This campground is situated between the current path of the
canal—a wide, slow section of the Potomac River apparently used now exclusively
for recreation—and the original path of the canal, now dry, a less wide expanse
fully taken over by lush trees and greenery, with only occasional remnants of
the stone walls, locks, and gates from the original works. It must have been
one hell of a project in its day!
Above the old canal run the railroad tracks, so we
occasionally get the pleasure (and it has been surprisingly fun, despite the
racket) of hearing the trains roar by. The trains are right there, no more than 50 yards from our campsite, and yet we
can see only flickers as the cars go by. The greenery is that dense!
For much of the week, we and another couple have been the
only occupants of the campground. Not realizing how quiet it was going to be,
we parked just a couple sites away from them and then felt bad both for our
sake and theirs as it turned out we could each have had half the campground to
ourselves. But they’ve been good neighbors, quiet and not-chatty, and we have
endeavored to be the same. We think they are homeless, living in their tent
with their big tabby cat while they build up some funds. They are both working
and go off early each morning and are away for hours. (The cat stays behind cozy
in the tent and seems perfectly content.) I hope things work out for them. We
have had a couple of hints that they’re facing an uphill road: While showing me
how the pump works to bring up water from the campground’s well (pump like
crazy), the guy made a comment about hoping his wife can keep "this" job. And
then last night they got friendly with the Red-state weekenders who moved into
the site between us, and we could hear her getting increasingly drunk. Sad. The
men were surface-patient with her, but their amused disdain was clear even so
and I was really relieved when she went to bed.
All along the original canal runs the raised towpath, where
the mules plodded along as they towed barges up and down the canal. This is now
primo hiking and biking space, all part of a national historical park, with
hiker/biker campgrounds tucked into the woods every ten miles or so. The hiker
campground nearest us is so close that I wonder why they don’t just have the
hikers stay here at McCoys Ferry, but it’s pretty nice and maybe that’s reason
enough. There’s a single table, firering, and tent pad nestled all alone down in
a lush glen below the towpath, with a serviced portable toilet up on the path.
Pretty luxurious really, and the thought of all that privacy makes my heart go
pitty-pat. If only we could heft the tent trailer up onto our shoulders and
haul it over there!
I took a hike the other day down the towpath to Four Locks, the
next landmark over. It’s pretty cool. The remains of the locks are there, and
you can walk a bridge across one to the old mule barn, or clamber down and actually
walk inside the lock. Adjacent to the ruins is a nice picnic area and boat ramp
on the current canal. The park is home to the most amazing tree-cluster. My
photos don’t capture it properly!
While walking near Four Locks, a white-tailed deer and I
startled each other. We looked up and saw each other, she let out a terrific
snorting-blurting shout of a vocalization—I guess I knew intellectually that
deer can make noise, but it was the first time I’ve ever heard it happen!—and bounded
off into the trees.
Our purpose in coming to this part of Maryland was for me to
continue my Nora Roberts geek tour of Maryland, which started on the Eastern Shore (featured
in four of my favorite books of hers but something of a disappointment due
to wretched humidity and biting flies) and continued up here to Boonsboro (Nora’s
hometown) and Antietam Battlefield (featured in another four of my favorite
books of hers). I like this part of Maryland quite a lot. It’s Appalachian (the
hills that folks ‘round here think are mountains, she said with western
smugness) and lovely and much less humid. And the architecture of the houses in the towns is fascinating, with rows of nearly identical clapboard houses lining the streets so that what you see when you drive through is a series of covered porches. These porches give way right onto the sidewalks, and it's easy enough to imagine the days when the sidewalks were made of wood.
Boonsboro was pretty fun. Nora and her family have pumped a
lot into the local economy there. They run the gorgeous stone hotel they
restored, the Inn BoonsBoro (sic), which was featured in four of my least
favorite of her books; Turn the Page bookstore (a wonderful place in general,
with an entire room devoted to Nora’s books that was nearly a religious
experience for me); Vesta Pizza; and I think
the fitness club behind the inn and an upscale pub. More than the businesses,
though, what they offer the town is Nora herself. She has put the place on the
map and draws in visitors from around the world. The welcome sign for the town
says, “Welcome to Boonsoro. Experience the history, savor the romance.”
We did our part by buying some signed books, eating some
pizza, and getting some not-Nora-affiliated ice cream. (Side note: The ice
cream that’s popular in this area is Hershey’s, no relation. It was pretty
tasty.)
We also went and toured the battlefield. Perhaps because of
the events in the news at the time (Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando), mostly
it made me sad to be there. Something like 23,000 people died in that battle.
It’s wretched. And Bloody Lane, a sunken farm road where the Confederates made
a truly impressive stand but suffered heavy casualties (there are period photos
of the heaps of bodies), is heartwrenching. I was mortally offended that the
park service lets people walk down there. In another mood I might have been
able to see it as tribute, but that day it seemed ghoulish.
Gettysburg is really near here, but I think I have had
enough war and death.
Yesterday was a stay-in-camp day, my very favorite kind of
day. The thunderstorms (and brief tornado warning, my first) of the previous
couple of days had passed, without any return of the heat, and we had an
extremely pleasant day. Frank wrote a lot on his second book, and I just
chilled the f. out. The brief return of the humidity with the storms made clear
to us how adversely the humidity of the past several weeks had been impacting
us. We are just pretty miserable when it gets like that. Our future route
planning will include humidity checks.
Speaking of future plans, we have some big ones. Chloe is striking
out on her own and moving to Minneapolis to continue her good work with Working
America. We are very pleased that she wants our company (or maybe just our
minivan :-))
when she arrives in town on July 7th, so we’re swinging up there. Her
flight gets in three weeks from night before last, also known as 19 days from
tonight, so we’ll be angling that way. We’re letting impulse drive the
intervening days until the start of our reservation at the Minneapolis part
where we’ll (all?) be staying. We head to West Virginia next and might stay
there for all the rest of the time if we love it, or we might do a series of
smaller hops and rack up some states-I’ve-slept-in checkmarks.
Then, the weekend in Minneapolis.
Then, a visit to see Cherie, my once stepmom and now very
dear friend, in Nebraska.
Then, a dash home, probably sans tent trailer (which will
wait for us at Cherie’s), where we can spend a couple of weeks doing home
things.
Then, a dash back to Minneapolis with a U-Haul trailer full
of Chloe’s stuff. (Chloe will be apartment hunting and staying with friends
meanwhile, and maybe spending some time on an air mattress if the apartment
hunting is successful sooner than we think it will be.)
Then, back to Cherie’s to retrieve the trailer.
Then, we follow impulse for the remainder of the summer
until we start a housesitting gig at my dad’s in San Diego in mid-September.
For us, this is a full slate of plans! Being scheduled feels
okay, especially knowing we have plenty of time for whim and whimsy and sitting
still in one place in and around the milestones.
Whoa. That might be the first time in nearly 12 months that I’ve
used the word “milestone” in a scheduling context. I’ll try not to do it again.
