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 

Crossing the Line // A Poem

When your car tires bump
-fwump fwump—over the stateline
and the drivers speeding beside you
tap their carhorns to signal a homecoming,
you find yourself staring at the dismal
stretch of highway ahead,
the same as that stretching behind you:
the only hint to your arrival in Dixie,
the Great Peach State, the Empire State
of the South, the home of the O’Haras
for God’s sake, is the orange cartoon fruit
dominating the welcome sign.
Otherwise, it’s all asphalt, big rigs, and litter
with occasional signage yelling
that Jesus loves you, yes He does
or lottery tickets sold here, play and win big.

 Where,
you ask, are the cotton fields, the peach
orchards, the rednecks with their rebel
emblazoned Chevys? Where
can I find the bluegrass twang
or the pearl-collared debutantes
and their quarterback counterparts?
Where, you demand,do the magnolias grow
their lemon-scented petals blanketing
the earth, and where can I find
the twisted oaks with their sagging shawls
of Spanish moss crawling with insects?
And where, once more, are the white brick
mansions with their fluted columns
and sprawling fields? And, oh, can you tell me
where I might find a Confederate, please
one is wanted dead or alive? 

Here.Take this exit, yes. Here, now.
If you want to see and hear and taste this land 
you call the South—south of what?--then follow
an old road into a forgotten, half-empty 
town bypassed by culture and progress.
In buildings half-eaten by wisteria
growing in clumps and tangles
order vinegar slaw and smoked pork
in a basket, drink enough sweet ice tea
to rot your teeth or at least stain them yellow
for awhile.
Here we have a Hallmark, a Bi-Lo,
a dirty Wendy’s, and y’know I hear
they’re putting in a Walmart by the highway. 

Drive further still and you’ll collide
with the first tendril trails
of industrial sprawl, strip malls
and condominiums cropping up,
reaching for the quiet pastures and mountains
like grasping fingers.
If you want to stretch your legs
and don’t mind clay stains
on your white tennis shoes,
you can lean on this here fence post,
mind the barbed wire coming loose.
Walk soft through tall fescue,
wary that your footfalls don’t discover
a coiled rattler. Don’t lift that sun-warmed 
rock unless you want the sting
of the scorpion hidden beneath.

Catch the flutter of sunlight
in the quick fly-flick of a chestnut’s tail,
her hide dappled brown with sweat
from the heat that settles
and cloaks your skin and mouth. 
Mosquitos, no-see-ums, horseflies,
copperheads, cottonmouths,and water-moccasins 
gliding and circling nearby, always.
And so much green sun-tinged
yellow: the tangled undergrowth,
the knee-high weeds, and the thistles
with their ungraceful purple blooms. 

And there, finally,
the sought-after peach orchard,
squat trees in brisk rows,
the laden branches drooping
to the fallen fruit, rotten
and oozing on the orchard floor.
Pluck one, 
dangling in the sunlight,
its flesh yielding in your hand. Round,
delicately soft and flushed pink.
Something sweet and nourishing,
spurting sugar, something sweet
you can sink your teeth into.

Mini-Trip to Greenville

As we drove down I-85 to Georgia, a thought seized me: Why not stop for a moment in Greenville, South Carolina? I remembered going there once as a young teenager and vaguely recalled a beautiful park downtown. We had a little extra time to kill and supposed that taking an hour to stretch our legs would be worth the pause. Solo, we were sure, would appreciate an opportunity to bounce around and wag his little tail.

A quick Google search brought up Falls Park on the Reedy in downtown Greenville. So we decided to aim the truck in that direction. We found a beautiful, serene park boasting a waterfall and enough spring flowers to make us forget the long hours spent on the road. 

Located on South Main Street, Falls Park consists of carefully manicured little areas combined to make one lovely, terraced greenspace. A crumbly rock staircase festooned with flowers leads down to the park. Tulips, daffodils, and pansies--swaths of color are dabbed here and there across the green lawns. Here you'd find a little gazebo tucked among the trees; there you'd find a swing set or bench surrounded by flowering azaleas, blooming in sudden pops of pink and white. A blended chorus of song birds and laughter mixes with the thunder and rush of the Reedy River as it rushes through the park's center.

Since we were there in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday, we had the park relatively to ourselves. The Southern sun warming my shoulders made me jealous of the early spring that comes to the Carolinas and Georgia. We couldn't stay long, just thirty minutes-- but Mark had an opportunity to stretch his legs and Solo to muddy his paws-- which counts as a small victory in the world of boys and pups.

Have you ever visited Greenville? What are some of your favorite spots? 

Morgan & Newman // A Springtime Wedding

 So, I thought I might bombard ya'll with photos of my sweet friend Amber's wedding. Since I was a bridesmaid, I unfortunately was unable to take as many pictures as I would have liked. Every now and then, though, I just had to pull out my iPhone and snap a few irresistible shots. The wedding took place at the Mill at Yellow River, a beautiful converted twine mill that now serves as residences and as a wedding venue. Near Atlanta, the mill sits on the edge of a thundering waterfall framed by a beautifully landscaped little garden.

Before the wedding, we bridesmaids spent several hours in the bridal suite preparing with Amber. As such, most of my photos are of the suite and the "getting ready" session. I couldn't resist capturing the industrial charm of the place. Brick walls, original windows, pine floors... be still my heart!

I loved the contrast of the delicate crystals and lace against the stark brick and weathered wood. The pale pink peonies and roses of the bride's bouquet were so fragrant-- a perfect cluster of spring flowers. Everything perfectly complimented the spring season--from the blush pink of the bridesmaid dresses, to the peony bouquets, to the breezy tulle and lace of the bride's gown. 

Witnessing the bride prepare for her groom and the ceremony is a sweet, special privilege. Watching Amber apply mascara, smooth her hair, and perfect each aspect of her appearance underscored how much preparation--both inward and outward--goes into these special days. The bride isn't simply preparing for one special day or one moment of frill and fancy. No, she's preparing for an entirely new phase of life, as a new person, as someone's wife. Her identify takes on an entirely new facet. I remember the hours before my own wedding ceremony. I won't lie; I had some nervous tummy flutters. But then, calmness would settle around me, and I felt steady in my purpose. For the most part, I just kept thinking how surreal the day felt. I couldn't believe that something so monumental and important could be contained within a normal day's 24 hours. 

Can I just take a moment and comment on how beautiful Amber looked? My mother and I discussed it later: how brides truly seem to glow, their natural beauty suddenly so much more apparent. Sure, the stunning, ornate gowns, makeup, and professional updos may have something to do with that-- but I think there's more to it. My mom put it so perfectly when she remarked that she thinks that God gives brides a special anointing that day. Of course, there's no way to truly know-- but I think that perhaps God bestows an extra blessing of grace and beauty on brides. 

Sadly, I wasn't able to capture any photographs of the ceremony. The precious photograph below-- of the ceremony kiss- was taken by my close friend Krysten. It's bittersweet to watch a friend get married. Your heart swells with joy at their happiness but you tear up at the realization that childhood and the teenage years are officially over. Sometimes, it's easy to lament those lost days: the carefree times of hair braiding, nail painting, and flirting with boys. But time moves inexorably onward-- and we have to move with it. I'm thankful for the friends and loved ones who get to move along the pathway with us. I feel sure that there are so many wonderful days ahead, filled with new joys, new sorrows, new challenges, and new victories.

P.S. Don't you just love Mark's woolly beard? Jeez-louise, my very own mountain man! Let's just say a wife picks her battles... I have to admit, though, it is quite the beard. However, I think the Georgia heat convinced the poor man that we may have to bid the beard farewell once the weather warms up.