From the Capital-Gazette:
Editor’s note: In our latest Capital Hometown
Sketch, Harwood resident Karen Wayson has her own story to tell about her own
grandfather.
These are my memories of my grandfather.
Other people may have their own versions, let them tell theirs. This is what I
remember.
When he was a newlywed with one son, he
drove a bus in Washington, D.C. He always had a love for baseball. His passion
for baseball led him to a chance of being on a professional team. I'm pretty
sure the team was the Washington Senators. It meant that he would be on the
road a lot traveling to other cities. He played with such enthusiasm that often
when sliding into base he would split open his pants.
My grandmother knew he would be gone a lot
during the season. She gave him an ultimatum: either stay with her and his baby
son and have a regular job or choose baseball and lose her.
My grandfather, of course, chose my
grandmother and my father, Kenneth. He and my grandmother went on to open a
small restaurant, and they lived in the back. They saved and bought a farm in
Davidsonville. It was beautiful and already named Cottage Farm. (Sadly, it’s
now a subdivision.)They raised cattle and hogs. Tobacco, hay and corn were the
main crops.
In the 1960s I would visit the farm often.
One of my favorite things to do would be to climb up on the silo and get on the
barn roof. From that vantage point I could watch the cows come back from the
fields and see the sunset. As I sat there, I could see Birdsville Road. A car
would occasionally pass by.
It was just a perfect farm — it even had an
apple orchard.
The family grew to two boys and two
girls.The small restaurant was a success. I'm not surprised, my grandmother was
a fantastic cook. It wasn't long after opening the restaurant, that they
realized that they needed a larger one.
The found a piece of property at the
intersection of routes 301 and 197 in Mitchellville. They built a restaurant,
motel, liquor store and bar and were very successful.
My uncle, David, also had a love for
baseball. As an adult, he built baseball fields beside the restaurant and named
them after my grandfather. My grandfather did not live to see them. I was 18
when he died.
I have so many good memories of him. As
often as he could, he would go to Washington Senators games. I got to go with him
several times.
My uncle, David, played baseball almost all
of his life. When he was little, my grandfather tried to make it to almost all
of his games. The games he was able to attend, my grandfather would umpire.
My grandfather, who would split his pants
sliding into base, was Armstead Scrivner Wayson.
But they called him “Rip.”
