RIP Bill Parrish
I have been meaning to write this since last Wednesday when we heard that our old-time family friend Bill Parrish passed away in Vienna, VA. Bill was an old-fashioned renaissance man, if that is not a contradiction in terms. Together with his wife Marianna they formed a large part of my early American experience. The name Hackleys was taken from a country store in Amissville, VA, that Bill and Marianna took us to as kids, every time we visited their farm in the Blue Ridge.
Men like Bill don’t come around too often, and I say that without a hint of hyperbole. I’m sure there are thousands of people that can attest. He was a big-hearted, intelligent, adventurous, eccentric and charismatic man with a mixture of values you may not expect to find in one person: a southern, Old-Fashioned-drinking man, fascinated by the British monarchy, with Clinton bumper stickers.
I had planned to write more about Bill than I will do here. His life and legacy is spellbinding, and should be talked about. But I’m just not sure I’m going to do it justice here. It is warm outside, I have just arrived at work and I’m hot and sticky and having trouble cooling down to proper concentration levels. Hot and sticky is how I remember 1988 when we first visited Locust Hill Farm.
We will miss you Bill, and I will think you every time I think of America and the best people that incredible country has given us. Your passing has left a massive hole, that our memories of happy and life-changing/affirming times will only partly fill. Our thoughts are with Marianna.
On the lake, Locust Hill Farm 1988
Peter, myself, Tom and Warfield, Locust Hill Farm 1988
Locust Hill Farm, 2008
Frea, back of the Parrish pickup truck, 2008
Hackleys Store, Amissville, VA, 2008
Bill and Midnight at Locust Hill Farm, 2008