooms are huge and have amazing light. The house functions as very open but each room or sections of the house can be closed off to be self contained spaces. When you have very large dogs who are pathologically friendly it helps to be able to separate them from unsuspecting visitors.To be blunt – we live here and that means the house is going to be littered with debris from everyday life. We leave mail on the lowboy in the entry hall as well as dropping shoes by the door and coats and packages on the bench. Truth be told, Randy is a stacker. He likes to leave little piles of his papers in various rooms. I like having drawers that I can pick them up and shove them in when the clutter gets to me. Now he has a whole wing of the house for his office and he can stack to his heart’s content. The only time he has to pick up is when the cleaners come.
We had our biggest struggle with paint colors precisely because you can see into all the rooms from the central hall. I didn’t want to paint everything the same so used varying shades of blue green from Benjamin Moore to tie everything together. I repeated the process upstairs. The original kitchen wing was considered separately so I used creams and white for those spaces. Not coincidentally this is the same color palette I used in our Fairfax Station home and our lake house. These colors are home for us – they tie together all the furniture, rugs and art that we own.
Over the last 48 years of marriage we have spent an extraordinary (Ran’s word choice) amount of time antiquing in Central Virginia. As a result most of the pieces we own come with a memory attached. There is something wonderful about walking into a room and having those memories surround you. We still laugh about the empire table behind the sofa in the parlor which we initially decided was too much trouble to load into the car but then went back for because it was just too good to pass up. I was right though – getting that thing in the car was a struggle of epic proportions, and getting it out was just as bad.
Today when someone comes to see Glen Burnie, they are not just seeing a wonderful historic home but also getting a crash course in who we are and what we love and that is exactly what home should be.
When we bought Glen Burnie we knew very little about the history of the house. The day we moved in was the day that former residents began to educate us. As we began to unpack prior to the renovation/restoration we had a series of experiences which convinced us that we were not alone in the house and these other occupants were opinionated!
The first thing we realized was that these folks did not particularly like George Washington. Day 1 a painting of Mt Vernon rose up off the mantle and tried to hit Ran in the back of the head. Later that same painting came off the wall for no reason and smashed into the dining room floor. We started to notice that small items would be moved in the house as if someone was inspecting them and occasionally relicating them to a preferred location.
As we began to meet people in the area we were often asked how we were getting along with the ghosts and it seemed like everybody had a story. Ran was skeptical while I started researching previous owners to try to pin an identity on our roommates. A lot of people have lived and died here, but since the spirits take a proprietary interest in the house and the time period fits, I focused on the original builder/owner and his family.
Elijah Hutchison is credited with expanding the original one over one dwelling into the manor house which was the centerpiece of a 950 acre plantation. He is buried in the cemetery along with his wife Louisa Minor (we think) and his grandson Chiles Terrell Barker Jr. Louisa was 35 when she married 52 yr old Elijah in 1822. She gave birth to her only child, Mary Louisa Hutchison, in 1823 and passed away in 1828. Elijah remained alone in the house until his death in 1841. Their daughter grew up at Bracketts, a nearby plantation owned by her aunt and uncle. Within 2 weeks of her father’s death Mary married her 1st cousin once removed Chiles Terrell Barker and moved back into Glen Burnie where she gave birth to 4 of her eventual 12 children. Her second son, Chiles Jr was born in 1845 and passed away in December of 1847. That spring his father began selling off parcels of land. By 1849 the family had relocated to Christian County Kentucky to a house they also named Glen Burnie. Today the Barker family still operates Barker Beef on the property.
During construction the ghosts delighted in playing tricks with the security system. Random doors would be left open according to the system and then miraculously close themselves at 2 am. Tools would be in different rooms than they were left. Workmen would put something down and later find it across the room or under a pile of blueprints. The front door would slam shut if anyone left it open for any length of time and occasionally it would open on its own as someone approached. By the time we finished everyone was a believer. They said Good Morning and Good Night to the unseen occupants every day.
we have heard so many different stories and have come to believe that mostly Louisa, Elijah and their grandson are still hanging out at Glen Burnie. Life short changed all 3 of them so I guess they have stayed to keep each other company and to keep an eye on us. So when the door opens or closes by itself, or the tvs randomly turn on in rooms we don’t use or the dog sits by a chair and stares at someone we can’t see, we just say hello and wish them well. They will most likely be here long after we are gone or just maybe we will linger too and keep an eye on future owners!
Glen Burnie is part of 16,000 acres of protected land in the Green Springs National Landmark Historic District. The property is stunning – pastoral views give way to vistas of the Southwest Mountains with magnificent sunsets. The pond is beautifully serene and we have some amazing trees, some of which are over 150 yrs old. The cows add a surprisingly homey touch to the pastures. The house has history, presence and potential.
We count ourselves fortunate to be caretakers of this wonderful place, although frequently a little out of our element. We are rapidly becoming familiar with farming courtesy of Google. The first calf prompted a rapid search to determine which part of the calf comes out first 😂. Turns out legs are okay. Bushhogging, haying, raking all have become part of our vocabulary. Turns out learning new things and acquiring new skills keeps you young and occasionally panic stricken.
The Bad
The process of restoring a 200 yr old house is like peeling layers off an onion – slow, painstaking and likely to produce tears. Glen Burnie has yielded its share of surprises but nothing so horrific that we regretted our decision to bring her back. The hvac, plumbing and electrical have for the most part been completely replaced. We have a sneaking suspicion that when something went awry with the plumbing in one bathroom the previous owners just moved on to the next one. One pretty horrific discovery was that the main sewage line leaving the house had been repaired using duct tape and corrugated garden drainage pipe 🤢. Our first experience with the absolutely hideous kitchen was that there was so much grease in vent hood filters that it dripped constantly onto the cooktop. I have not cooked or showered at the house since we bought it. Thank goodness that our lake house is only 15 miles away.
The Ugly
There are several inexplicable design choices which previous owners made at Glen Burnie. The master bathroom is missing a bathtub or shower effectively reducing it to a half bath. We met our bathtub at the neighbor’s house around the corner. It is a lovely antique cast iron claw foot tub. In its place the last owners built a bench . While the view from the bathroom window is lovely, I cannot fathom having the desire to spend a great deal of time hanging out in the bathroom looking out the window UNLESS you have a bad case of stomach flu and are just too damn tired to crawl back to bed. Last but not least are the alligators residing in tacky splendor atop the brick pillars at the entrance to the farm. Someone even took the time to paint their teeth white! I asked the president of the local preservation group if she knew the story behind them and she confessed ignorance. I have taken to dressing them up for holidays – santa hats at Christmas which prompted my husband to contribute elves for their mouths. Easter brought bunny ears and bows for their necks. The 4th of July is patriotic ribbon and flags. I shudder to think how I am going to make them into carnivorous Pilgrims for Thanksgiving.
Stay tuned for a look at the original builder and the families who have been privileged to call Glen Burnie home.
We are crazy – no other explanation or adjective comes close to encompassing the enormity of what we have done. As our friends have approached retirement, we have watched them sell their suburban houses in favor of a condo at the beach or on the ocean or the golf course. Some have opted for living in Old Town Alexandria within walking distance of shops, restaurants and the Potomac River. At the very least they have downsized from the substantial homes in which they raised their families to a dwelling which will accommodate occasional and short term visitors and demand far less from them as owners and caretakers.
We bought a farm . Actually we bought a 200 + year old house that just happens to come with 45 acres, a pond and river frontage. It also came with cows. Believe me when I say that this is not what we were looking for during the year we house hunted. We wanted a historic home in reasonably good repair on a few acres close to Charlottesville. We got a house built between 1780 and 1820 with systems in various states of disrepair on way too much land and farther from town than we wanted to be.
I think the house chose us. This property kept popping up on our radar as we looked at other properties. Our real estate agent had met with the owners about listing it months before we saw it and we had seen photos. Months later we were driving through the area checking out another piece of property and drove past the house. Two weeks later it showed up in the MLS and we decided to look. Three days after looking we were under contract. As bemused as our kids and we were by our choice, the inescapable fact was this place felt like home.
We had decided only a few days before that we were going to concentrate on selling our DCMetro area house and moving into our vacation house until we found the right house. The right house had other plans. Our home of 33 years sold in 3 days for 10% over asking ( super hot real estate market) and we were packed and ready to move 4 weeks later.
I packed, sorted, donated, cried and cursed my offspring who had left way too much of their childhood in our possession. We moved it all into 5000 square feet plus an outbuilding knowing full well we would have to do a lot of repacking when renovations began. That however is a story for another blog post or many blog posts …
Documenting our journey is a way to remind ourselves how blessed we are, how we should always find joy in the journey and how owning this house is seriously a dream come true.
The Persnickety Pilgrim 