There and Back Again - But Not a Hobbit's Tale

You've all been very good and patient. It's about time we got this started, so find a comfy seat by the campfire, relax and let me tell you a story...


September 3, 2012 - Labor Day. Most sane people stay off the roads on Labor Day, but who said we're sane. We left the house shortly after lunch and hot-footed as far as possible. Jim's goal was to be in Pennsylvania by Friday (reservations for Falling Water on Saturday, that's why), so that meant hard driving days on I80 ahead. We were looking at an average of 700 miles a day and had planned tandem driving as a survival tactic: one driving for several hours while the other slept. No problem there as I80 doesn't offer much in the line of scenery in Nevada and Utah. Nothing to see but dust, desert and salt flats and the yawn factor was going to set in pretty fast...or so we thought.

Shortly after reaching Auburn, we saw something unusual about several of the vehicles coming down from the mountains: they were covered in a light gray coating the like of snowy road residue. Now, that's odd, I thought, seeing as there hasn't been any snow in the Sierras for months. As we pondered this mystery, several more coated cars passed by...then more...then more until we were looking at a long convoy stretching out of sight. There were cars pulling trailers, converted school buses loaded with all types of gear tied down under flapping tarps, four wheelers and RVs of every kind and condition and they all carried bikes! Well, what the...?

Jim wondered if there was a fire in the mountains and these were refugees fleeing the flames? Well, California is always in flames somewhere, but nothing came to mind. They all showed signs of rain and that had us trying to remember where it had fallen recently...not California, but there had been some in the Nevada desert. And then a truck hauling a very large trailer passed. On top of the trailer was a fantastical contraption made up of scrap metal and spit and looked to all the world like the time machine out of H.G. Wells...except it was a horse. And then it hit us (no, not the truck), oh, right, "Burning Man".

Yes indeedy, ladies and gentlemen, the Burning Man festival was all...well, burn out...and the hoards of rampaging revelers were winding their weary way home. Jim was sure this would ease the mind numbing boredom of I80, at least for Nevada.

With this thought to cheer us, we hauled ass down the road and by sun down made it to our first stop: the KOA next to Boomtown, just outside of Reno. Let me make this clear: this is not a destination I would recommend, but there isn't any other place for your trailer - period. Because it was still the Labor Day weekend, they charged us $50 for a dirt patch parking space with an electrical hook-up. Nothing to see there but the casino up the hill. An expensive stop, but it was the only game in town. We were out as fast as possible the next dawn.

A pretty dawn, the sky all pink and pale blue, we made a quick stop at the local Pilot station where Jim gassed up the truck and I went in for coffee (Pilot always has good coffee and very clean restrooms). As I came out with our steaming mugs of liquid gold, a sorry looking pickup pulled along side Jim. It's bed was filled to overflowing with nameless junk, covered by a really cheep Indian carpet and barely held together by three very frayed bungees. To top it off, it was pulling a vintage Airstream and everything was coated in desert dust. Yep, another Burning Man escapee.

That poor old truck wheezed to a halt and two dis-shoveled (I think they were women, but I'm, still not sure) tumbled out of the passenger compartment and a third fell out of the trailer. Dressed in PJs,sandals and some sort of jackets (Jim is contesting this, he says they were too dirty to tell), the driver fiddled with the bungees as another staggered toward the restrooms and the third tried to figure out the gas pumps, but ended up just staring at them.

Jim made a comment about their not having seen the business end of a brush or, for that matter, soap in quite some time. I simply chalked it up to better living through pharmaceuticals. We decided on a hasty escape: Jim wanted to be miles ahead of them just in case they were headed east.

Now some of you might be shaking your heads at us concerning out attitude toward these folks and I grant you, they might be very nice people indeed under all that dust (yeah, they were as coated as the vehicles). All I can say is "Mea Culpa" and continue on.

On the road again. Jim's next goal was Rock Springs, Wy...another garden spot along the I80 corridor. It was a fun ride what with playing tag with various truckloads of debris from more Burning Man attendees. Some surprised us with their creativity and ingenuity with recycled materials. There were enormous trikes shaped like boats, rats, winged horses and other mythological creatures - we even saw a dragon. It was all very entertaining and we were surprised at the number of them heading into Utah, Wyoming and even Nebraska. At any rate, it kept us awake until Rock Springs where we stopped at the only place for miles (again): a KOA (again).

Now, I'm going to give you the KOA catalog description: "From your lawn chair, right at your campsite, you might see some of the bands of wild horses that roam the red desert surrounding Rock Springs. The orange and purple sunrises and sunsets rival the majesty of the free roaming herds." Oh, we beg to differ. Jim says it should read:"From your lawn chair (if you can hold it down under that 40 mph wind) on your strip of gravel, you will see the six, count 'em, six, one million gallon gasoline storage tanks ten yards from your site and right across a bustling interstate from Crazy Jack's Fireworks Emporium". Now, isn't that special? At least they didn't charge us $50...it was $47.50. Another early start was the decision because, as Jim put it, "I don't want to hang around for any accidental fireworks displays." I was with him on that. We hit the sack early, slept with one eye opened and left before sun up...and we didn't see any horses, wild or otherwise.

Another 700 mile day. We had been down this path last year and thought Wyoming beautiful and austere with it's early dusting of snow. This year was very different. It was a month earlier so no snow, but where were the herds if prong horns and those miles and miles of untouched high plains and streams? Where was the crystal clear sky and the pure air? Everywhere we looked we saw oil rigs and pipe lines, storage facilities and transfer stations. Not a single wild animal was in site and the air reeked of crude oil and gas fumes. We learned later that huge deposits of fuel had been discovered and Wyoming had gone oil mad-drilling, building and processing as fast as the fuel companies can say "profit". Good for the economy of Wyoming, but at such a cost... We drove on in silence (and that's a first for me as Jim will tell you) and came to our next target: Nebraska.

Corn as far as the eye can see, but not at the level of last year with it's corn "as high as an elephant's eye". The drought's hand was heavy here and the poor stunted things we saw were a far cry from the usual majestic waves of 8 foot tall stocks. A lot of folks were going to loose their farms after this season. So sad.

By evening we had passed Lincoln and stopped in a nice State Park for the evening. Eugene T. Mahoney State Park.Suffice it to say it was a hell of a better spot that the KOAs. Nice, quiet, woodsy park with grassy meadows and a good sized lake. We thoroughly enjoyed a quiet evening...until the skunk showed up for dinner. Fortunately, he went on his way and we finished our meal in peace. It didn't go so well for someone else...we nosed it later on.

And it's 10:02 PM and our grandbaby is due at 7:30 AM, so this is "quiet time" for us. Beddy-by for sure.

Tune in next time
Same Bat-time, same Bat-station.

Camp On

Sue and Jim

 

Sue and Jim,
I enjoyed your story, so much so that I'd like to share it with my 6th graders.
We've been studying geographical regions of the U.S. and the kids will love hearing your wonderful descriptions of the areas you've traveled through.
Do tell more.

Deb

 

Hi, guys! Glad you've started your story - can't wait for the next installments. Oh, yeah, the Boomtown KOA. We stopped there in March - I think we were one of two "campers." The only place to catch wi-fi was in the laundry room which closed at 7pm. So we hiked up the hill to the casino which had a coffee "shop" that had wi-fi. Casinos are NOT our favorite place to hang out and this one seemed especially smokey. Glad to get out of there the next morning.

What fun to get the see the Burning Man returnees. Bet all those folks turned into lawyers and accountants when they headed off to work on Tuesday morning!

 

If you don't think it would bore the kiddies to death, go ahead with our blessings.

Sue

 

No bets. However, I do think the art and computer communities were also well represented. Really, it took some impressive imagination and know-how to put these contraptions together.

And please, all CPA's, attorneys and internet geniuses, be not offended. We spoke but in jest, forsooth.

Sue

Sue

 

Sue and Jim can't wait to read the next chapter.

 

Part II

We were up before dawn, on the road by 5am and looking at another 10 to 11 hour driving day. Yikes. On through Nebraska (corn) and into Iowa (corn). In each state it was the same sight: stunted, dried out fields that should have been sky high, rivers running low and streams no more than dust and pebbles. Even the Mighty Mississippi was showing it's tide marks along the banks.

We stopped for a breather and a bit of a walk (my legs were starting to swell - eeeww) in the small town of Le Claire, Iowa along the shores of the Mississippi. Jim wanted a quick "gas and go", but it turned into an hours visit because of three little words (No, not I Love You): Buffalo Bill Museum. Le Claire was his birth place and a nice little museum sat on the shore, just begging for a visit. We aim to please.

We wandered about, looking at the exhibits on Buffalo Bill and the history of Le Claire. The volunteers were very friendly and quite knowledgeable.

As we were about to leave, one nice lady asked if we had stopped in Le Claire to see the American Picker's shop. It was just down the street and, "Around the bend to the right. You can't miss it with that cute little car in the front yard. And it's just across from Kathy's shop. You know, the one with the costumes in the window." Now, how can you resist directions like that? We couldn't and before you could say "Who the heck is Kathy?", we were there.

We had seen the American Pickers show a few times and had high hopes of a big shop filled with interesting items. We were sorely disappointed. What we found was a tiny structure in a weed infested dirt lot that looked to all the world like an old filling station from the 40s. A very odd car of undetermined make squatted amongst the weeds. It was so tiny it made a Fiat look like a Sherman Tank.

Jim grinned and insisted I pose by the car for a photo. Begrudgingly, I did as he asked and smiled for his phone camera. I know his grins and suspected the worst. I was right. Just as he snapped the shot, he started sending it to our son saying I towered over the car. "It's just your size", he chirped. Fortune smiled on Jim that day...I couldn't find anything lethal to throw at him.

A hasty truce was called and we toured the shop...which took all of five minutes. It was a very small shop crowded with lots of itty bitty pieces of junk, all damaged and all very, very expensive. They must sell all the good pieces on line, because the stuff we saw in the shop never should have left the barn.

It was getting late and we had another state to cross. Illinois, here we come! Back on to I80 and across that great, muddy river we went. More stunted corn and abandoned homesteads whizzed by as we hauled on for three hours. Skirting the southern edge of Chicago, dodging some of the worst traffic we had seen since Salt Lake, we finally crossed the border into Indiana.

For once we made it to a visitor center when it was open. What a surprise, the building was shaped like a wave on the dunes and was all beautifully tiled inside. The volunteers were very friendly and were full of good information on campgrounds near by. We decided on Indiana Dunes State Park just 40 miles away.

The only down side was heading back to I80 and our first experience with toll roads. $1.75 - well, that didn't hurt too bad and we continued on to Chesterton and the state park.

This was a very, very nice place full of mature trees just showing a hint of pale yellow. A heavily used park during the camping season, it's grounds were pretty well trampled and every tree's trunk was clean of branches to a height of 8 feet or better. This high canopy of fluttering leaves filtered the light so it fell in constantly moving patterns across the ground and gave one the feeling of being under water. Just lovely.

The camp was sparsely inhabited, so we enjoyed a peaceful evening. The young couple two sites down had a vintage 1970s trailer they were restoring and we had a nice time talking trailers.

In the morning, Jim decided a visit to the dunes before resuming the trek was in order. The weather was starting to turn cold and the dunes were deserted. We stopped for a bit and snapped shots of Lake Michigan and the 1920s bath house/concession stand (closed for the season, of course). We didn't stay long as the wind was getting frisky and whipping the sand in our faces. With one eye to the sky, we headed back on to I80 while fishing through our pockets for spare change - toll booths ahead.

On reaching the toll booth (after getting lost again, Chesterton doesn't like left turns) we were surprised by automated machines that spit out a ticket. The ticket categorized our vehicle by number of axles and listed a price per exit. Uh-oh, this could get expensive. Jim drove on while I tried to decipher the list. It wasn't looking good.

And neither was the sky. We had been dodging the leftovers from Hurricane Issac and at the Ohio/Pennsylvania boarder our luck ran out. I was taking a turn at the wheel when the first fat drops smacked the windshield. Plop, plop...plop, plop, plop...ploploplpolpolpolpolpolpolpolpol!!!!! Holy cow! I had never seen rain like this. We could actually see the huge drops plummeted from a black sky and curve up just before hitting the glass. In less than two minutes, there was four inches of water on the roads. Windshield wipers were useless and just sloshed the water around. Everyone slowed to a crawl and turned on their emergency flashers. A group of bikers were holed up under and overpass, waiting for the storm to clear.

The water level on the road was climbing at an alarming rate and we feared being caught in a flash flood. Not a good thing, but fortunately we came upon an exit to a service center...and it was up hill! I never parked a vehicle so fast in my life. We decided to hide in the food court and have some goodies while the storm passed. Of course, the instant we got five steps away from the truck, the rain stopped. Figures. We had the goodies, anyway.

Half an hour later we were back on the road (Jim driving, my nerves were shot) and headed straight onto I76 and more toll roads. With all the tolls between Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania, we figure we pretty much payed up half the National Debt.

Crossing from Ohio to Pennsylvania, we watched the landscape change from level fields to rolling farmland and heavily wooded forests. Here the drought was not so evident and everything was a lush green, so calming on the eyes after all those dry husks. We passed over the Allegheny River, turned on to a smaller back road and made our twisting way to Ohiopyle State Park and our campsite for the next two nights.

And it's 11:13 pm. Quitting time. We will continue this later.

Camp On,

Sue and Jim

 

Yeah, they most likely are nice guys. Not contesting that. Just a little disappointed by the shop, that's all.

Nice shot of the eagle.

Sue

 

Sue and Jim keep the pictures and stories coming.

 

Sue and Jim good story. Never heard of Burning Man Festival I will have to google that. Sounds like you experienced real midwest rain. When we were in Oregon this summer we thought the rain was so much finer than in the midwest. And it lasted so much longer than we usually experiencee. Amazing that rain can be different across the nation.

 

Usually we would have been well into our story by now. But consider what is going on in the East right now. We can't concentrate of reliving a fun adventure when so many friends and their families are still MIA.

All our hopes for a safe reunion with all you loved ones...soon. Take care and chime in when you can.

This adventure will continue at a more appropriate time.

Sue and Jim

 

And I think that time will be just after Thanksgiving Day. Too soon? I don't believe so. After checking with all our family and friends back East and finding they all escaped more or less unscathed, I know I have a great deal to be thankful for this year. That makes me happy and this happy girl likes to write. So I will.

On the serious side, let me say: for all those who suffered losses, those who mourn, my thoughts and best wishes go with you always. May those close by prove true friends and aid you in your recovery.

And for those of us far away; we may not be able to reach out and offer our hand, but we can give a hand up. Please donate to the organization of your choice.

Camp On,

Sue and Jim

 

Fun stories, Sue and Jim. Attending Burning Man has been on my Bucket List for a few years now, but now I'm not so sure!!

 

Oh, go ahead. From the look of the stragglers, I'd say there is a lot of creativity cycling around in that desert. It could be lots of fun.

Never been there either, so what do I know?

Sue

 

Okay, time's up. Pull up your chairs, gab the snacks and get ready for the next installment:

Part III

Sept. 7th, 2012, Ohiopyle State Park, Pennsylvania was a beautiful, wooded campground with nice, large sites and decent facilities. We had turned down a short loop in order to set up Spamalot for an easy back in, when low and behold: another 550 at the end of the loop! It was "Ahoy Mates", Dave and Rene Hoy from Ohio. They had been there several days and for the same reasons we...Frank Lloyd Wright and Falling Water.

We met up with the Hoys in between downpours. A lovely, fun couple to be sure, it would have been grand to spend time acquainting ourselves, but Mother Nature wasn't cooperating. They spent the entire next day holed up in the 550 while Jim and I dodged the downpours.

It's an odd thing to do: visiting a house named Falling Water during a rain storm, but hey - we were game. Our tickets were for 3PM, so we had half a day to kill. A little shopping was in order, so off to Uniontown where we hauled our Tacoma through street built for horse and buggy. Tight fit. We stopped at a local antique shop (big surprise) and had a wonderful visit with a sweet old half blind dear and her totally blind dog. Love the small town folk, so nice.

We told her we were on our way to Falling Water and she insisted we visit another FLW house near by: Kentuk Nob. As we had an extra couple of hours to go, we decided to swing by and see if we could get in. Luck was with us...or at least the rain which kept a lot of folks off the roads (except for whack-os like us). In we went and had a wonderful tour of a grand example of FLW's Usonian houses. I wanted to stop for some local ice cream - reputed to have the highest level of milk fat in the universe - but we had to hot foot it for our tour of Falling Water. Such a shame as we never went back for that ice cream.

Made it to Falling Water with a few minutes to spare and used it wandering about the little art studio/shop. Lots of lovely, local, expensive goodies...we didn't buy a thing.

As we gathered for the tour, our guide explained to us how fortunate we were to be there during a rain storm. Our tour group was only eight people...not the usual twenty five to thirty. Now a crowd like that would have put a damper on all the fun. See what I mean by lucky?

Our guide pointed to the beginning of an old gravel driveway and told us to get started...he would meet us at the house. Huh? Oh, well. Off we tramped down that twisting path through a towering mixed forest along a dancing little stream. The rain had stopped for a bit and we enjoyed the spicy smells of Autumn.

As with most FLW houses, it hid it's self until the last minute. We turned a bend and there it was...the porte-co-chere (French for a drive through porch-oh brother). Frank likes to make his entrances "unobtrusive".

We won't beat you to death with a point by point tour of the house. Suffice it to say it is a must see if you are a fan of remarkable, innovative architecture. A beautiful, intelligent interior and one of the most photographed exteriors of all time: a delicate symphony of sunset toned cantilevers perched on bedrock over a cascade. Genius.

They kicked us out at 5PM and we rode back to Spamalot happily O.D.'ed on FLW. The rain had started up again, but we had the TD tented and the bug tent up before we left. Nothing like a hot meal in the middle of a downpour. We enjoyed out stew and steaming hot cocoa in the bug tent and let the rain fall. Such fun.

In the morning, we were munching on yogurt and trail mix when Dave and Rene came by. They were headed back to Ohio. Such a shame we didn't get to spend much time together and they were not going to the CICO this year. We said out good byes and promised to send their greetings to Jenn (which we did, if you remember, Jenn).

After breakfast and an interesting pack-up (lots of water pooled on the tents and we damn near drown each other getting it off), we were off to West Virginia and Harpers Ferry: the first stop on my Civil War trail.

A long, slow ride through the tip of Maryland took us through some outstandingly beautiful country. Rolling hills in lush green, rich farmland and large stretches of mowed lawns in front of every house, farm house, shack and mansion! Dropping into West Virginia, we thought we'd be smart and avoid the major highways by shooting down through the back roads; a more direct line and no tolls. Oh, ha-ha on us. There was some sort of county wide garage sale and anniversary celebration going on and lucky us got stuck right smack dab in the middle. LA rush hour traffic on a two lane road for miles. What fun.

We finally made it to Harpers Ferry by 4:30PM. By then the weather had cleared and the sky was a magnificent blue with masses of puffy white clouds sailing along. Sitting at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers, Harpers Ferry doesn't seem to have changed in 150 years. Narrow cobblestone streets wound through a maze of ancient brick building and folks in 1860 attire roamed amongst the tourist. A lady in crinoline and parasol next to a punk rocker made me shake my head to clear it. Time seemed to have been dropped into a Mixmaster in this place.

We wandered about the main street taking photos of the Engine House where John Brown was holed up during his spurt of insurrection (also where the troops incarcerated him before they took him out and stretched his neck for said treasonous actions). This was also one of the first places my soldier boy was stationed in 1863. As we shot off photos, I told Jim how I wished I knew where he had trained. According to the diary, he was stuck up on the side of a mountain in a place called the MD Heights. Maryland is a big state. How in heck were we going to locate that spot? And then we turned around and saw a placard with an arrow pointing to the right: "M. D. Heights". Wow.

My heart was pumping double time as we quick marched along the path that lead to an old train trestle and across the Shenandoah to a long stretch of steep hills. Heights indeed. Rocky and tree covered, these hills were so steep, I couldn't see how anyone managed to pitch a tent and drill on them. In the diary, my boy complained about the high winds and snow. Just looking at those rugged slopes in good weather made me gulp. Winter must have been hell.

It was getting late and we still had a long road before we got to our next camp site in Shenandoah National Park. We drove along Skyline Drive above the Shenandoah Valley. Everywhere we looked, magnificent views of that famous valley. The sun was setting and everything was a haze of blues and purples. Tiny lights from distant farm houses looked like stars in a blue heaven. What a beautiful, beautiful place.

We found a good campground down among the trees and enjoyed a peaceful night...except for that juvenile bear being delinquent and scrounging around for scraps at the empty campsites. We wouldn't have minded him so much, except for the fact that we were just about the only folks in the camp! Nothing like frying up some nice sausage and being told a bear was on his way. I continued to cook dinner, but had Jim keep a look out and unlock the truck's doors in case of a hasty retreat.

The sun was down, it was darned dark and dinner was half way cooked when Jim spied a dark shape lumbering about in an adjacent campsite. Oh goody, the bear. Luckily he wasn't in the mood for sausage and wandered off. We ate a hasty meal, face to face and watching each other's backs (yeah, we're chicken). We had a peaceful night and rose early. It was going to be a busy day. We were planning on following my soldier boy through some of the bloodiest battlefields of the war.

And we will do that another time. It's almost 10PM, the rain is on it's way and that grandson of ours gets here before 8AM. So good night for now.

Camp On,

Sue and Jim

 

Well, friends, it has been quite a long time since that last installment. Multiple tragic events, one piled on the other, quite took the heart out of me and writing frivolous nonsense seemed almost obscene at the time. But my dear Grandmother always said, "Life is for the living and you best get on with it." So I guess it's time.

Now, where were we...

September 10th., 2012

Dawn is never the same, one day to the next. Location, weather, heck-sun spots can alter it's composition in unexpected ways. We have seen it explode across the tortured ruins of the Bad Lands, pop up and dance amongst the quivering green of an Ohio woodland and gently pink the tips of the majestic Grand Tetons.

Dawn along the Shenandoah is a sleepy, gentile thing. Your eyes slowly open to a deep Prussian Blue sky as the morning star is finishing it's long, stately arc in the heavens. A small bird calls in the distance, to be joined by another until the air is filled with song. The star begins to drop below the horizon as the blue is lighted then engulfed by an irresistible tide of soft pinks and yellows. The instant the morning star flickers out, the sun, almost as if it were playing tag with the star, gilds the Eastern sky. You rise and breath deeply the spice and sweet aromas of leaf and blossom in clean, crisp air.

We rose early and enjoyed a bear free breakfast. The park ranger stopped by with well wishes and we had a lovely chat about naughty bears that actually included her asking, "Which way did he go?" Gotta love that.

On the road by 9AM and all excited. Today Jim has promised to take me to all the Civil War battle sites mentioned in my soldier's diary. Merritt, that's my boy, was in the Vermont 10th and spent the war tramping around in the Virginia Campaign. From Harpers Ferry to Appomattox, we were going to see it all. I had planned to carry the diary with me, sort of like having Merritt along for the ride, but forgot it at the last moment. Just as well, it is a fragile thing and one run in the heat and damp of Virginia 150 years ago is more than enough.

Besides, it wasn't necessary. I carry Merritt in my heart.

Down the sloping road we went and into the green of the Virginian farm land. Jim had a plan. He had poured over the map the night before and scoped out a circular route that would enable us to hit most of the battle sites and still return to the Blue Ridge Parkway (traffic permitting) with enough time left to find a good camp site. He is the eternal optimistic incarnate.

He headed for Manassas first. Merritt never fought in the two huge battles there, but he did camp, "On the old Bull Run battlefield" between fights. It took us until noon, fighting traffic, to reach the first set of fences that bordered the battleground. We pulled into the nearly empty parking lot next to a beautiful period brick building that housed the museum and entry onto the grounds. After watching the historical film, chatting with the docents and dropping a bit of change at the museum store, we walked out onto the battlefield.

Some places are special. You sense it the instant you touch ground. A tickling at the base of the neck, goose bumps on the skin or a sudden weight pressing on your head or chest mark the area as "different". Manassas is sacred.

The instant we stepped out to those rolling, wind swept hills were so many young men met their fate, we were struck by an overpowering sense of sorrow. Sorrow is the only way to describe it. Seeing the empty grass covered hills, the lone farm house still pitted by bullets, the long rows of cannon and split rail fences marking the location of the Blues and the Grays and the knowledge that the ground we trod was soaked in the blood of thousands was enough to silence us. We barely spoke and then only in whispers. We pause for a moment of respect before leaving.

The one jarring note was the bronze statue of Stonewall Jackson. A brilliant warrior, determined and faithful unto death, there was much to admire in that man. But that statue was something else. Towering on the hill where Jackson made his famous stand and gained his name, the over-sized equestrian depicted the General, not as the lean, hard fighting man he was, but as a comic book super hero. There he was, cape flying, hand on hip and muscles bulging fit to burst his uniform at the seams. Heck, even the horse had muscles popping out everywhere. I suppose it was to show how he was bigger than life, but jeez, at least make it anatomically correct! I don't mean to rant, but it looked like a balloon float at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The General deserved better than that.

Moving on, we played hop-scotch with the Rappahannock, Rapidan and Anna Rivers along with the commuter traffic and visited the rest of the site on my list: Fredericsburg, Bristoe Station, Brandy Station, Spotsylvania, Chancelorville, Wilderness, Orange and North Anna. Merritt did not fight at Fredericsburg, Chancelorville or Manassas, but we drove by and paid out respects to those brave boys. And I do mean drive by. Most if not all these battles were fought on farmland which is still being farmed today. In the cases of Chancelorville, North Anna and Orange, there is nothing more than a few plaques to mark the spot of so much violence. But some places cannot be returned to the mundane.

Spotsylvania -yes, Merritt fought there - was well preserved. One can park and walk the miles of trails through trench covered fields and forests to the major battle sites, including the Bloody Angle, or drive the one mile horseshoe road. We chose the latter. Remember what I said about the atmosphere of a place? I could not put my foot on one inch of Spotsylvania. Too much violence, blood and fear permeated the very air we breathed. Where Manassas had been sacred, Spotsylvania was the epitome of death.

We moved on past the markers for Chancelorville, past mile after mile of corn covered trenches until we came to Wilderness. And Wilderness was pure hell.

Where Spotsylvania held me back by overpowering death, Wilderness hit me like a brick wall. We drove up to the parking lot and viewed the information board. It provided a brief, sanitized history of the battle and displayed a map of the foot paths for the self-guided tour. I leaned on the split rail fence and gazed at the wandering dirt trail that lead through a grassy field to the woods beyond and thought, "Oh, heck no." I could feel I was not welcome there.

The woods. That tree choked nightmare of a death trap just stood there and dared me to enter. No way. I knew about the battle of Wilderness, how the men got confused and lost in the maze of trees, how they couldn't see farther than a few feet ahead of them and how the battle lines were a jumbled up mess so close they could tell the color of the enemy's eyes. I knew how the gun fire was so thick and hot that, when a man was hit, he literally came apart - blown to pieces by a storm of lead. And the wounded... Those unfortunate enough not to die outright, lay unaided in the woods and those woods burned! Hot lead bullets ignited the dry foliage and a fire swept through the battle site. The greatest tragedy of all was that the shooting was so intense, no one could rescue the injured. They lay pinned down in their trenches and listened to their wounded friends burn to death. Merritt had been there, but I could not follow.

Wilderness Battlefield is haunted.

By the end of the afternoon we had had enough. Tired, hungry and emotionally drained, we pointed the truck due West and headed back to the Blue Ridge Parkway. By the time we reached the parkway, the sun was setting and staring us straight in the face. As we drove along the crest, that burning orb - as a flaming lion - stalked us along the road, slipping behind a copse of trees then jumping out at every chance to roar in our faces, blinding us.

By 8PM we turned down a long dark side road that promised a good campground at the end of a short drive. Short is a relative term for some and an hour later we were still crawling along, hoping we wouldn't run into anything that would eat us. Sharp-eyed Jim spied a half hidden sign for Shenando Lake and we turned left down a narrow path. Thank goodness it was there and still open. The camp host, a lovely lady who personified the grace and elegance of the classic Southern Belle, helped us to a lovely campsite, gave us a discount and wished us a peaceful night. And that we had.

It had been a grueling 12 hour day. We were dirty, hungry and emotionally drained. I whipped up a hearty meal and we ate in silence, listening to the night music of the forest. We were bound for Appomattox tomorrow, then on to Richmond and the worst battle site of all: Cold Harbor.

And that is enough for now. I will continue in a bit and don't worry, it gets better...even some funny stuff. Honest!

Good night and remember all those brave boys in your prayers tonight.

Camp On,

Sue

 

In the battle to pass by unanimous vote the Declaration of Independence, our founding fathers had to compromise and remove many passages. The biggest and most dangerous was the slavery clause. When that clause was removed, John Adams, who hated slavery, was noted to have said, "Mark me. Posterity will never forgive us for this."

A lesson for the present day Congress and Senate: Sometimes you can shove something under a rug and it will stay there. But one day you'll shove something that will sneak back out and bite you on the butt.

Just sayin'.

Sue

 

Sue and Jim great story keep them coming.