Frog Level

I kept a promise this week.
Some time back I had promised myself that the next time I was traveling and wasn’t in a hurry, I would get off the Interstate system and see the country up close. I can’t tell you how many times I have considered doing this, only to end up choosing speed over scenery again and again. On Friday, finally, I chose scenery.
I was heading home from a week’s work in Poquoson, Virginia, where folks are still recovering from the storm surge of Hurricane Isabel. More than fifty families continue to live in trailers, waiting for repairs on their homes to be completed. I’d joined other volunteers for five days of installing insulation and hanging dry wall, a significant departure from my usual routine. I was reminded just how much of a departure it was first thing every morning when my sore muscles resisted rolling out of bed.
With the week at an end, it was time to head up the peninsula toward Richmond, and from there north toward Washington, D.C. Anyone in a hurry would hop on Interstate 64 to Richmond and there find Interstate 95, which stretches north and south all along the eastern seaboard. I knew that on a Friday afternoon these roads would be heavily traveled. Add to that concern the fact that it was in the mid 90’s and the air conditioning in my old car wasn’t working, and I had plenty of extra incentive to give up the Interstate in favor of some slower, less crowded, more shaded highways.
Going up the peninsula, I traveled for a time on Route 249. This thin, twisting ribbon of asphalt carried me through small towns and long stretches of heavily scented forest, past humble country churches, several schools and a state penitentiary. Much of the time I had the road all to myself. When I did pass another car or truck, they were nearly always from Virginia – most likely local folk coming from or going to work, picking up the kids or running to the store or the doctor’s office. As such, they drove differently than people do on the Interstate; slower, naturally, but also more courteously. You might even say more gently.
My alternative to Interstate 95 was Route 2, a lovely road that runs roughly parallel to 95 from Richmond to Fredericksburg. Again I enjoyed a slower pace, more shade and the chance to see sights that charmed me – venerable old homes, quaint main streets and roadside vegetable stands announced by hand-lettered signs. I enjoyed the drive so much, I felt a little guilty for not stopping to buy some corn or a cantaloupe.
Caroline County, through which I passed as I followed Route 2, is home to the Boy Scout Jamboree. I know this because it was declared with pride on the sign welcoming travelers to the county. I discovered no further evidence of the jamboree as I drove on, but I did discover the tiny village of Frog Level. Yes, that’s right: Frog Level. It consisted of a gas station, a house or two and a diner, and I sincerely doubt I would have remembered it at all, except for its name. Who can forget that they have been to Frog Level?
Once home, I looked for it on the map but did not find it. I searched the Internet and found some evidence that it exists, but no clear indication of exactly where it is located. All I know for sure is that it is in Caroline County, somewhere along Route 2, and there is a volunteer fire company by the same name.
In the course of hunting for evidence of Frog Level, I discovered that Virginia is full of various Levels, Flats and Hollows, not to mention Gaps, Mills, Beaches, Bluffs and Ports. (My favorite, after Frog Level, would have to be Hogwallow Flats.) But you will find very few of these places if you stick to the Interstate, or even if you look on a map. You have to leave the well-worn path and explore a bit, as I promised myself I would, and did.
I’m glad I kept my promise. Otherwise, I never would have found Frog Level.