Lexington is the home of the Virginia Military Institute and Washington & Lee. It’s a beautiful little college, looks a lot like an English village. Today, we spent the day in Rockbridge County, where the Porters had their homestead. The cabin pictured at the side was built here and moved to San Antonio in the 1950s. Bob and I are standing by a cabin built at the same time and was on the hotel property where we stayed. The next photo tells that Sam Houston was born here and his dad gave the land for the church. Mr. Robert Houston was an elder at the same time as Wm. Porter, Sr.; and Sam Houston was born the same year as Wm. Porter, Jr. We attended church at the Timber Ridge Presbyterian Church—the 250-year-old church where our ancestors attended and were elders, deacons or whatever the Presbies call them. It was a lovely service and had all familiar hymns. The members were very friendly; many were descendants of some of the originals. Probably a couple of them were sixth cousins, twice removed. It had a cemetery, but we found no recognizable ancestors.
However, we met the church historian who showed us to their library where the artifacts were displayed. We found a reference to William Porter Senior and Junior, Benjamin Porter and his wife, Jean Black Porter; her family ( Rev. Samuel Black) started Blacksburg and Virginia Tech. I digress, so back to the church.
A group of Scot-Irish came across the Blue Ridge Mountains and settled in the Shenandoah Valley. It’s absolutely gorgeous and I cannot believe they left this lush, green valley to go to points West. The Porters were contemporaries of Sam Houston’s family whose homestead was very close to the church. Robert Houston donated the land for the church. Since they were celebrating their 250th anniversary, they had made commemorative plates with a drawing of the church on them. Bob and I bought one each. (Correction from Richard: The Scot-Irish didn't cross the Blue Ridge. The Brits were in the Tidewater I(coastal) areas and the SI on the other side of the state . They'd gotten there by sailing up the Delaware River into what is now southeastern PA, around York. Whilst they were there, one Benj. Borden got a huge grant and to encourage settlements in that area opened it to ONLY those who were not presently living in VA. The SI were the recipients of this largess. The only folks who crossed the formidable Blue Ridge Mtns in those days were surveyors and soldiers.)
After lunch at the Southern Inn, we went back to our rooms, had a quick nap and then went out to the Natural Bridge. George Washington had surveyed this area (which was the untamed West at the time). He carved his initials in the side of the canyon; we could where it was, but I couldn’t make out the initials. We walked about three miles yesterday from the visitors center, under the natural bridge and on to the waterfall at the very end of the trail. The creek (more like a river) was called Cedar Creek. Along the trail, we saw a reconstructed Monacan Indian village, a butterfly garden, a green snake chasing a little frog and about a gazillion gnats.
We loaded up on Virginia ham and wine, then we made our way back to the hotel where we picnicked in the boys’ room. We’ve had way too much fun making fun of each other and calling each other by our nicknames. Our granddad, Hugh Porter, had a nickname for everybody, except me. Bob was Chongo, Gary was Cholo, Richard was Beau-Dick, our Mother, Lillian, was Susie. Go figure! He didn’t give me a nickname, so Bob has started calling me Jay-Roo. If you don't know the reference, I'm not going to tell you!
Bob also told me a story about Granddad: when Bob and Gary were little, if Granddad made them cry, he would take off his Stetson and offer to let them hit him on the head. They always said, “no, no, Granddad, we love you; we wouldn’t hit you.” Evidently, he made me the same offer when I was about two years old; he gave me a golf club and I cold-cocked him. I suppose that was the last time he offered to let any of us hit him on his old bald head.
