Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [78]
I thought about the Native Americans who used to live here with little to no impact on the land, the originators of “leave no trace” ethics. But because the European settlers wanted to own the land, the Native Americans had been corralled into small territories and forced to walk thousands of miles west.
Passing near Gathland State Park at Crampton’s Gap, I thought of the Civil War soldiers who walked from the North and the South to arrive at nearby South Mountain Battlefield. A plaque by the side of the trail said that six thousand men died at the Battle of South Mountain. Six thousand fathers, husbands, and sons had walked a really long way to get here, never to return home.
Near Boonsboro, Maryland, the trail passes the original Washington Monument. It’s not like the towering phallic obelisk on the Mall in D.C., but a thick stone pillar that looks like a two-story milk bottle. It was built in 1827 by men who would have known Washington or been alive during his presidency, perhaps even by men who had served under him in the Revolutionary War.
I remembered from my American history classes that Benjamin Franklin had given George Washington a walking stick as a gift. I looked down at my yellow mop stick and smiled. How different America would be if sixteen-year-olds received walking sticks instead of cars.
As I traveled farther away from the nation’s capitol, I was grateful that I could walk for pleasure, instead of for my freedom, and that I could carry a mop stick instead of a gun.
In a short stretch, I was reminded how diverse and unique our country is, and how our history is one built on triumph, tragedy, and a lot of walking.
14
ABNORMALITY
PEN MAR PARK, MD/PA, TO
DELAWARE WATER GAP, NJ—260 MILES
The trail passes the half-way point near a quiet state park in southern Pennsylvania, and from there it travels through the scenic farmland of the Cumberland Valley. Then, when you reach Duncannon, everything changes. The trail’s neighboring towns feel mysterious and forgotten, and the path becomes rife with rocks: big rocks, small rocks, sharp rocks, and snake–ridden rocks. It’s as if all the other states collected their rocks and dumped them on the trail in Pennsylvania.
I was both excited and nervous to cross the Mason-Dixon Line. There was a part of me that was apprehensive about leaving the South and walking farther away from my friends and family, but I was also proud to have hiked all the way from Georgia to the mid-Atlantic, and I was looking forward to exploring a different part of the country.
I had hiked several miles into the state of Pennsylvania without seeing anyone. I enjoyed the solitude and the warm spring air that surrounded me. The trail was relatively flat except for some sporadic boulders that lined the sides of the trail. Some of the large rocks were the size of a small house, but most were comparable to a compact car. I was rounding a large rock about the size of an SUV when I was startled by two men on the other side.
I only glanced at them for a split second, but it’s amazing how clearly the image was impressed on my mind.
They were only about five feet away, and one of them was definitely not wearing any clothes. He was an older man with a long yellow beard and a big round belly, but no clothes—not even socks.
The other man had red hair and looked fairly young, with freckles on his face and on his bare chest. He was wearing a pair of shorts (thank God) but no pack. Neither of the men had a backpack or any other gear to suggest that they were hikers.
“I’m sorry!” I gasped, and quickly hiked away, shielding my eyes with my hand.
The two men laughed. It didn’t seem like embarrassed laughter, but laughter at my expense, as if they didn’t care if I was offended. Then the older man shouted out proudly, “Bet