Around Town // Worthington Farm Hike

This transitional period between summer and fall is one of the best times of year to hike. The weather is balmy and cool, with a slight breeze that provokes the half-hearted consideration of a light jacket. The fields and trees still maintain their lush summer greenery, but a few maples have begun their slow transformation into gold and crimson. Here and there, scattered leaves punctuate the still-green lawns, a herald of the approaching torrent of color that will soon blanket the earth.

Last weekend, Mark and I revisited Monocacy Battlefield to hike the trails at Worthington Farm. This past spring, we walked around Thomas Farm and the battlefield welcome center, but we had not yet paid Worthington Farm anything more than a passing visit. In my opinion, this farm afforded walking trails more beautiful and secluded than Thomas Farm, resulting in one of the most enjoyable hikes I've had in a while. Mark and I agreed that the farm is hands-down one of the loveliest places we've found in Maryland. Around every corner, we stumbled upon some brace of trees, river bend, or harvested field that just took your breath away, as if nature had put more effort into this little spot.

I can only imagine how beautiful this place will be once autumn begins in earnest. Mark and I both think the river edge here is the perfect place to relax with a book. It's hard to imagine that land so beautiful was once someone's home.

Monocacy National Battlefield

Worthington Farm

4632 Araby Church Rd.

Frederick, MD 

Park Visitor Center

5201 Urbana Pike

Frederick, MD 

Camping at Gambrill State Park

Last weekend, Mark and I welcomed August by camping overnight at Gambrill State Park, just a short distance from Frederick, Maryland. As we drove the short ten minutes from home to park, I couldn't believe that a place so quiet, serene, and woodsy existed just a tiny drive away. Abruptly, the suburban sprawl ends, you pass the last grocery store, and then you find yourself winding up a mountain road. Outside, the temperature cools as the mountain breezes begin to blow. Next thing you know, you've arrived in this nugget of wilderness just off the beaten path.

Deciding to camp overnight was a somewhat spontaneous decision. We both felt the need to "get away" but didn't have the time (or the funds) to go gallivanting off for the weekend. When Mark suggested camping, I thought "Hey why not? Smores sound pretty nice!"

One of our favorite trail-running and hiking haunts is Gambrill Mountain. On a whim, we checked to see if the area had a campground and, sure enough, it did. We scrounged our spare change for the site fee and packed our camping gear in the back of Mark's truck. Off we went!

There's something truly wonderful about camping, about going unplugged and unconnected. No electricity, television, cell-phones, iPads, laptops, or carhorns. Nothing to distract or stress you. Our only worry was keeping Solo away from the firewood pile. Apparently, pitbulls like to "help" by breaking and chewing all the firewood sticks. Re-positioning the little guy's leash solved that problem, much to his dismay.

We settled on the site's picnic table for a simple campfire meal. Around us, the woods sparkled with the pulse and hum of fireflies. I think that simple light captivated me as much as any Netflix show. I don't know that I've ever seen something so beautiful in its simplicity. "I could just sit and watch this all night," I remarked, mesmerized.

Our night was simple: frisbee, cards, dinner, and of course smores. We settled to sleep in our little tent and awoke the next morning to birdsong. You can't really go wrong with that, now can you?

Gambrill State Park

8602 Gambrill Park Rd.

Middletown, MD

Reno & Garland: How We Met Two Dead Generals

On our Saturday hike, Mark and I abruptly walked into a mowed field. The tree-shrouded path of the Appalachian Trail deposited us into this open expanse without warning. One moment we were in the embrace of woods, the next we were on a road side, facing a field. We stepped quietly, wondering if we were trespassing or walking through park territory.

Then, we noticed the sign. A green board, trimmed with gold: a historical marker. We had walked right onto a little-known historical battlefield. The field, its broad green interrupted by one sprawling oak, had been the stage for a bloody conflict involving some 90,000 Michigan men. As the birds tweeted in the shrubs and a farmer's tractor rattled in the distance, I had difficulty imagining the field, so serene now, full with men. Men arrayed in precise lines, their nervous banter punctuated by hoof beats and then the sudden blast of artillery. Considering the numbers--90,000 on the Union side alone--the large field suddenly seemed small. So much life collided and clashed in one spot, on a little-known backroad in Maryland.

"You know, you don't learn about these battles in school. The little battles that happened way out in the country," Mark said.

Perhaps my Civil War history is simply not up-to-snuff, but try as I might, I couldn't remember the Battle of Fox Gap, one of three battles pitched in the attempt to possess South Mountain (ironically, also the sight of the Washington Monument we visited in this post). One of the Confederate generals involved in the South Mountain battles, General James Longstreet, lived in Gainesville, Georgia--my own stomping grounds. You may recognize Longstreet's nickname "Old War Horse," bequeathed by Lee himself.

Beyond the field lay a rectangular stone fence with what appeared to be a grave marker jutting from the middle. Mark and I trudged over to investigate. Closer inspection revealed the monument to honor Union General Jesse L. Reno. Off to the side, less than twenty feet from the memorial site, was another marker, smaller and worn. This one honored a fallen Confederate general, Samuel Garland, Jr., born in raised in Lynchburg, Virginia. This fallen Confederate was from the same town as my husband.

Nearly two hundred years ago, Garland fought and fell in this forgotten spot, hidden on a backroad, his memorial stone small, cast aside from the victorious Reno's, nearly hidden in the trees. He drew his last breath on a trail Mark, myself, and countless other hikers now stomp past, booted and weary just as he and his troops were booted and weary.

"He was from Lynchburg, baby," I shouted over to Mark. He looked up, eyebrows raised.

"Really? That's crazy."

History converges with us, with our present state, in so many ways. It lies, untouched, on our roadsides, in museums, in the very earth beneath our feet. The very landscape is changed and scarred by its passing. A field which should have been reclaimed by the forest remains mowed and kept, one faded wreath and green sign marking its significance. Hundreds of men fought and died at Fox's Gap--yet I did not even know of their existence until I practically tripped over their death site. there their memory lies--even if we don't remember or acknowledge it, even if we would rather praise some, and hide others in the tree-line. Sometimes, history reasserts itself, demands that its people be remembered and it's monuments be seen. I And I truly believe that doing so reminds us where we've been, what we've fought for, and what we're living for. 

Weekend Photo Reel

Lately, Mark and I have been spending our weekends in the woods. Saturday mornings found us eating a yummy breakfast, stuffing a daypack with a few necessities (camera, water, granola), and unfolding a map of Maryland. Last weekend we found the first Washington Monument. The weekend before that, we hiked to Cunningham Falls.

Mark loves to hike. Seriously, that boy. He would rather be in the woods, walking a quiet path, than anything else. And of all the quiet paths to be found, he particularly loves the Appalachian Trail. Friday night, he called me to his desk, where images of trail shelters were displayed on his computer screen.  "Let's hike to this one," he suggested.

Once again, I found myself lacing my hiking boots and checking my camera's battery. Mark loves to hike; I love to take photographs--it's a happy union.

"

Compared to other trails, the A.T. is a quiet, unassuming. It's fluctuates and shifts, changing form and shape as you walk. In some spots, it's as broad as a back-country road; in other places, it shrinks to a boot's width. Because our summer has been uncharacteristically mild and wet, the undergrowth was tangled, wild, and green. Wildflowers clustered on the trailsides. Fungi sprawled across the fallen treetrunks, slowing transforming their dry bark into some new being, alive and moist.

On the A.T., passing another hiker is a encapsulated moment of kind human interaction. More often than not stooped under a heavy pack, the passerby meets your eyes, nods, and smiles. "Great day for a hike." "Do you have the time?" "Nice to see you." There's no nameless shuffling or eye avoidance; there is no grocery-store aloofness. Whether he's been on the trail for a month or a day, the hiker is happy to see you, to cheer you on, to share a beautiful day.

Leave no trace--the A.T. missive and the mantra of any respectful hiker. At Rocky Run shelter, we met three middle-aged men: the Canadian, Old Guy from Florida, and Tin Can Dan. Each man was section-hiking the trail, alone. Somehow, they three arrived at Rock Run on the same day Mark and I decided to go for an extended walk in the woods. Five paths converged at one shelter, in one moment. They had plenty of ear-pulls and head-pats for Solo.

Tin Can Dan, so named because of his homemade camping gear, shared news of the graffiti and vandalism he had spotted at shelters further north. "All it is, is a rock. Or an old log lean-to. But people feel the need to mark it up, tear it down." Emboldened by his indignation, Tin Can pointed to his baseball cap. "Look for a man with a U.S.S. Ronald Reagan cap on TV, marching on Washington. I'm gonna try to raise some money, see who all I can get behind me. I got six grandkids who I want to hike this trail someday,  but there's gotta be a trail left to hike. All this, of course, if this chicken-egg growing in my chest don't get me first."

As Mark and I packed to leave, having eaten our lunch with three strangers, Tin Can's eyebrows raised. "Leaving already? Did I talk too much? I usually do. The woods do that to you, after awhile."

He waved us on, and we wished him luck and safety for his long walk to Georgia. As we walked north, he shouted for us to remember his warning: leave no trace. The Vietnam vet, with his scrappy arms, battered hat, and round glasses, will never cross our paths again (unless of course he succeeds in his Washington dreams). But his last shouted missive followed us on our walk back to the car. Because of him, I stepped a little more carefully, noted the smaller flowers and unfurling greenery, realized the extraordinary resilience and fragility of the trail's beauty.

About a mile from the parking lot, a flicker of blue, underfoot, caught my eye. Stooping, I picked up a single butterfly wing. Why was it lying on the path? Had a wind scooped it up, deposited it here? How it had survived all those men and their booted feet--our booted feet as we strode past? I considered pocketing it and taking it home, to press into the pages of some unused book. I shifted it to my other palm...and noticed a blue stain on my thumb. Glitter and dust--one touch had already damaged the wing's delicate powder.

"More will wear off, the further you carry it," Mark noted.

I tilted my hand and let the wing flutter and fall back to the ground, where it settled on a patch of bare earth. Leave no trace. We walked on.

Weekend Photo Reel

This past weekend, Mark looked up a map of Western Maryland and began searching. He looked for a place we had never been and eventually settled on a spot on the Appalachian Trail, near the Washington Monument. We filled our camelbacks with water, grabbed Solo's harness, packed a few granola bars, and headed out.

As Mark pointed out once we were on the road, Google had described the Washington Monument as being "off of 40." While I felt this to be a somewhat vague set of directions, Mark had full confidence in his ability to get us there in one piece. After all, it was a beautiful Saturday morning, one with a gentle breeze, a mild sun, and plenty of green country to walk through--what was the rush? 

We found out later that we certainly took the long drive to the park: a winding, lazy way through back country, pastures, and corn fields. But, I'm glad we lost our directions, even for just a little while. How else would we have found the hidden spots where tiger lilies, black-eyed Susans, and Queen Anne's lace grow wild? How else would we have seen the two fawns, already bereft of their baby spots, dash into the roadside thickets? How else would we have seen the quiet, farmland ponds and their drooping, covered bridges? 

Sometimes it's worth it to toss the map and get good and lost. Well, lost with a general sense of where you're going. 

Without much incident, we found ourselves at Washington Monument State Park, the site of a beautiful dry-stacked stone tower, the first monument erected to our first President. Built long before the sleek white one standing sentinel in Washington, D.C. 

Although the hike from the parking lot to the tower itself is essentially a short stroll, the Appalachian Trail skirts the tower's base. So, after poking around the tower (which reminded me of a super-sized clay chiminea), Mark and I headed north on the trail. We passed several weekend hikers, groggy and dirty in their packs and boots but ready with a nod and smile. Solo had a tail-wag and finger-lick for each of them. 

At an open stretch of trail, I found several wild blackberries growing on the trail edge. The fattest juiciest berries were hidden deep within the bushes' thorns and folds, further than I was willing to dig. But the handful I was able to forage tasted better than any store-bought berries I've had all season. Their bursts of juicy sweetness and later my purple-stained fingers reminded me of Georgia summers and home. 

We've been so lucky with our summer weather lately. The mild breezes and warm sunshine belies the fact that it's early August and tempts us with thoughts of October, crunchy leaves, and fall. I know this perfect, mild weather is only here for a little while and that summer will soon roar back in full force, but we enjoyed being out in the coolness while it lasted. Summer, you're spoiling me; why don't you stick around a little longer? 

8 Reasons to Smile

Wolf Rock trail at Catoctin Mtn. 

Can you believe its already the eighth week of the year? How are we already through two months (well, almost)? Weren't we just celebrating the new year, hallooing and hollering and banging pots and pans together? Making resolutions, wishlists, and plans?

My resolution to document an item/person/place/idea a week that makes me smile has fallen a bit short. So far...I've managed two weeks of it. But rather than constantly attempting to back track and play catch-up... I decided to just proceed from here. At some point, you just have to concede a mild defeat and press onward. 

And understand... it's not that that I couldn't find anything to smile about for six weeks. Its that I was too busy smiling to take time sharing. So here you go. Week eight.

Reason to smile #8: long walks in a quiet wood

Yesterday, Mark and I decided to take advantage of a lazy, calm Saturday. No alarms, no pressing plans. We decided to rest until the bird-chatter forced us out of bed and do whatever we felt like during the day. The day's activity turned out to be a unanimous vote: let's take a hike. It ended up being slightly more adventurous than we anticipated... to my dismay and Mark's joy I'm sure.  The recent, repeated snowfalls had washed away a portion of the trail. So the leisurely hike turned into a mountaineering trek instead--as we found ourselves marching straight up the mountainside to reach the ridgeline.

 But even though my hamstrings, glutes, and lungs were screaming in pain the whole time... I found myself grinning like a fool. There's just something utterly peaceful about being surrounded by the bare quiet trees and rustling underbrush. Sometimes as if the leaves below are whispering and muttering, telling a story to the listening trees above. And if you're quiet enough--you might catch a snippet of their tale. 

Weekend Photo Reel: Hiking Catoctin (and Giveaway Link)

Unexpectedly, this past weekend brought sunshine and pleasant 60 degree weather. Weather like that in November makes my hubby crackle and fidget, wanting to be outside running, jumping, moving and stretching his limbs in any way possible. I can't say as I blame him. Even my ridiculously pale skin starts to mourn the lack of sunshine once winter begins. And, too, this past Saturday and Sunday may be the last days of warmth and brightness until spring. So, unashamedly, we decided to spend the whole of Sunday afternoon outdoors. 

The above photos were taken at Chimney Rock, a beautiful spot on Catoctin Mountain, located near Thurmont, MD. It was a short 20 minute drive for us to behold this late-fall landscape. The end of autumn is so different from the beginning. Since we are past peak here, the leaves are mostly gone. No more greens, certainly and only a few spots of gold or red that burn all the brighter due to their scarcity. The mountains are mostly colored with brown and black prickle now. But even that bare and sleepy scene is beautiful when viewed from the mountain tops. 

This hike definitely was one of the loveliest  I had ever been on. Or maybe I've simply grown too accustomed to our usual haunts in Georgia and Virginia, overlooking familiar beauties. Either way, it was gorgeous and the pictures do not do nature the justice it deserves. But then again, not many cameras are capable of capturing that scope. 

In parting...

My twelfth day of thanks-giving: 

I'm thankful for sunshine, happy smiles, and also the chance to enter this lovely giveaway posted on one of my favorite-to-read blogs. Here is the lovely dress line from Shabby Apple being used. Check it out if you would like to participate! And, even if the giveaway is not your thing, check out the blog anyway. Its truly a joy to read.

Happy Mondays to you all!