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

Sue and Jim thanks for your story - good but hard - it is oh so easy to just want to look at the pretty things and close eyes to the pain and sorrow. Your brave to submit yourselves to all these rememberances - Thank you - I'll be a bit more thankful for our freedom as I sleep tonight.

 

And on we go.

September 11th and another early morning, this time along Shenando Lake by the Blue Ridge Parkway. We were up and breakfasting with the song birds as usual, then off on the road again for an easy day. Our plan was for a visit to Appomattox and then camp early at near by Holiday Lake. Great. But first, we couldn't resist a little stop at Shenando Lake.

I must say Shenando is a nice campground. Lots of sites, large, clean bathrooms, power and tons of fun things to do. It must be very noisy during regular season, but that morning we had the place to ourselves. The lake was rather small, but nicely situated with large, drooping trees and swaths of reeds. Green, green, green and oh, so peaceful. With not a ripple on the pristine surface of the lake, we found ourselves staring at a magical looking glass and wondering when Alice would make an appearance. We took photos and headed out.

The trip down from the Blue Ridge was lovely. Plentiful rainfall allows for some pretty rambunctious vegetation. We stopped constantly for photo ops and passed some time visiting a 19th century lock the park service had preserved. Amazing how a lock system was set up in the middle of a mountain range and operated from 1850s to the early 1930s or so. Wonderful bit of history. We finally meandered back into the Virginia farmland and turned our noses toward Appomattox...

But we got sidetracked - again.

The Museum of the Confederacy was to blame. What history hound could resist a name like that? We pulled into the gravel parking lot of a very new building around 12:50pm and wandered in. What a wonderful museum! Not only did it have a particularly good collection, knowledgeable docents and full museum store, but the exhibits themselves were organized along a time line. As the exhibits progressed so did the history of the war and everything leading up to and following after, giving the visitor as thorough a view of the events as there ever was. We were very favorably impressed, especially for it's nearly unbiased presentation of the facts. Seeing that part of our history from the Southern view was fascinating. I highly recommend anyone stop by if history is your thing.

After the museum, it was a short hop to Appomattox. We arrived around 2:50pm and took a quick lunch in the parking lot (and gave a few tours), then strolled up a gentle slope and along the gravel path that lead us into farmland and a cluster of buildings. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the heat waves roiled before our eyes making the too bright buildings shimmer and seem unsubstantial. We had to blink a few times before everything settled down and became solid.

Fully restored and lovingly preserved, Appomattox is a crystallized moment in 1865. We climbed the steps of the courthouse and wandered amongst the homes of wealthy and notable families of that time before finally turning our eyes toward the main farmhouse.

Shame on me, but I just can't remember the old fellow's name right now... anyway, as I recall, he was a farmer and lived farther north by Bull Run at the start of the war. He had move his family to Appomattox in an attempt to escape the fighting. Didn't work. And darned if they didn't end the war right in his front parlor. Most of his house is as it was on that fateful day and the very chairs and small table used by Grant and Lee are still there. Fantastic.

We took photos, wandered through the house, commented on the relatively comfortable life that family enjoyed and the decidedly uncomfortable conditions their slaves endured. A junk-yard dog is treated better, that's all I have to say... except for one comment: It is best we keep these ugly times clear in our minds and before our eyes so we will not be tempted to fall back on evil practices.

End of lecture.

It was getting on, so off we went in search of Holiday Lake. It was not a far drive, but a trifle convoluted as signage is not a top priority in that area and we were constantly getting turned down the wrong way. We finally found a half hidden sign (those are awfully popular..hidden signs, that is) and drove down a long, narrow road lined by huge trees. At the end of two miles, we found more signs that lead to a nice, but rather small campground bordering a very small lake. The sites were also small and huddled together, but as it was off-season, this wasn't a problem. But there was another more ickier problem lurking in the shadows...waiting.

We set up camp (a snap, of course), took a quick tour of the place and got ready for supper. I headed to the ladies room for a rinse and opened the door. Oh yeah, I forgot, we're in Virginia and that means: Wolf Spiders.

Now I don't like those eight legged varmints any more than anyone else, but - dang it - they're not supposed to challenge you! I opened the door and there's this blasted thing the size of a mack truck parked in the middle of the door way. And let me tell you kids, it wasn't going to budge for anything. We just stood there, eye to eyes (can't remember how many those things have) and nobody was moving. I tossed a rock at it and the darned thing just leaned to one side - didn't give an inch. I finally gabbed a pine branch and brushed it away, so that was that.

Of course, all of it's cousins were inside. Hanging on the wall, dangling from the ceiling and lurking in the dark corners, I had lots of company in there.

Jim thought it was funny.

Anyway, we had a nice evening with a big campfire under a star studded sky, then blessed sleep.

I dreamt of tap dancing spiders...

The morning was clear and warm. We started early as usual, leaving while the few fellow campers were still snoring. Our goal today was a KOA just outside of Williamsburg - clear across the entire state of Virginia - and we had to be there before 5:30pm.

And I'll tell you about that later.

Until then,

Camp On.

Sue and Jim

 

It's Later.

Sept. 12th, 2012. On to Richmond! (there's a song in that somewhere...)

Now Virginia is one gorgeous state, no fooling there. But can someone, sometime put up a dog gone street sign? We got lost five times just in the AM and, yes, we have a map-app, but that wasn't working so well either. The main reason for my griping is that Sailor Creek was within a few miles of our campground at Holiday Lake and Jim had promised to take me there on the way to Richmond. This was the site of the Sailor Creek Battle, the last fight my soldier boy endured before Lee's surrender...and it was a nasty one.

We followed the directions on the app and even caught a glimpse of a sign pointing the way to the battle ground. But then the street sign system (or lack there of) kicked in and we wasted a full hour driving around a three square mile area before giving up and heading back on the road east. Jim was sorry, but I told him we had no doubt traveled over the same ground Merritt walked and fought on and that would do.

It was a long drive to our destination and I had plenty of time to muse over everything we had seen so far. As I looked at the passing scenery, I couldn't help but see a twin landscape. All about were the country homes, farms, bustling cities and small towns of today. Huge swaths of crops crowded against the edges of super highways and urban sprawl. All was bright, sharp and clear. And yet, and yet... there was something else.

If I let my eyes relax just a bit and lose focus, I could almost see a pale haze covering everything, like a soft blanket of fog just before it lifts and fades into nothingness. But the fog was not empty: things moved and took shape. As I leaned back in my seat, I saw shadowy armies move silently over the fields. They marched through the towns unnoticed, waded streams without causing a single eddy and charged over hills, colliding in violent battle without disturbing so much as a leaf. I thought back to Appomattox and that long, dusty road that Lee and his men traveled down after the surrender and I could hear the ghostly cheer of the Union troupes as they honored the passing heroes in grey. Merritt had raised his voice and cheered there.

Everywhere I looked, I saw where Merritt had been: the land he slept on, the streams he forded, the berry bushes that fed him and the battlegrounds that took his boyhood friends and changed him forever. I looked out the window and Merritt's blue eyes looked back: daring me to continue...daring me to stand on the ground of Cold Harbor.

By 1PM we reached the border of Richmond. We were not entering the city, but skirting the North-Eastern border on the hunt for the Cold Harbor Battleground. I was a bit worried. I had been unable to enter Wilderness...would I also fail at Cold Harbor? This was where Merritt lost five of his best friends and his most beloved Captain in the first five minutes of a seven day battle. The gunfire was so hot, he had to stay prone, face in the mud, for days. Anyone who moved would be hit. Anyone hit would disintegrate from the wall of lead shrieking overhead. It was pure hell.

We were worried this site would not be well marked and were relieved when we found it was a National Historic Site. Well marked with good signage leading the way, we easily found a parking lot and information center and the center of a large field edged by woods.

The ranger was a kindly old fellow and was most excited to learn I was following Merritt's trail. I cited some of the diary's entries about the battle and he was all agog over Merritt's comment about having to lay all day with his head in the mud. The ranger said there were reports of rain the night before the battle and he was tickled to have the reports confirmed, thanks to a little diary.

I asked him if he could lead us to were the different companies fought and he smiled, pulled out an enormous volume and began flipping pages. He stopped at a large map divided into geometric sections with company marking.

"Vermont 10th?", he said. "I can show you exactly where they were. As a matter of fact, you're less than 100 yards from the spot." Then he grunted and shook his head. "Amazing her survived at all."

We looked at the map and it suddenly became clear why the 10th had so many casualties in such a short span of time. The Confederate and Union lines were clearly marked. The Confederates were hunkered down behind massive trench works bordered by thick woods and fronted with a long, low field-a killing field if ever there was one. In the one really foolish move he ever made, General Grant sent Union troupes marching across that field and straight into the guns of the enemy: a spear cast into the face of an armored giant. Merritt's company had been right at the tip of that spear.

Jim and I took the brochures, thanked the kindly fellow and walked down that dirt road toward the field. All around were trench works and at 100 yards we turned onto a small path that followed a small stream that had run red that day. We crossed over and ended in a clearing at the edge of the field. Here is where he lay for days, here his boyhood friends died, here the tenor of his writing changed, the joking voice of a farm boy vanished forever and the biting whit of a soldier emerged.

I stood on the edge of that field and listened to the silence. All around me I felt the presence of those boys from Vermont who never made it home. They seemed to gather close and press in on me. I said nothing about this to Jim (no need to confirm his belief that he married a kook) and waited for him to move off for some pictures. As I stood alone, I whispered to the boys, "We're going to Kirby, Vermont. You might as well come along with us. Time to go home, boys." And they stayed with us until Vermont.

We spent quite a bit of time at Cold Harbor. I was glad I could walk the paths and pay tribute to the boys. This was our last battle field. Finally we headed back on the road and made it to our KOA by Williamsburg by 3:30PM. This was a very nice campground. Nice facilities, laundry, store and a shade tree on each site. Cool. We bought our tickets for Williamsburg, ate a very late lunch then hot-footed down the road five miles to Jamestown.

And that's another story for later.

Camp On,

Sue

 

I love reading your stories about the Civil War. I had a few studies about it in middle school, and then ended up going to the International High School, where our studies were globally focused and I didn't learn much more about our history.

These days I have been working on our genealogy, and tracking my family and Mick's. Mick was born in England and grew up there. He moved here about 15 years ago. What we recently learned was his great-grandfather decided to join up with the Union Army in New York, on Atlanic Avenue in May 1861. England, feeling scathed by us and not wanting to get involved in any of our business, asked residents to ignore us and not participate. There were some strong feelings towards both sides, and men were recruited all over (especially in London) and sent over. He went in a (Englishman) Sergeant and came out a (American) 1st Lieutenant. After he retuned to England, America was paying his pension and eventually paid for his funeral, where, in England, his casket was draped with an American flag. There is no sign of the flag now, and the great-grandmother likely had no idea what it meant. Best we can tell he was in the 31st New York Infantry.

I find all of the stories so interesting. I had no clue other countries were fighting in our war. I always thought it was just people who lived here, but that certainly was not the case. I will eventually be researching which battles he fought in. The family is stoked we have found this bit of info out. He was an interesting character.

Looking forward to more, later, from you!

 

Thanks for sharing.

 

Sarah,

The 31st NY was a highly decorated unit. Google it and you will find all kinds of info. Also check out the US Soldier/Sailor web site, enter g-grandpa's name and enlistment info is sure to pop up. Happy hunting, you'll find it addictive.

I'm still on my search with Merritt.

Camp On,

Sue

 

Are you related to Merritt or how did you come to meet him?

Thank you for that bit of info. I have found the genealogy stuff very interesting. I started pulling it all together for Laddy initially. Then I decided I wanted to learn more about my grandmother's side. There is a lot of history there that much of the family didn't know, and it has been great to find out. I have had people from Mick's side contact me from all over the world, which has been very exciting for my mother in law. I have been taking a break with my health stuff, the holidays and trying to get the yard back in order (hello spring! But Ma Nature, you aren't fooling me that easily). I am hoping to dive a bit deeper in the next couple of months before the camping season starts!

I will google the 31st though. I just love history!

 

Sarah


Found the Civil War diary at an estate sale...no name or anything much to ID the author other than a few attempts at a monogram and the battles he was in. Wandered around the internet for a while until a very nice fellow on a reenactor's website told me to follow the officers. Was fortunate enough to find the regiment's captain listed for the Vermont 10th. That was a huge help. Then I transcribed the entire diary copying the handwriting. That enabled me to read the monogram as M.P., plus there was a reference to his birthday and age. Then I found a great website on Vermont in the Civil War which listed every soldier, their unit, what happened to them and what battles they were in. Toss that all together and I found Merritt Parker.

And then I found his name scratched on the copper frame of the postage stamp sized tin-type that was hidden in a secret pocket of the diary. Now why I didn't see that darned name the first five times I looked, I'll never know!

Have done a lot of research on my boy and found diary #2 at UC Santa Barbara and copied that. He went through the war with only a minor injury (shot in the hand, but he said still he had another one and didn't much mind), returned to Kirby Vermont to farm and marry a local girl (no kids from what I can find), move to California around the turn of the century and ended up in Petaluma - just a few blocks from where my brother used to live (spooky) and finally was buried in Colma. We placed flowers and flags on his grave on Memorial Day.

It's been quite an adventure and it isn't over yet...there's a third diary about there somewhere. I'm still looking.

Happy hunting.

Sue and Jim

 

Sarah, what was Mick's great-great grandpa's name? Kinda want to look him up.

Sue

 

I sent you a pm earlier with his info. Would love to find out what you find out! Thanks!

 

It's been another long delay here. A nasty winter cold caught us unaware - both of us. Yuck city, but we are finally out of the woods. So it is time to go back into the woods...of Virginia and pick up the strings of our journey.

Now, let's see... where were we?

Oh yes, Williamsburg KOA in the late afternoon and a mad dash to Jamestowne on September 12th, 2012...

We made it to the main gates of Jamestowne (circa 1607) at 4PM with just enough time for an easy stroll in the 17th century. We chatted with a park ranger about what was still open (they close at 5:30PM) and as we started out I made a wise crack to the ranger about possibly finding some reference to a distant family member.

According to family history on my mother's father's side (if you can figure that one out), one William Love traveled to Virginia on the first Jamestowne ship in 1607 and was never heard from again. The family joke was that he took one look at America and said, "Oh, hell no!" (or something like that) and took the first ship back. I was curious to see if there was anything close to a passenger manifest in the museum, though the chances were slim to nil. We chuckled about the odds on the walk in.

Jamestowne was a wonderful little spot along the James River with tons of archeological diggings, foundations, the original church still in use, churchyard and a fine little museum with wonderful displays. We hit the museum first and enjoyed the exhibits all set out on a time line. Very smart.

As we wandered through the exhibits, I made a joke to Jim about turning a corner and coming face to face with my ancestor. Just then we came upon a display listing all the different professions represented by the first settlers. There was a list on names with their professions and there, right in front of us was one William Love: Tailor 1607. Holy cow. Was he the lost Love? No idea, but it sure looks suspicious.

There was no information on the fates of the first settlers or if any returned to England, but it is accepted that most died during the first year from starvation, disease and violence. Archeologist had discovered many unmarked graves in the churchyard and there is no telling who they are. We walked over to the graves and stood looking for a bit. Was my ancestor there? I'll never know. But, just to be sure, I took a hand
full of earth and cast it over the graves: giving a final farewell to William from the family.

We returned to the KOA and spent the evening catching up on our laundry and hitting the sack early. Tomorrow would be a full day in Williamsburg and we wanted to be fresh and well rested.

In the morning, we were awakened by the dulcet tones of 33mm and 45mm blasting away at the local firing range just behind the KOA - word to the wise. Oh, brother. Jim decided it was not the place for a walk in the woods. Before we left, we met a lovey lady from North Carolina who came over to admire the trailer. She was heading back to her teaching position after a brief holiday. When she heard we were off to Maryland, she wished us well and warned us to "be careful up there among those Yankees". I was about to chuckle, until I realized she was serious. Very sweet of her to care and I didn't have the heart to tell her I was going to visit my uncle and aunt: a true Connecticut Yankee. Gotta love people.

We headed out after a nice breakfast and were in Williamsburg by opening hour. Now, for those of you who don't know, Williamsburg - a few square blocks of it - is a Colonial American town fully restored to it's glory days when it was the capital of Virginia. I had been there some 35 years earlier when cars were banned during the hours of 8AM to 5PM, no sign of modern life was allowed and even the airplanes steered clear. You walked around a bend, past a corn field and you were in the 18th century. It was magic and I wanted to show that to Jim sooooooo much.

But 35 years takes a tole.

There is now a huge visitors center with an enormous parking lot and hoards of tourists that are herded into slots that lead past trinket shops and eateries on the way to the ticket booths where they are relieved of as much cash in as short a time as possible (I didn't remember it being so expensive..). The herdsmen (and women) were dressed in period costume and spoke according to the time, which was fun and made the lightening of our pockets a bit less painful...though not by much.

Pass the ticket booth, you can either wait for a shuttle bus or take the "short" walk to the town center and save a little time... so they said. We took the walk. Jim says that as the crows fly, it was probably a short walk, but they had us meander around the woods and down a narrow path by a very busy main street. Whizzing cars missed us by a hair's breath as we struggled through dangling vines and berry bushes that seemed intent on eating us for a mid-morning snack. But we finally made it in alive.

Colonial Williamsburg was an absolute beauty. Block after block of fully restored homes, shops, public grounds and Government buildings. We headed first for the Governor's Palace. Here we were treated to a full tour, guided by an ancient, gentile lady in full period costume and character (picture Estelle Winwood in pert wig and panniers). She handled the tour as if it were a specific date in 1775 when the palace had been under siege, the governor and his family had fled and she was the house keeper wondering what was going on. It was great fun and the palace and all the furnishings were gorgeous.

For the rest of the day we wandered all over, touring several homes, estates and shops. The gardens were lovely and we had a nice lunch at the King's Arms.

A little bit about lunch...

When I had first visited, low so many years ago, I had been fresh out of college and dead broke. I couldn't afford to dine at the taverns and the one thing I really, really wanted to do was to enjoy a Virginia baked ham sandwich and the Raleigh Tavern. My mom had done that and raved about it and I wanted to go. You can imagine how heartbroken I was when we found the Raleigh Tavern was closed. Only used for private parties these days, so they told us. I moped around a bit and we finally chose the Kings Arms. Second disappointment: no Virgina ham except as an accent. I pouted...no, really, pouted...and whined to the waiter (Jim says I whined and whined and whined...A LOT)my sad tale about 35 years waiting for one lousy sandwich, he took pity on me and talked to the chef. I got my sandwich. It wasn't on the original coarse black bread and it was just a thin, skimpy bit, but I got it and it was delicious. We shared a bread pudding with hot custard for afters and were barely able to waddle out. Yummy, yummy and thank you, Kings Arms.

It was getting late in the afternoon and we had a long drive ahead of us in the midst of commute traffic. We had to make it to the Eastern Shore of Virginia by sunset, so off we went. It was an interesting drive through Newport News into Chesapeake and across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Sixteen miles of a combination surface bridge and three deep underwater tunnels. This was something we had never seen before, run along the water's edge and then suddenly dive for the depths. Spooky...and expensive. They charged us $16! Heck, we only pay $6 to cross the Golden Gate. Oh well.

One more bit about Williamsburg: I was overjoyed at the beauty of the place, but disappointed over how much it had changed. Originally it was pure immersion into another century with all goods and food made on site with original materials and of fine quality and the city of Williamsburg miles away. The old town was an oasis of peace. Not anymore. The Disneyland syndrome is in full sing now. All the shops sell the same cheap merchandise for exorbitant prices, the food is cafeteria quality for the most part (accept the Kings Arms)and the city of Williamsburg has grown up and engulfed the old town so that all around is the roar of traffic, buses, trains and airplanes. Such a shame.

We made it to our destination by sunset: Kiptopeke State Park. This was a fun place to camp. There were two areas open: one an open, grassy area full of RVs and the other a heavily wooded area close to the shore of Chesapeake Bay. We chose the latter - duh. We enjoyed a stunning sunset and a peaceful night with only a few campers near by. Morning brought a stroll by the shore and the camp hostess: a great lady from California! (We seem to run into those a lot: people formally from California and working as rangers or camp hosts in other states. Hhhhmmm...). Then we were off on the road to St. Michaels, MD.

And we will tell you the adventure with the Atlantic Ocean, monster mosquitoes and soft shell crabs later.

Camp On,

Sue and Jim

 

Holy Cow! We'd better get this done before we head out on another cross-country trek.

Now let's see... we had just left Kiptopeke State Park along the Chesapeake Bay. One thing about the Chesapeake: sunsets are spectacular.

We had just found out camping spot and decided to take a short stroll along the shore. It was a short hop across the road and an equally short walk down a wooded path to a sudden opening directly onto the shore - and the cliffs! Fortunately, the State of Virginia is not into having their guests plunge to a grisly death, so they provided an extremely sturdy, elevated walkway and viewing platform.

We walked out over the shore just as the sun was setting. What a lovely sight. The sky was a riot of reds, oranges and pinks what merged with a myriad of blues trailing off into lavender. All this intense color was reflected on the dead calm, steel grey water. Flecks of light glinted off tiny ripples and currents, turning the restless surface into a shimmering dragon. I was suddenly reminded of a poem I once read; the sea as a dragon. Darned if I can recall the title or the poet (It was a woman, I believe).

We met a local gentleman on the platform and chatted with him as the sky darkened and the first star winked. It was a lovely moment.

Dawn and we were on the road again. What was to be a simple three and a half hour drive (With us? Yeah, sure.) to St. Michaels, MD, turned out to be an all day adventure. No surprise there. The detour to wet our toes in the Atlantic Ocean may have had something to do with it. We were not about to travel three thousand miles and not do that, so off we went to Assateague Island National Seashore. Uncle Ray (that's Sue's uncle) had told us that was his favorite spot along the Eastern Shore and not to miss it. He told us all about the wild horses and the history and the soft, soft sand...

He didn't tell us about the mosquitoes.

As we arrived in the Visitor's Center (a very nice Visitor's Center), we were waylayed by a park ranger who had to learn everything there was to know about our little trailer. And so the tour began - accompanied by the slap of hand on face or arm and the high whine of hungry mosquitoes. An hour alter (and a quart of blood lighter) we pulled onto the shore of the mighty Atlantic.

It was a stunningly clear and sunny day. A blue, blue sky over the sparkling clear water that hissed and rolled over incredibly white sand. We popped the galley and picnicked mosquito free, thanks to the steady on-shore breeze. A few people strolled by and asked a few questions of Jim while I hot-footed it over to the water.

The Atlantic was a complete surprise. Here on the West Coast, we are accustomed to rip-tides, undertows, massive kelp beds, scorching sand and water cold enough to make one scream "cryogenics". A day at the beach usually involves having to hose down afterward to remove the sticky kelp residue which has the ability to glue the sand in surprisingly awkward places. But the Atlantic water was crisp, refreshing and light. The sand was powder soft and brushed off easily. It was a total joy. I wandered up and down the shore, gathering tiny, colorful shells until Jim had had enough and called me back. We were late. Time to hustle or we wouldn't make dinner at Ray and Mary's. You never want to be late to Mary's meals - not if you value your life. She's Italian.

We swallowed our pride and phoned ahead with our lame excuse for being late. "Sue was hunting for shells." Stupid, but true and they understood.

It was near sunset by the time we arrived at St. Michaels and we needed light to find that tiny, little street sign that marked the road to Ray's house. Hwy 33, in the middle of sorghum fields and mini groves of very large trees with nothing else in sight and out of nowhere there was the sign...and there it went. We missed it and drove half a mile to the farmer's market to find a turnaround.

Drivers in Maryland are nuts.

Sorry, but they are. They hit that accelerator and don't let up until reaching their destinations. And mirrors or turn signals - what are they? I swear, they drive just like Uncle Ray. And that's scary!

Anyway, we finally made it safe and sound. As we pulled down the long driveway to his home on Solitude Creek, we were greeted by Ray, Mary and Sue's sister, Rae (not to be confused with Ray) and her husband, Steve. They had flown in from California a few days before and looked so relaxed with their glasses of wine. Kisses and hugs all around.

Mary had prepared a feast of curried chicken, salad, fresh fruit, local bread and wine, wine, wine (I think we mentioned, she's Italian). We lounged in their screened room, talked, drank wine and listened to the cicadas, those bizarre creatures with Martian-esque eyes.

Morning brought cheese omelets, fruit, bacon and lots of very good coffee. Afterward we all strolled across the back lawn to the dock where Ray checked the crab cages...a preview of dinner! It was soft-shell season and we were looking forward to another grand feast.

Ray wanted to show us St. Michaels and, as he was a life member of the St. Michaels Maritime Museum, we enjoyed a personal, behind-the-scenes tour. We learned all about the oyster industry on the Chesapeake, the type of boats they used and even got to climb on one being restored. Afterward, we enjoyed a drink at a favorite cafe before returning to the house.

Mary had been busy while we were away. She shooed us out to collect the fresh crabs while she finished the salad. Ray stomped across the dock, a pair of tongs in one hand and an old fashioned wooden ruler in the other. Pulling up the cages, he'd lift a crab out with the tongs and hold it up to the ruler. crab after crab went into the bucket. Occasionally he would measure a crab, smile, "your luck day", and toss it back into the creek. He harvested nine large blue crabs and plopped them into the boiling crab-pot at the back of the house.

Inside the house, Mary had cleaned and marinated over a dozen more crabs and with wine, bread, salad, fruit and enough clarified butter for the boiled crabs, we had a sumptuous meal. Rae (the sister, not the uncle) and Sue had a crab-eating contest...Rae won. We sat up, talking and laughing until late into the night.

The next day we left the family for a day-long adventure in DC. Jim had never been to DC, so everything was a must. Monuments and museums, lots to see. We decided to go on a Sunday, hoping to avoid the traffic and parking problems than come with a work day...but as nobody seems to be working in DC these days (for nobody, read Senate and Congress), we could have gone on a week day. Anyway, we parked in front of the D.A.R. headquarters on the far end of the ellipse and proceeded to walk and walk and walk.

We visited all the memorials along the reflecting pool: WWII, Korean (which was eerie) and that painful gash in the earth, Vietnam. Jim searched for and found the name of a school mate...tears. We climbed the stairs to the Lincoln Memorial, then retraced our steps back to the museums.

By this time we were starving, so lunch at the Museum of Natural History where we found the best chili and cornbread ever! Getting up was a challenge as our muscles were getting stiff from overwork. But this was our only chance, so ONWARD!

We managed the National Art Gallery, the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum (a real winner!) and the new Native American Museum (a sore disappointment). By the time we were done, our bodies were shutting down from excessive use. We're accustomed to walking a lot, but we had seriously overdone it this day. Every joint was on fire, every step a serious ouch! We were discussing how difficult it was to walk the mall when we saw something that really should have been pointed out to us by that damn docent at the information center we visited way back in the beginning of the day: Shuttle Buses! For crying out loud, shuttle buses! You pay one fee, get a little arm band and ride the shuttle all day long.

We opted for a bicycle rickshaw back to the car.

The driver was from (you guessed it) California. He gave us the grad tour of the mall and as we passed the Capitol Building, Sue couldn't resist yelling, "get to work". Yeah, it was Sunday and no one was there, but why not?

Back at the house, we insisted on giving Mary a break and took them out to dinner at their favorite spot...for crab! Another evening of wine and late conversation, then to comfy beds.

We were smart enough to take pain-killers before bed, so we could actually get up in the morning. Another special day in the works that included a visit to the local Amish Market...

But that will have to wait for a bit. Not as long as this last time, we promise.

Until then:

Camp On,

Jim and Sue

 

She and Jim great story. We are engulfed in rain so reading your story is great pleasure!

 

Yeah! Story time is back! We missed you two! I was awful quiet around here!

 

Jim and Sue great story keep them coming.

 

Onward.

Monday morning and we were up with the birds. Cups of hot coffee and good conversation enhanced a stunning sunrise. We watched the parade of changing colors flash across the clouds and crossed our fingers. So far, we had been very lucky weather wise. A few scary moments in Ohio and a serious downpour in Pennsylvania were our only complaints. But as we listened to the morning news, it was clear out luck was about to run out. Storms were brewing in the Atlantic and the weatherman was hinting at the possibility of a pretty good Nor-Easter by Tuesday. Oh good, that was our next travel day.

After another wonderful breakfast (so-long diet), we decided on a family day wandering through the shops of the local townships. Our first stop was a once-a-week Amish market. Seems a big-time supermarket went feet up and the building had been vacant for years. The Amish community suggested they open it every Monday for an open market. Anyone who wished could rent a space and sell that one day. A good idea and an even better result; the place was packed with shoppers.

We wandered about and bought tons of goodies: gorgeous produce, fresh cheeses and meats, breads with crusts to die for and wonderful preserves. I couldn't resist the rhubarb jam and black current preserves - just like my grandma used to make.

Rae (the sister) and I decided to cook dinner that evening and what better place to buy the freshest of the fresh but there. We strolled out with our arms loaded...and I had to buy a fresh pie for dessert: cherry rhubarb. Yum!

After depositing our goodies in the cooler we had kept in our truck (gotta love campers - always prepared), we all went off to the shops. St. Michaels was mostly boutiques and up-scale tourist stuff, so Ray (the uncle) lead us down a few lost roads to the antique, second-hand and plain old junk shops. Lots of fun, but nothing we wanted. Afterward it was the long way home via a small ferry ride over a tiny arm of the Chesapeake. It was a wonderful ride through the grey water. The clouds were piling up and the wind stiffened, but it was still fun... and completely ridiculous as we were originally just a short distance from home, but traveled miles out of the way just to ride that ferry. And so another great dinner and conversation, but early to bed as we were hitting the road in the morning.

Tuesday morning and the clouds were rolling in. Ray wanted us to stay because of the forecast, but we had our "tin can" to keep us dry, so hugs and kisses all around and off we went in search of Adamstown, PA and Amish country.

We arrived in Adamstown at 12:30 just as the storm hit. The rain came down in buckets as we dashed from shop to shop in search of antiques. We got soaked, but what fun. By 4 or 4:30 the rain hadn't let up, but we had. Enough with the shopping, we had to find our campground. Now, for those of you who have never been to rural Pennsylvania (and that includes us), it is extremely hilly, forested and cross-hatched with itty-bitty roads going nowhere in particular. We got lost. In a downpour, we got lost like you would not believe. The really fun part was trying to find a spot wide enough to turn around without getting clobbered by the locals driving like loons around blind curves. Such fun. But we made it and finally found a gas station for the turn. We made it to Sill's Campground before the roads washed out.

Sill's is a quaint old family run place with year-rounders and vacation regulars. This is the type of place that has Halloween parties and Christmas festivals... any holiday on the book and they celebrate it. We liked it a lot. Nice, nice people.

As it was still raining like mad, we took the advice of Mr. Sill, the younger, and dinned at a local family restaurant. It was like walking into Mel's Diner, I swear to heaven the waitress was chewing gum. But the food was homey, good and hot. Our tummies full, it was back to Spamalot for a good night's sleep. We dozed off listening to the rain on the roof.

Tomorrow would be another long day as we planned to make it into Connecticut. Yeah, right.

Camp On,

Sue and Jim

Or is that Jim and Sue?

 

Jim & Sue don't stop now your almost there, have fun.

 

Sue,

Can you really remember all this years later, or did you start making this stuff up at some point?

 

Evan, As I drive Sue writes in her journal and sketches out little cartoons of us and whatever else might be of interest. After she is done with this Tale there are several more adventures to be told.We still haven't covered King's Canyon/Sequoia NP,Yosemite NP/ Stanislaus SP,Mt Lassen/IRG 4.0(I'm sure your in this one)/ NYE at Yosemite BURRRRRR!!! and San Simeon SP.

Jenn watch out Sue will be at the top of the Posters in no time.

Jim