The Wildest that flows through a Population?

Rivers are the life blood of much of America.

We hiked along a river that runs through three states and one District.
 
It extends 383 miles from the Appalachian Mountains to the Chesapeake Bay and starts way up high in the mountains.

This river is the home to many many birds.

Both the great blue heron and the bald eagle live here.

The river has had a long relationship with man as well.  People lived along it shores 15,000 years ago.

During the American Civil War (1861–1865), the river traced the border between the Union and the Confederacy.  It WAS the line that divided the country.

People pull their canoes and kayaks out as they reach the gorge.  It is too dangerous to go on in some places.

For those who take the land the hiking along the shoreline is sometimes easy and sometimes difficult, But it is also beautiful this time of year.

Can you see hubby struggling with the rocks?

A waterfall from the Canal.

Do you know which river this is?

Falling for Fall

A month ago, when I could amble, I took an exploratory trip to a place called the Monocacy Battlefield. It has a wonderful historic museum as well as several farms to wander around. They are actively leased by real farmers who put up with the tromp of tourists.  I took the photos (manipulated for an autumnal feel) below.  They do not actually fit into the Room Without Walls, but all I have for now.  I hope they get you ready for fall.

A traditional rail fence along a meadow path.

A modern barn.

A well maintained traditional tobacco barn converted for storage.

A Real 'Room Without Walls'

Imagine driving in the low country just north of the old historic port city of Beaufort (pronounced Bewfort) in South Carolina and coming across the sign above beside a heavily shaded narrow highway. Then imagine looking out the car window and seeing this "room without walls" in the photo below. In 1751, the church cornerstone was laid, and in 1757 the congregation held first services. In contradiction to purpose for this house for the Prince of Peace, during the Revolutionary War the church became a place to store gunpowder that was confiscated from British war ships. This ultimately led to the church's destruction by a leading Tory, Major DeVeaux, in 1779. The church was rebuilt in 1826, and burned again during our Civil War in 1865 by the Federal Army. Americans on both sides of the continent remember studying General Sherman's march to the sea and the destruction he left behind.



Stunning architecture called 'temple-form neoclassical structure' and an old graveyard made for a mystical spring afternoon in the low country of South Carolina.

The remains of this strong tree's roots crawling over the tombstone are an interesting photograph and makes one think about how temporary everything is...or is not.


Click on the photo above and then think about the plantation families that founded this church as their anchor in the strange land they had arrived at from England. I wonder if that was the remains of the pulpit in the middle of the open church. Imagine slaves who assisted in the construction of the church or the survival of the rice plantations during the wars and how strange this land was to them as well.

Now the rice plantations are mostly gone as are most of all plantations except those available for tours. During our departure we stopped at the nearby canal in the marsh to chat with a black family (descendants of slaves?) netting crabs on a Saturday afternoon and I took this picture of another descendant in time.

Just a Red Barn

It sits like a fat lady spreading her red skirt.
It looks self-satisfied holding close memories of my childhood;
Memories of the late summer’s sweet scent of bailed alfalfa,
Memories of the warm fall breath of the calf,
Memories of the barn swallows’ territorial dance with my dog.

From the ridge of the roof, sitting on warm tin
I saw the world while on the edge of womanhood.
My eyes scanned the snow capped Rockies at the edge of my domain.
I watched a tractor in the near distance kicking up dust in a field,
And nearer watched the workers scar the earth for a new school.

From the inside I watched golden dust sparkle in the sunlight
Dancing through the floor of the loft.
Standing still in black shadows I listened to brown field mice scutter against the wall
And heard the low contented sound of the cows in the adjacent stall
Waiting to be milked and fed.

The farmer and his wife have passed away.
The old red barn is empty now and does not know its days are numbered.
It must move its fat ass and make room for progress,
For plain new architecture
That will shelter only mediocre memories.

(Motivation for this came from Cate.)