I grew up living downstream (James River) from the Virginia state prison, aka the State Farm. This fact was known to create some excitement from time to time. I came home from school one day to find our yard full of state troopers and German shepherds. It seemed a convict had escaped, as they were wont to do from time to time, and was believed to be following the river in hopes of getting away clean. They found some tracks behind the sheep fold, which was quite close to the yard, and for a while we played close to the house. The man was soon apprehended and returned to the farm.

One time a convicted murder escaped, and not coincidentally, Aunt Helen woke one morning to find her car missing. The police came and were able to recreate the events of the previous evening. Her keys had been on her dresser; the murderer had obviously come into her bedroom to get them. There were also signs in the kitchen that he had fixed himself a sandwich and drunk a beer at her table before hitting the road. He was apprehended at a routine traffic stop in Richmond, Kentucky, and Aunt Helen was called to testify against him. She said he grunted at the prosecutor’s questions and spent some time staring at her.

All this notwithstanding, we kids loved to camp out in the low grounds, as we referred to the flood plains by the river. One time a neighborhood mother forbade her daughter to join us, because it was “convict season.” Was there, in fact, a season more desirable than others in which to go on the lam? Maybe so; I would certainly prefer warm weather if I were in that situation. Regardless, we thought “convict season” was beyond hilarious, and went camping anyway, minus that one friend. We laughed and laughed until somebody crawled out of the woods behind our tent late that night and let out a blood-curdling scream. Our flashlights revealed a humanoid silhouette, and we didn’t stop running until we got to our respective houses. I never found out who that was but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a convict.

The State Farm is, apparently, much more than just a prison. It has many acres of grounds in which ordinary citizens go hiking with regularity. It’s also the site of many movie and television filming projects. Recently, some scenes from “The Good Lord Bird” were filmed there, and my nephew was hired to keep snakes and other beasties away from the set.

Having spent the first two decades of my life just down the road, you would think I would have been there at some point. Maybe next time I visit Virginia, I’ll take a walk.