Virginia can be a treasure when the weather's right

First, a nod to the weather gods: Many thanks for a delightful start to July.

No doubt a hot, humid blanket of air is about to drop in and suffocate us. But right now, it seems more like September than July.

If you aren't grateful for this relatively cool climatic caress, I bet I know why: You have no visitors in your guest room.

I do.

Since June, I've hosted a steady stream of sun worshippers from as far away as Europe. They've been enjoying themselves almost as much as I have.

It has to be the weather. It can't be my cooking.

Spend enough time with tourists and you begin to notice things. Interstate 64, for instance.

Oh, how we locals complain about that hunk of highway Hades. The traffic. The construction. The delays.

But when the tunnel is not congested, when construction's at a minimum and traffic is flowing, when the sun is out and the sky is blue, that ribbon of road connecting us to the mountains can be - dare I say it? - bucolic.

Cruising along the interstate en route to Charlottesville this week with a friend from Ireland, I suddenly noticed the vast expanse of green on either side.

It happened around Williamsburg, when my passenger wondered, "How far back does this forest extend?"

I had to confess I wasn't sure.

About 45 minutes past Richmond, when the first glimpse of the mountains rolled into sight, I heard a gasp.

"I'd like to be up in a helicopter to see how vast all this rugged territory is," he said wistfully. "It seems to go on forever."

Our destination was Monticello. Once there, the view from Jefferson's beloved home was stunning and unspoiled. Crowds were sparse, the tour guides unhurried, and we were able to linger at the Jefferson cemetery on the hillside.

Later, we strolled the grounds at the University of Virginia, explored the dome room of the Rotunda, and stood on the steps of that iconic building to gaze across the lawn toward Jefferson's mountain.

"Virginia is quite something," my friend said, as we turned the car eastward.

I agreed.

Suddenly, I felt like a 10-year-old again, heading home from a vacation in the family station wagon with a tri-cornered hat stuck on my head.

"Why can't we live here?" I asked my father as we puttered along Skyline Drive.

"Because we're from New Jersey," he replied proudly. "It's where we belong."

Speak for yourself, I thought.

But that was a long time ago.

A perfect day this week in the Old Dominion? Almost.

As we approached Newport News, the yellow caution lights were flashing and ordering us to turn on our AM radio for an important message.

Alas, the traffic alert was inaudible. "Virginia's smart traffic system," I sighed, wondering what sort of snarled mess was ahead.

False alarm. We sailed home.

Home... all these years later, I'm still glad it's in Virginia.

Kerry Dougherty, (757) 446-2306, kerry.dougherty@cox.net