Tag: Travel

Poetry · Travel

Long Island Adventure

Beth DeFries2 Comments

As I made my way up the Cross Island Parkway to 495, I truly wondered if mine were the only Jersey plates on the road. Long Island, so close and yet so far from New Jersey, is somewhere few New Jerseyans I know will venture due to its very accurate reputation for traffic. Armed with a plan to reunite with my high school friends at our friend’s home in Hauppauge later in the day, I made sure to leave nice and early to avoid said reputation.

I have been to Long Island a handful of times before, but rarely make the journey to that part of New York. For this trip, I felt determined to find someplace new-to-me to discover in the time before I was set to meet my friends. In the days leading up to my trip, I explored the Island with the help of my most trusty trip-planning tool, Google Maps, and narrowed down my sights to two places I’d never previously heard of, Cold Spring Harbor and Huntington.

Cold Spring Harbor, NY

First on the agenda for my Long Island adventure was a hike. As I neared the parking area for Cold Spring Harbor State Park, I worried that I might not get a space. I’d seen signs for a Fishing Derby for that same day and wondered how popular such an event was out on the island. Luckily, my Fishing Derby worries did not materialize and I pulled into a space, the only one I could see amongst the throngs of cars in the lot (Phew! That was close!), and changed into my hiking boots.

Looking at the trail map and having the idea in my head that Long Island has pretty flat terrain, I made the mistake of assuming that this out and back trail might be a leisurely trek through the trees. When I eyed the first set of stairs at the very start of the trail, however, I readjusted my preconceived notions and prepared to sweat a bit.

The trail was well marked and clearly popular on a beautiful Saturday morning. Early into the trek, I passed a sign directing hikers toward restroom facilities located at the back of the Cold Spring Harbor Library, just a short offshoot from the main trail. The facilities are only open during regular library hours, so be sure to look that up before setting out on a hike, if that’s something you have concerns about.

With happy boots in the dirt, I climbed the stairways through the trees- up, down, and up again. I passed many hikers carrying trekking poles on their way back towards the parking lot and understood how poles could come in handy on this moderately challenging trail, due to the varying elevation.

After my hike, which took me just over an hour, I drove into town and headed to the next stop on my itinerary for the day- Sweetie Pie’s on Main. This cozy little bakery and coffee shop did not disappoint except for the fact that it made me want coffee pretty badly, which I don’t drink anymore. I got myself an iced chai with almond milk instead and forgot about my coffee craving pretty quickly though.

Sweetie Pie’s had a pleasant, quiet outdoor seating area around the back of the building. I enjoyed my chai for a bit in the serenity of the garden area before hitting the sidewalk again, to catch a better view of the harbor.

I enjoyed the little historical nods throughout the town. The buildings alone were quaint, characterful, and colorful. I passed by a restaurant that had enticing seafood aromas escaping from its kitchen that had me glancing at the sign to check the name, Sandbar, and continued on my way.

Leading up to the harbor was a pretty, grassy park with a moving tribute to the victims of the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center. Just behind the tribute sculpture were three Callery pear trees, seedlings from the original “Survivor Tree” found in the rubble at Ground Zero.

The view of the harbor from the park was peaceful and picturesque. So far, I was pleased with my Long Island adventure and I was excited to see what my next stop had to offer.

Huntington, NY

An adventure of mine rarely feels complete without a visit to a bookstore. I parked right out front of The Next Chapter in Huntington and smiled up at the classic fairytale font of the letters on the shop’s sign. Looking in the window, I knew this place would make my heart happy.

Inside, The Next Chapter was densely packed with fully stocked bookshelves, organized well with signs hanging from the ceiling that identified each section of the store. I made my way to the Staff Picks shelf and read the descriptions of a few books on display there before winding my way towards the Poetry section. I was searching for Whitman because of his ties to the area; he was born about five miles from Huntington, I learned in my research. Whitman eluded me, however, and Frost called to me instead, Frost being the first poet whose work really inspired me to practice the artform way back when.

I scoped out the children’s section next, in search of a few fun selections for a book-obsessed kiddo I know with an upcoming birthday and the offerings on the shelves did me just fine in my search.

The Next Chapter offers live music on certain Friday and Saturday nights and is also available to rent for events, by inquiry. I was intrigued by the shop’s local and independent author program and was happy to see titles by these authors featured in a designated section of the store. Very cool.

My daytrip plan led me back up New York Avenue to Six Harbors Brewing Company next. I perused the colorful menu of brews on offer and opted for a lighter option, the Founder’s Day Pilsner since I was going to be hitting the road again soon. I enjoyed my pilsner seated at a barrel inside the spacious tasting room. The brewery had a comfortable, rustic atmosphere to it that felt very cozy and welcoming, even as a solo visitor.

After the brewery, I took a walk up to Main Street in pursuit of a good slice of pizza. Main Street Huntington had such a fun, walkable, downtown USA feel to it that had me storing it in the archives of my brain to remember and return to someday. The street was a mix of independent shops and restaurants and some more well-known chains, and was packed with a plethora of dining and shopping options and convenience businesses to satisfy locals and travelers, alike. The downtown area also had a pretty park, a performance venue called The Paramount, and an AMC movie theater, all within walking distance. I’ll be back with Mike one day, for sure.

Walt Whitman’s Birthplace

Though already late to meet my friends, I just had to fit this stop in on my Long Island adventure. I drove about fifteen minutes south of Huntington to South Huntington to set my eyes on the humble home where the “Father of Free Verse” first opened his eyes on the world that would one day become his inspiration, his poem.

This was not a popular activity, apparently, and I was one of only two cars in the lot when I pulled in. The house was concealed behind a high, wooden fence, separated from public access by a pleasant looking visitor’s center. Entering the visitor’s center, I was greeted by two guides who told me that in order to explore the grounds, I would need to take a tour. I paid the entrance fee of $10.00, and explained with regret that I didn’t have time for the full tour. One of the guides led me outside to the grounds and provided a brief overview of the house’s history. Whitman only lived there until he was four years old. Still, I had chills knowing that this humble building, these pretty surroundings must be where the artist stored his first memories of the America that inspired him so well.

A short distance from the house were a statue of Whitman and a circle of benches called The Poet’s Circle, dedicated to the museum’s poets in residence. I could see how this place would be inspirational to poets and, if I’d had more time, I would have liked to sit there in quiet reflection and draft a few new verses of my own.

I explored the little museum in the visitor’s center and was interested to learn that the first edition of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, published in 1855, did not feature the poet’s name on the cover or the spine. Instead, the green, leather cover showed only the title in gilded lettering with golden leaves sprouting from the letters. The cover page also did not indicate the author’s name and instead offered the reader only a rendering of the poet, a young, bearded man in workman’s clothes, his hat tilted, his pose relaxed. According to the information on display in the museum, Whitman set the type himself for the first edition and less than 800 copies of the book were printed.

I purchased my own copy of Leaves of Grass containing the original twelve poems in their original form from the gift shop onsite. With my souvenir in hand, I headed back to the car to continue on the final leg of my journey, late as I was.

An Overdue Reunion

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’m not the best at keeping in touch. Sometimes, years go by where I don’t exchange a word with some friends from high school. Despite this, it always amazes me how when that reunion finally comes, amid those hours spent in the company of people around whom I can be my true, quirky, silly self, the time lost is erased, filled with the updates and the news, the laughter and the inside jokes, the long dormant personalities of friends who came together at sixteen and before. The bond is strengthened once more, prepared to withstand the next pause, however long and we are left with our pride in each other, our mutual sense of inadequacy, our truths, and our hope that it won’t be so long till the next time.

Long Island, you impressed me. Thank you for the fulfilling hours and adventures for this solo traveler. And thank you for the light traffic early in the morning and late at night, despite my white-knuckle driving on the Belt Parkway in the rain.

Until next time.

Travel

Montreal Travel Journal

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Bonjour / hello, friends! We returned from a long weekend trip to Montreal on Monday and I’ve really got to hand it to Canada again; the country’s just been a wonderful place to visit every time we’ve gone. We have enjoyed every trip up to our neighbor to the north and will definitely be heading back sometime soon for another little adventure that we’ve got planned.

Our drive from New Jersey to Montreal took just under seven hours, not counting a stop to refill on gas and eat some dinner that we brought along from home (Anybody else find PB&J sandwiches to be a great road trip treat?).

As we approached Samuel De Champlain bridge, the blue glow from the bridge’s up-lighting guided us across the St. Lawrence River and into the sparkling city. We navigated some road work to reach our Airbnb which was situated in a duplex on the edge of downtown, nestled in between Chinatown and Old Montreal. Our travel companions for this trip, Mike’s brother and sister, had arrived a few hours before us and so we called them and asked them to open the front door as we unloaded our stuff from the car. Somehow, though we know how to travel light for flights, car travel is a different story. We (I) have a tendency to look like we’re (I’m) moving. I know I’m not alone in this practice, so I feel no shame in it.

After moving in, we went off in search of parking as our Airbnb only came with one included parking space, which I told Mike’s sister to take. While researching for our trip, I did a Reddit deep dive on parking safety in Montreal and was surprised to find that car theft seems to be a significant cause for concern in certain sections of the city. Per the Reddit angels’ advice, we opted to park in an Indigo underground parking garage a few blocks away from our Airbnb, where we wouldn’t have to move or worry about our car. It came at a steeper price tag than I had hoped, $38 CAD/day, but peace of mind is worth a lot to me, especially while travelling. Besides, that price is actually much cheaper than what you’d pay for surveilled parking in New York.

We climbed the widely-spaced wooden steps up to the front door of the apartment and I imagined what doing so would be like in the snow and ice, thinking it could only be treacherous. Inside, the Airbnb was bright, clean, and inviting. We got settled in and went to sleep, tired from the long drive and eager to be ready for an early start the next morning.

Day 1: Mile End & Mount Royal Park

My plan for our first full day in Montreal was to sample Montreal’s staple culinary offerings: bagels, smoked meat sandwiches, and poutine. The rest of the group got on board with this plan and we headed off toward the Mile End neighborhood to get started.

The walk to Mile End from the Chinatown area was long, but it was fun to get a better feel for the city by taking it slow. There’s no better way to do that in my opinion than by walking. Our walk to Mile End took us past Chinatown and through Le Plateau-Mont-Royal. We strolled St. Laurent Boulevard, taking in what I thought of as “urban cozy”. St. Laurent Boulevard was reminiscent of South 2nd Street in Philly and Ventura Boulevard in Los Angeles for me. I am always fascinated to find a sense of familiarity in a place that is entirely new to me.

Montreal’s artistic identity shone through in large, colorful murals that adorned the sides of buildings along our route. The art had life to it, a funk and swagger that would have fit right in in Asheville, NC. I’m smiling thinking about it. Montreal had an undeniable personality, like any city worth its salt does.

According to this Youtube video that I watched in my research for this trip, “When it comes to bagels in Montreal, there’s actually two institutions. There’s not three. There’s not one. There’s two… There’s Fairmount Street with Fairmount Bagel and there’s St. Viateur Street with St. Viateur Bagel. Which one is better? That’s a pretty heated debate.”

Having lived in Brooklyn, I am no stranger to good bagels. New York bagels are boiled and baked, similar to Montreal-style bagels, but New York bagels are larger-than-life bread monstrosities, whereas Montreal bagels are not. In my opinion, a good New York bagel is approximately the size of your face with a bad bee sting reaction and has a slightly crispy outer crust with a fluffy, doughy inside that has a little stretch to it when eaten fresh out of the oven. New York bagels lean neither sweet nor savory. Montreal bagels are different. I will not partake in the debate of whether New York or Montreal bagels are better, because for me, they are too different to compare in that regard and both hold their own ground, so to speak, in their own ways.

Montreal bagels are smaller, more manageable sized bread rings than the New York variety. They are boiled and baked, not in just any old oven, but in a wood oven. The traditional style comes coated with sesame seeds, which adds both texture and flavor to the finished product. To my palate, Montreal bagels are slightly sweeter than New York bagels. They still have that crispy outer crust which acts as a great partner to the doughy inside without being overwhelmed by it.

We tried Fairmount Bagel and then St. Viateur bagel. I had read that Fairmount Bagel’s bagels were on the more dense side and I was expecting to prefer St. Viateur’s bagels. I was surprised to find that I actually preferred the Fairmount bagel, noting a slightly more pronounced sweetness in them than in the St. Viateur bagel. Don’t get me wrong, both were delicious and worth trying. If you find yourself in Montreal, get both and be sure to bring some cash along with you for these two cash-only establishments.

In want of somewhere to sit down after our long walk to Mile-End, we strolled through a residential neighborhood that reminded me of a mixture of South Williamsburg in Brooklyn and Savannah, GA, towards Parc Outremont. The park was a pretty oasis tucked into the sprawl of the city and had public restrooms and a plethora of benches overlooking a serene pond. We spent a good little chunk of time there, resting our legs and feet to prepare ourselves for even more walking for the next step in our day’s adventure.

We picked up some light picnic fare on our way over to Mount Royal Park and began the climb up to the Mount Royal Chalet and Kondiaronk Belvedere, which promised excellent views of the city. We wound through the pretty woods of the Olmsted Trail on our way to the “Grand Staircase”. In French, “grand” means big and trust me, this staircase was “grand” indeed. We climbed and climbed and climbed and reached the top of the stairs and climbed some more until Olmsted Trail led us out onto the terrace of the Chalet.

We enjoyed our little picnic in the shelter of the Chalet. Inside, the Chalet had a rustic, lodge feel to it, with many heaters bordering the walls and a large fireplace in the center of the back wall. I imagine it would be a very cozy respite from the cold for outdoor enthusiasts and visitors in winter. The Chalet also has convenience amenities like a café and public restrooms and water fountains, located downstairs. After our little picnic, we headed out onto the terrace to check out the view.

Whenever we visit somewhere, I like to look up places to take in the view of the city. For Montreal, the Chalet at Mount Royal was said to be one of the best viewing opportunities and I can see why now. Obstructed only by a few high-reaching branches and other spectators, the view of the city is excellent and expansive.

View acquired and tired as hell, we made our way back down the grand staircase and through Le Plateau-Mont-Royal and downtown, deciding to delay the next two stops on our barely-begun food tour until dinner. We passed by Schwartz’s Deli along the way and even got in line, thinking we might order a smoked meat sandwich to go, but we abandoned that idea pretty quickly after assessing the length of the line, ready to be off our feet.

Later in the evening, we ordered a Schwartz’s smoked meat combo that came with rye bread, pickles, and slaw to make our own smoked meat sandwiches and had it delivered to our Airbnb, along with some poutine from Frite Alors! The smoked meat from Schwartz’s reminded me of the “mile-high” pastrami sandwiches from Katz’s Delicatessen in New York. The meat had a salty tang and peppery crust and just melted in your mouth with each bite. So good! From Frite Alors! we ordered a regular poutine as well as “La Tunisienne” which had lamb merguez and onions in addition to the regular fries, cheese curds, and gravy. Both were excellent. With full bellies, our self-guided Montreal food tour for the day was complete.

Day 2: Old Montreal

Okay; I’m ready to go back to Old Montreal already! Old Montreal was like a smaller version of Old Quebec, in my opinion. The charming stone facades of the old buildings, some dating as far back as the 17th century, were dotted with storefronts, shop windows, and restaurants that curated a very inviting atmosphere for tourists like us. While it’s probably not the place to go to get the most local experience, we were not locals, and we shamelessly enjoyed the experience of strolling Rue Saint-Paul.

After perusing the cozy street’s offerings and visiting the plaza outside Notre-Dame Basilica, we were ready for some brunch. We opted to go to Maggie Oakes and sat outside, taking in the lively ambiance and live music of Place Jacques Cartier. I ordered a traditional breakfast platter of scrambled eggs, ham, potatoes, and toast and a Boréale Blonde to go with it. The food was delicious and the beer took me back to memories of sitting at the bar at Q-de-Sac Resto de quartier in Old Quebec.

We headed back to our Airbnb, stopping to admire the impressive City Hall building on our way. After a nice, generous break to play some boardgames and take advantage of some much needed down-time after the previous day’s walking extravaganza, we headed back out for dinner at Jacopo, off of Place Jacques Cartier.

Inside, the restaurant was cozy and dark with exposed stonework and low lighting. The Italian menu had something to please everyone in our group and even made for some tough decisions when it came to deciding what to order. I opted for the Ragù a l’Agnello which was a dish with fresh pappardelle, braised lamb, and a flavorful tomato based butter sauce. Anybody else hungry?

After dinner, we brought our leftovers to the Airbnb and headed right back out to see Rue Saint Paul at night and seek out some dessert. A street performer danced to Volare in Place Jacques Cartier as we made our way down the gentle incline, beckoned by the glow of the lanterns affixed to the stone walls of the buildings flanking the street.

We walked past the shops and around the corner to Café Olimpico where we bought a Nutella horn, pistachio chocolat, and some pistachio gelato to share and devoured them immediately in the street, to our tastebuds’ content. We strolled a little more along the glowing Rue Saint Paul and past a statue of three gossipers tucked away in a corner, before heading back to our Airbnb to call it a night.

While we didn’t get to wandering around McGill University’s picturesque campus or the Olympic Stadium on this trip, I think we did just enough to get a taste of the city without trying to pack too much in to our short visit there. I imagine we’ll be back someday and can work around those unseen things then, but in the meantime, the travel bug in me is satisfied.

On our way home, I pumped gas for the very first time (New Jersey is currently the only US state where it is illegal for drivers to pump their own gas) and we stopped in Saratoga Springs, NY for some lunch and a brew at Druthers Brewing before perusing my favorite bookstore, Northshire Books, to stock up on some cards for upcoming birthdays and weddings. With our little Saratoga excursion and my new skill acquired, our trip felt complete, and we continued on home with fresh memories of Montreal in our heads and future travel plans and new experiences on the horizon, awaiting us.

Travel

July Postcard

Beth DeFries2 Comments

Hello friends! 🙂

My most exciting news is that my sister had a baby last week, a cutie little squish nugget that we got to meet a few days ago. Eep! Mom and Dad and baby are all home and doing well, settling in to their new adventure quite nicely. When my mom texted me that my niece was born, all I had done in the same time that my sister brought a tiny, new human into the world was wake up and eat a banana. In that moment I was pretty sure I’d always be the less impressive daughter. And, you know what? I can roll with that. I can roll with that till the cows come home.

The rest of this post is less exciting to me, but maybe you guys prefer to read about our travels, so, here you go!

Earlier this month, we took a trip to the Poconos and stayed in a beautiful hotel called The Swiftwater, situated off rural 611. We were looking for a hotel that was geared more towards adults rather than families, without being one of those Poconos hotels, if you know what I mean. We got what we were going for and the place was really lovely.

At check-in time, we were greeted in the lobby with little cups of complimentary prosecco that we enjoyed as we unpacked and waited for the family hours to finish at the pool at 5:30pm and for the adult only hours to begin. The adult only pool hours was a big bonus point for The Swiftwater and I was pleasantly surprised to see that the end of family hours was actually promptly enforced by the hotel staff.

By the time we got out to the pool area, the pool, pool deck, and firepit seating area were occupied by adults, the only children in sight, peeking wistfully out from their families’ rooms above in the stone and wooden hotel facade and from the outdoor seating area at the white tablecloth onsite restaurant, The Olivet. If you want to give your kids an incredible sense of FOMO and a menu lacking in kid-friendly options, please, by all means, bring them to the Swiftwater.

Not being a child, the only negative that I noticed by the pool was that there were very few fresh towels left stocked in the cubbies for guests when we arrived, so if you plan to visit, it may be wise to bring a towel down from your room.

Our visit to the Poconos was geared by our love of outdoor adventure. We had some kayaking and hiking plans ready to go for the next couple of days as well as some breakfast ideas from our last trip to the area. We paid another visit to The Cure Cafe in Stroudsburg, PA the next morning for a hearty breakfast. I opted for a chai tea latte and avocado toast with scrambled eggs.

After breakfast, we headed off to Chamberlain Canoes in East Stroudsburg to set out on a Delaware River Kayaking trip. The trip down the river was picturesque, relaxing, and a lot of fun. The water in the river was so clear that you could see the green grasses in the riverbed being pulled with the current. I am really looking forward to going back sometime soon.

While our experience with Chamberlain Canoes was not one that left us immediately ready to leave a five-star rating, let’s just say, we decided to chalk it up to the craziness of the July 4th holiday weekend and would give the adventure outlet another try in future.

After our 6-mile kayaking adventure down the Delaware, we stopped in at Shawnee Craft Brewing Co. for some pizza and brews. We shared the meat-lovers pizza and I opted for the Pear Necessities Blonde Ale. The pizza was out of this world and the beer was delicious too. Both were enough to leave us in a pleasant enough mood to not stew about our less than stellar experience with our return shuttle process from the river to the kayaking rental site.

We enjoyed some more time by the pool that evening before heading off to a treat-ourselves dinner at a beautiful restaurant called The Water’s Edge in Mt. Pocono. I had some red wine and Mike got the Smoked Bourbon Old Fashioned which he kindly let me try. It was fragrant, smooth, and very enjoyable. I ordered one for myself later in the evening. As we waited for our meal to arrive, we stole frequent glances at the pretty little pond outside the big windows that lined the back of the restaurant. For dinner, I opted for the Braised Veal Ragout, a white herb butter-based sauce with vegetables, orecchiette pasta, and tender morsels of veal folded in. Mike opted for the Pork Chop which he said did not disappoint.

The next day of our Poconos adventure led us back to Shawnee Craft Brewing Co. for lunch and then to the Mount Tammany Red Dot trailhead. We had hiked Mount Tammany before, in the spring a few years ago, and remembered it being a very strenuous hike with lots of straight up rock scrambling spots, despite the trail’s deceptively short length. We reasoned with ourselves that this time would be easier since we are in better shape now. We were wrong, my friends.

The red dot trail was just as hard as I remembered it being. In hindsight, I probably would not choose to do this hike in the heat of the summer. I would also not recommend filling up on pizza and beer before hitting the trail. Eat something healthy instead and drink lots of water to best prepare yourself. We downed two bottles of water and a big, blue Gatorade on the hike and were wanting for more well before we reached the end of the trail.

Still, the views of the bend in the Delaware and of Mt. Minsi across the gap were pretty incredible from the rocky summit. We descended via the blue dot trail, a rocky stretch that I strongly recommend proper hiking footwear for and possibly trekking poles if you get a little jelly-legged using those leg stabilizer muscles on the way down.

The blue trail ends along the banks of a pretty creek that is dotted with little waterfalls. Lots of people were cooling off in and near the creek, probably a much better idea than hiking up the mountain on such a hot day. Walking alongside the creek in the ample shade, the sound of trickling water for company the rest of the way, was a very pleasant experience. It got me thinking that it would be a nice to do an out and back hike sometime in the future, just to the biggest waterfall on the blue dot trail and back to the parking lot, especially if it were another hot, summer day.

Those are all my updates for now. Hope you are all doing well, staying cool, and enjoying any little chance at rest and adventure this summer so far. As always, thanks for reading. 🙂

Nostalgic Posts · Poetry

The Adventurers

Beth DeFries1 Comment

We live for adventure, you and I.

We live for it here,

for each step, each breath, each song

sung along to in the kitchen, the shower, the hallway,

doing laundry and dishes that have to be done.

Life is a beautiful mess with you.

The mess just means we’re living.

We wear out our shoes and our jeans,

our socks and our old tee shirts.

There’s sand in the bath, hair on the sinks, and trash in the waste baskets.

We live and it shows.

It sounds and it looks and it smells like us here,

as it should,

as we’d live it.

We crave the smiles and expressions,

the weekend mornings spent lounging,

reading books and articles,

watching shows and “content” and DVDs,

playing games about planes,

even booking tickets on real ones, every so often.

We capture little moments throughout the day

and keep the ones that stick to make us smile later on.

We savor quiet nights, cooking aromas, and sampled tastes,

the smell of sunscreen and oatmeal in the mornings,

cold cream, soap, and toothpaste at the end of the day.

We capture visions from hilltops, from mountains, 

climbing up the little bumps on the world

to soothe our hunger to explore.

We store them in our heads and in pictures,

file them away for use in our dreams, our memories.

We make shadows in the sun,

heat at our backs, giants on pavement, 

their footsteps synchronized with our own,

tagging along on our meandering journey.

We set our sights on now and tomorrow and the next day, 

only looking far ahead when it’s practical to

which, let’s face it,

you do for the both of us, oftentimes.

We are an amateur cover band with no audience, 

singing bluegrass, indie, rock, and pop

to the tiles, the walls, the car windows.

We are background noise you only get on the hundredth listen,

wandering a broad and varying soundscape.

The music is often on, it seems,

but sometimes there’s silence and we like that too.

There’s sleep 

and days full of nothing

but sitting with you on the big blue couch

in this place where we live for the adventure that’s living,

in this place where we live,

you and I.

Mental Health · Poetry · Social Media · Travel

On Crickets and Fireflies

Beth DeFries3 Comments

I was reminded last week, by some truly lovely friends, that a handful of people actually read this. They brought up that I’ve been “pretty quiet over there” for a while. I was surprised that anybody noticed, to tell you the truth. I’ve been a little blocked with the personal stuff lately, see, or maybe just a little more reluctant to share for worry that people aren’t interested because that’s how it seems when you send personal writing out into the world and get crickets back. It’s pretty quiet from where I sit too sometimes. That’s just part of the process though, I tell myself. If people want to engage, they will. If they don’t, they won’t and that’s just fine. I need the outlet either way sometimes, the one way radio, so to speak.

The inspiration for the stuff that seems to do well with my readers on here, whom I don’t actually know- poetry (which still surprises me) dried up soon after I nixed coffee over two months back, which I don’t really understand, other than to know that I’ve never felt more emotionally stable than I do these days. Wouldn’t it be nice if the urge to write some rhymes or freeform comes back and I get to keep this nice, calm brain? Is life that good? I sure hope so.

It’s been hot here in NJ for the past few days after feeling like March for weeks beforehand. I was tired of the rain and the cold, but I wouldn’t mind if the cool, stormy weather came calling again, looking for a place to crash after a flight delay.

We took a trip to Miramar Beach, FL this month. I didn’t write about it and I probably won’t beyond this. It was restful and fun with a lot of family time that made me smile and a few dips in the turquoise Gulf that’ll have me missing that beautiful, warm water with each icy plunge into the Atlantic this summer.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I was lucky enough to see some really wonderful friends last week, then some more later in the week, one of whom I hadn’t caught up with in many years. I’m pretty terrible at keeping in touch, it turns out, other than writing here and even that’s not been so good lately. I don’t even use social media anymore. It felt too inauthentic, the line between “friends” and strangers too blurred.

When I’m with my people face to face, I try to make up for lost time. It’s always so refreshing to see a familiar face, to hear their laugh or tone of voice, or to catch the unique little mannerisms or humor that make my loved ones who they are. It’s like watching fireflies in the indigo night, little blips of brilliance that transform the dark to magic.

I hope you are all happy and staying cool and thank you, as always, for reading. And thank you, Jean, for calling me out. I needed it. 💖

Books · Cozy Posts · Health & Lifestyle · Travel

May Postcard

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Well, hello, hello there, friends. I’m sipping decaf Lady Grey tea on the blue couch this afternoon, craving some cozy on a bit of a blustery day. Decaf- because too much caffeine makes me crazy and tea because I’ve nixed coffee once again, hopefully for good this time around, but more on that later.

There is writing and travel planning to get to. My unfinished library books were keeping me from both the past couple days, so I returned them. I figuratively hit pause on the last book of Stephen King’s Dark Tower Series as getting through this last one is proving to be a bit of a slog, not to mention a nightmare inducer. It’s a good story and well-written, of course- just very, very, very long, and very, very, very vivid and I am learning that my overactive imagination doesn’t pair well with reading horror. I figure I’ll get back to it eventually and finish up strong. I just can’t say when. So that’s a we’ll see.

I need something less horrifying, but equally good- some Maeve Binchy or some Tana French, perhaps. A re-read, most likely. My re-reads are the coziest books in my collection, the ones that bring me back to memories of reading them other times before, some of them multiple times before. They are old friends on the shelf, the slowly decaying glue of their spines, one of the most reassuring smells in the whole world. If joy was a smell, it would smell like used books.

There is a map of Montreal in my head that I need to sharpen. The lodging is booked, a pretty apartment near Chinatown and Old Montreal that I imagine I’ll write about in a few months time. The next things to plan are the sights, activities, and eats. Will I try one of Montreal’s bagels, I wonder? They are boasted to be better than New York’s, which is pretty hard to believe. Another we’ll see (but probably- I mean; who says no to bagels?)

On the subject of bread, I’m thinking back to our last trip to the Québec province, a core memory of which was the picnic basket delivered to our hotel room each morning filled with fresh fruit, orange juice, croissants, pain au chocolat, jam, and coffee. Yum. I think this is what I am craving most from a trip to Montreal, coffee aside, because the little things make me disproportionately happy and croissants happen to be a big, little thing for me.

Since learning how to eat “normally” last summer, there have been far fewer croissants, but that just makes the times I do have them even more enjoyable. Being down almost fifty pounds and still being able to eat croissants, guilt-free, is a pretty amazing feeling. There is power in control and understanding just as there is enjoyment in reasonable indulgence. You have to live well in more ways than one in order to be happy and it helps to have a handle on how to do that in regards to food and nourishment for almost a year now.

That brings me to coffee. Coffee, which I quit for five months from last May to October. Coffee, which I reintroduced, thinking there’s no harm in one cup every now and then. Then, there’s no harm in one cup a day- two even. For me, I think there might be.

I’ve wondered for years if I have anxiety. Now, I’m wondering if it was just the coffee. I don’t have a diagnosis and I am not a doctor, so really, don’t listen to a word I say on this. I only know me and how I react to the stuff. I’ve noticed, though, that since quitting coffee over a month ago and cutting way back on caffeine in general, my emotions feel much more regulated and my focus and productivity- much sharper.

Even last time when I gave up coffee, I was still drinking multiple cups of caffeinated tea per day. When my caffeine intake reduced even more, the feelings of anxiousness quieted down. My thoughts aren’t constantly racing. I have enough energy to get through the day without having to battle fatigue with a stimulant. I’ve got to say, that feels like a pretty big win.

There is one thing that seems to have gone with the caffeine, though, and that is the poetry. Hopefully that’ll come back when its ready. Another we’ll see, I guess.

Anyways, time to get back to other things now. I know it’s been a while since the last post; I just didn’t know what to write. This probably wasn’t for everyone, but it’s what I could manage and I hope that’s fine with you all. Thanks for reading, as always. All’s well here and hope it’s just so wherever you are.

-Beth

Asheville Travel Journal
Travel

Asheville Travel Journal

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

I’m working out how to start this post to the soundtrack of Charles Wright’s “Express Yourself“, one of my complimentary souvenirs brought back from our second trip to Asheville, NC this past weekend. Our first trip to this funky little city back in February 2022 marked our second longest road-trip and the beginning signs of our old car’s drawn-out decline. There’s no apprehension quite like that you get parked outside of a Subway in Hagerstown, MD, four hours into an eleven hour drive when your means of transportation decides to play games with your psyche. We made it the rest of the way and back with a whole lotta hope and a couple visits to the Meineke Car Care Center in downtown Asheville and agreed that, next time, we’d fly.

We flew back from Asheville Sunday morning and left the suitcases, still packed, crowding the entryway of our condo when we got home. If you’re still living out of a suitcase, you are still on vacation; no? As I unpacked yesterday morning, pulling hiking clothes with mud-flecked ankles that shed the glitter of North Carolina mountain dirt on the entryway rug, I realized we left a part of us behind in the mountains and the mist, in the balsam and the rhododendron, in the blueberry brambles and the water eroded summits.

I wonder if the black bears can smell my fabric softener lingering on the trails. I wonder if they’ve walked in our boot prints yet as they await the promise of spring’s looming abundance.

Day 1: Downtown Asheville & South Slope Brewing District

We arrived in Asheville on Thursday in the mid-afternoon, intent on going to a brewery for lunch. Among many things Asheville does well, beer is one of its notable strengths. We headed to Terra Nova Beer Co. in the South Slope Brewing District for a brew and some Mission Pizza. The brewery took the place of the former Bhramari Brewing Company which we visited on our previous trip. I opted for the Svêtlý Ležák 12°, a Czech Pilsner, while Mike went for the Lumos Haze Hazy IPA, of which I stole many sips 😋. To eat, we chose Mission’s Sausage Giardiniera pizza, hefty Roman squares stacked with flavor and crispy, airy crust. More please!

More than satiated with pizza and beer, we headed up the hill to check into our hotel, The Cambria Hotel Downtown Asheville. The hotel was perfectly situated for exploring downtown Asheville, was very comfortable, and had the quickest mandatory valet parking I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. We savored the view of the mountains from our room for a very short while before deciding a nap might be necessary in order to be functioning human beings later in the evening.

Post-nap groggy and disoriented, we made ourselves get up, get out, and explore. Our next stop beckoned us back down the hill, Antidote Cocktail Lounge & Coffee Bar. The hostess seated us at a little cafe table by the window and we perused the leather bound cocktail menu while taking in the vintage apothecary setting. Red, velvet drapes were tied back from a window in the wall, revealing the distilling works of Chemist Spirits, next door.

I ordered the House of Leaves, intrigued by its holiday nostalgia inspiration, while Mike chose the Vieux Carré in memory of a past trip to Hotel Monteleone’s Carousel Bar in New Orleans. We sipped and chatted and lost track of time a little, then moved on in pursuit of dinner.

Just thinking about Chai Pani to write this post is making my mouth water and I know I am not even hungry. Indian Food is my favorite cuisine and Indian street food sounded like the right idea for dinner Thursday night (and maybe every night, but gotta try different things, ya know?).

Chai Pani was packed when we arrived. We added our name to the waitlist and saw it would be a while before we were seated and decided to pop around the corner to Burial Brewing Co., a favorite from our previous visit.

Burial’s beer is incredible and I also appreciate the place’s strong theming. From the toe tags on the tap handles to the landscaping weaponry on display, Burial leans heavily into the theme of death and eternal rest and yet the place has a bright, happy, natural vibe about it that packs down some of that creepy with the back of a shovel. I remembered the mural (or “the murial”, as one Reddit poster referred to it as and I think it should henceforth be known as such) from our previous trip. It depicts Sloth from The Goonies and Tom Selleck, all buddy-buddy, but Mike and I agreed that it is actually Sloth from The Goonies and my dad.

As we refreshed the waitlist for Chai Pani at one of the barrel tables in Burial’s outdoor tasting area, we shared a Shadowclock Pilsner and reminisced on our memories of the place from our previous trip and how cold it had been that day. With memories of a chilly, bygone, February day in our minds, we were next on the waitlist for Chai Pani and hustled back around the corner to the restaurant.

Chai Pani was bursting with warmth and the aroma of spices. The ceiling and windows were strung with marigold garlands, the walls- painted with turquoise, magenta, and goldenrod. Above the hostess stand climbed two Bengal tigers up an ombre wall. The restaurant was beautiful and I loved it already without even having seen the menu. I was determined to eat there for a different reason anyway, but the surroundings were a welcome addition.

According to an article by Kay West published on Eater.com, when Hurricane Helene hit Western North Carolina back in September 2024, amid much structural and emotional devastation, local business and residents were also left without power and potable water. World Central Kitchen arrived in the region within 48 hours after the storm and quickly partnered with local restaurants in order to establish access to clean water systems and feed the victims of the storm and the emergency responders who came to the region’s aid. Chai Pani was among many Asheville restaurants that prepared and distributed free meals for those in need in the wake of Helene’s devastation despite high costs of daily water deliveries and the storm’s heavy blow to regular restaurant operations. That, along with my preference for the cuisine, made eating there a high priority on my itinerary for this trip.

We filled our bellies with Aloo Tikki Chaat, Sloppy Jai, and Chili Chicken and washed it all down with Athletic Brewing’s Atlética Cerveza, which was decent but not my favorite Athletic brew. Afterwards, we rolled ourselves back up the hill to our hotel for a good night’s sleep.

Day 2: Montreat & Downtown Asheville

We parked our rental car in the small, upper lot of the Lookout Mountain trailhead in Montreat Friday morning and changed into our hiking boots. Mike walked over to the posted trail map and after a moment said, “Welp, I don’t love that.”

“What?”

I joined him in front of the trail map and he pointed at a paper plate someone had written on and tied to the board.

“That was yesterday,” said Mike of the reported black bear sightings at the summit, “And the day before.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I don’t love that either; I don’t love that one bit.”

We debated whether or not we should stay. The view was supposed to be one of the better ones in the area and we had been pretty lucky to get a parking spot at the trailhead, but the possibility of encountering a bear seemed too likely. We had seen a large group of women embark on a different hike from the lower parking lot, Rainbow Trail, and took an ounce of comfort in the thought of safety in numbers. Our decision was made. We left our trail snacks in the car.

Trekking through the trees and the rhododendron, turning our heads about like two large owls, we made our way along the Rainbow Trail. It was very green and we kept up a steady conversation, not wanting to seem sneaky to any potential bears in the vicinity. Thankfully, we did not cross paths with any bears, despite every dark object raising cause for speculation and our adrenaline levels. We got comfortable enough on the trail that we decided to take the spur that led up to the Lookout Mountain summit, after all. The trail to the summit was a steep, short climb, and had a decent amount of hikers on it scrambling up and down the rocks as we made our way up. The view did not disappoint, but all the same, we didn’t linger.

We reached the parking lot unscathed, relieved, and craving chicken and waffles. We got back in the car and headed back to the city to freshen up and get some brunch.

On our first trip to Asheville, we went to Tupelo Honey for brunch our first morning there and then went right back again the next day. There was no question where we would be eating brunch this time around. We asked to sit at the bar and ordered the chicken and waffles, avocado toast, and some Athletic Brewing Upside Dawn Golden Ales, still very relieved that we hadn’t encountered a bear on our hike.

After a nice little post-brunch nap, we set off to visit a brewery we’d skipped last time around, Green Man Brewery. We brought our beers up to the third floor and headed out onto the terrace. The sky was full of overlapping gray and purple clouds, but it was warm and the terrace was covered anyway. Charles Wright & the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band played through the speakers. Ex-pressss Yourself! – Whatever you dooo-uhn– dooo it good-uhn! walking tiptoe on top of that swaggering bass line. It’s the kind of song you can’t help but move to. On top of that, it seemed like a good mantra for the eclectic, funky, colorful, denim-patched pocket of the world that Asheville is. Have I got anyone else listening with me yet, I wonder? So, let the horns do the thing they do y’all.

After another non-creepy visit to Burial Brewing and sharing an appetizer of their intriguing broccolini, we headed back up the hill to get some real dinner at Crêperie Bouchon. I ordered a glass of red wine and the Ma Poule savory crêpe. It did not disappoint.

After dinner, we walked a few blocks over to Sovereign Remedies, a low-lit cocktail lounge that I’d wanted to try last time, but we didn’t end up getting to. I liked Mike’s drink, the No. 27, better than mine and we ended up ordering a second to share because the place was cozy and relaxing and it just seemed like the right thing to do, okay?

Day 3: Blue Ridge Parkway & Asheville Yards

The Saturday forecast was the nicest for our trip and so we chose to do the higher elevation hikes that day instead of Friday. If we were going to hike up a mountain, we wanted to see vistas at the top, not just clouds. The roads leading up the mountain are also very winding and it is safer to take them when it’s not all foggy out.

Hurricane Helene wreaked some havoc on the Blue Ridge Parkway and sections of the National Park Service-governed road are still closed to the public. Since Mike had first researched the hikes we’d take, back in February, the sections we wanted to try had opened up again and so, we drove our little blue rental car up the winding roads and along the scenic parkway, passing by vistas on the way in hopes of snagging a parking space at the trailhead.

Graveyard Fields was first. It’s not as creepy as it sounds. According to signs posted near the trailhead, the name came from a natural phenomenon caused by a heavy windstorm the felled many trees and over time left the stumps and trees to rot and become overgrown with mounded dirt, giving the appearance of tombstones. Since a forest fire blazed through the valley in 1925, these tombstone-esque stumps are no longer there. The only actually creepy thing about Graveyard Fields to me was, once again, the fact that the area is home to a high population of black bears. Mike remembered that my backpack had a built in whistle on the strap. We gave it a try and it was nice and loud which gave us some sense of security, if only a little. But hey, you take what you can get on the trail.

The Graveyard Fields loop traversed muddy trenches, spongey boardwalks, and stream crossings and offered waterfall views. We started off towards the lower falls, the more impressive of the two large falls on the 3.2 mile trail. We wound our way through the rhododendron and the sparse blueberry bushes, along the packed down dirt and the mud, and across boardwalks and bridges to get to the lower falls view point. We were owls again, looking all around at frequent intervals, wary of rocks and dark tree stumps in the distance that were bear-shaped only in our minds.

Lower Falls

After spending a few minutes taking in the lower falls, we continued back along the trail toward the upper falls following the few and far between blue blazes that marked the way. There was a little rock scrambling involved to reach the upper falls and the sound of the rushing water was soothing, the mist- cool and refreshing on our overheated faces after the climb.

Upper Falls

The parking lot was more than full when we got back and we were happy we’d done at least one of the hikes we’d planned to. We hoped to be lucky enough to get a spot at the next trailhead that led up to Black Balsam Knob. Luck was on our side as we found a space along the road by the Art Loeb Trail Access that connected to where we wanted to go.

I think the Art Loeb Trail was my favorite of the hikes, albeit, the shortest. The trail was steep and cut through tall, fragrant, spruce trees, emerging out upon a water-eroded, rocky summit that’s surface resembled waves of glitter. The ground in the forest was red with damp, shed spruce needles and smelled fresh and earthy. There were many hikers in our view at all times, but not too many to take away from the enjoyment of the trail.

We joined up with the trail leading up to the Black Balsam Knob summit, climbing those sparkling waves and meandering dirt paths to reached the 360 degree views of the round-topped, Blue Ridge Mountains.

View from the Black Balsam Knob Summit

Winding our way back down the Blue Ridge Parkway, we pulled into every vista overlook to take in the view. It looked very similar from each one and we got to see Looking Glass Rock from multiple angles which was neat. With tired legs and feet and hungry bellies, it was time to head back to the city.

View of Looking Glass Rock

We got some lunch at Twisted Laurel, downtown, which we visited last time- pesto chicken pizza and a cauliflower curry bowl with fried chickpeas. Both were decent. We were excited for a concert we were going to at the new Asheville Yards later on that night, but we were tired from our earlier excursion into the mountains. Our daily vacation nap was in order if we wanted to make it through hours of standing later on.

After our little sojourn at the Cambria Hotel, we headed back out to squeeze in a downtown brewery before the show, DSSOLVR. We enjoyed our beers in the pleasant back patio area amid a little artist market that was going on.

We headed down the hill again, to the concert, the opener already playing when we arrived. I had never heard of Mipso before, but I’d listen to them now after enjoying a few of their songs. My favorite of the songs they played was probably “Coming Down the Mountain”, but I was very excited to see who we’d come to Asheville for.

After seeing Trampled by Turtles perform in Harrisburg, PA back in October, we knew we wanted to go to another show. When Asheville popped up on their tour schedule, we thought that would be a really fun experience and would probably have a fun crowd. We were right. The set list was full of familiar favorites and a couple of songs we didn’t know, but for the most part we sang along and moved to the rhythm of the strings. This time they played one of my favorites called “Burlesque Desert Window“, which I dare you not to shake your tail feathers to, if you give it a listen. 🦉

With growly bellies after the show, we headed a few blocks away for some late night bites at Daddy Mac’s. The restaurant was full of people in Trampled by Turtles tees and hats and whoever was running the music playlist caught up to speed pretty quick and put the boys on. We finished our meal to “Wait So Long” before settling up and heading back up the hill to our hotel for our last sleep of the trip.

To end this post, I’ll suggest Trampled by Turtles cover of Iris DeMent’s “Our Town” for some easy listening. I’m listening to it now as I type these final lines, thinking of Asheville and the good memories made there this trip and last. All I can do is look forward to the next visit and the next after that. The mountains have patience like no other and the water is slow to break them down.

“Go on now and say goodbye to our town, to our town, can’t you see the sun’s setting down on our town, on our town. Good night.” -Iris DeMent

Puerto Rico Travel Journal
Travel

Puerto Rico Travel Journal

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

We were greeted by ominous clouds upon landing at Newark Airport yesterday afternoon, a drastic change from our view upon waking up in Fajardo, Puerto Rico- turquoise water stretching from Puerto Chico out to Cayo Icacos, where we had walked in the sand just the morning before. It was a treat to swap the chill of New Jersey in February for the warm sunshine and breezes of Puerto Rico, even if only for a few days.

San Juan

We landed in Carolina on Thursday and drove to Old San Juan to take in the colors and the history of the city and its fortresses. Some of the streets in Old San Juan are narrow, cobbled, and steep. We parked with relief in a lot down by the port on the south side of Old San Juan and went in search of lunch. I had done some research beforehand on a few restaurant options, but found opening hours to be varied and inconsistent with my research. We stopped in at Café El Punto for a snack of some mariquitas de platano con guacamole and café frio. Both were delicious, but I was itching to get back outside to explore. I knew heading to Puerto Rico that restaurant service runs on “island time”, a slowed down version of regular time, and so it took a little while to actually get back outside.

The sun was hot and the breeze-warm as we headed up the hill along the winding streets, in the direction of Castillo San Felipe del Morro, perhaps better known simply as El Morro. The fort is perched overlooking the ocean and the Bay of San Juan in the northwesternmost tip of the island of Old San Juan. An expansive stretch of inviting green grass and blue sky welcomed us as we neared the fort.

It felt a little surreal to see the US National Parks emblem on the sign for El Morro, being on an island in the Caribbean, 1000 miles from the mainland. Puerto Rico, though a United States Territory, retains a unique charm and culture, not to mention a long-spanning history that is very unique to the island and very distinct from the influence of US mainland culture.

Inside the fortress’ thick, stone walls, tourists snapped photos and wove in, out, and through, from chamber to chamber, taking in the history of one of the most attacked fortresses in history due to San Juan’s attractive and strategic harbor location in the Caribbean. The walls were built to resist cannon fire and the fort developed a reputation for being unconquerable after evading invasion attempts by the English, Dutch, and British from the 16th to the 18th century. The fort fell to the hands of the Americans during the Spanish American War, ultimately succumbing due to updated capabilities of naval weaponry. El Morro was also used in later years as a US military base during WWI and WWII.

Nowadays, the fort is the perfect spot to take in the view of the turquoise and cerulean Atlantic waters crashing into white froth on the rocks below. Exhibits within the fort’s stone walls provide insight into what life was like for the Spanish soldiers stationed there in the 1700s and it was interesting to read about the history and wander the sunny plaza, sentry boxes (garitas), dim passageways, arched chambers, and original structures, one of which dated back to 1539.

From El Morro, we walked east along the waterfront, on the outskirts of La Perla. We stuck to the road with Castillo San Cristobal in our sights as our entry fee to El Morro included entry to the other fort as well. Castillo San Cristobal was less crowded and felt a little smaller than El Morro. It was here where we first encountered some island wildlife- a couple of iguanas, one cooling itself in the shade between the battlements and one basking in the sunshine.

With tired legs and the beginning aches of sunburn, we decided to head somewhere for lunch and a cold drink. We opted for St. Germain Bistro & Café. The island time was real at this restaurant, let me tell you my friends, and it took a looong time to even be acknowledged by the wait staff, let alone to get our drinks and food. More than one couple got up and left between our seating and when we paid our check due to the long wait for their order to be taken. The restaurant did not seem so busy and we marveled at the staff’s lack of interest in taking people’s food and drink orders. People leaving just seemed like business as usual, so I guess we were lucky to ultimately be served?

Service aside, my cocktail and our food were both delicious. I ordered a Whiskey Business which was refreshing and tasty and Mike got the locally brewed beer, Medalla. We shared a carrot dip and a refreshing avocado salad and then dug into our main dish which was a bell pepper stuffed with stewed lentils and topped with cheese, accompanied by rice and beans. It was so good and made the long wait feel almost worth it.

With full bellies and rain starting to sprinkle, we went back to the car and settled in for the drive over to the east coast to our Airbnb in Fajardo. As we made our way across the northern side of the island, we spotted advertisements and structures for many familiar restaurant chains. Puerto Rico takes American fast food culture to the next level. If you are a fast food fan living on the mainland, you will find pretty much all of the typical fast food offerings from home if you visit Puerto Rico, along with many additional highway-side local food vendors to choose from.

As we drove across the island, we noticed many dilapidated homes, businesses, and structures and wondered if the properties were abandoned remnants from the devastation caused by Hurricane Maria back in 2017. My memory of the island will likely be equal parts paradise and devastation as it was evident how much of a permanent toll the hurricane’s destruction took on the island and its residents.

Fajardo

We arrived at our Airbnb in Fajardo, a condo on an upper floor of an apartment building that overlooked Puerto Chico. The view was breathtaking and brought us quickly back to a state of paradise.

Vieques

Fajardo proved to be an excellent location for our adventurous itinerary over the next couple of days. We started the day on Friday with a boat tour to the island of Vieques for snorkeling and some relaxing walks on the beach. We made the mistake of sitting on the second level of the boat on the way out of the marina and got walloped with salty spray for the forty-five minute rollicking journey to Vieques, a truly romantic experience to kick off our Valentine’s Day.

The boat ride put all of my fear of snorkeling out of mind until we reached the snorkeling spot, that is. I was a little afraid to get into the open water after one of the other people on our tour asked one of the guides if there would be sharks. “This is the ocean man,” he responded, “There’s anything: treasure, migrants, anything!” So that meant there might be sharks. My mom being a big fan of Jaws, I am not a big fan of swimming with sharks. I wasn’t gonna chicken out though, so I put on my mask, slipped on my flippers and descended into the water.

There’s something that happens when you are living in the moment of a thrilling experience. Fear subsides and intrigue takes over. Once my head was under water, I was fine. There is something so calming in the pressure and the isolation. There is depth and cold and Darth Vader sounds coming from the snorkel, and everything’s ok somehow. I saw a sea turtle laying in the sand and watched for a while hoping it was alive. I came up to get my bearings.

“Want to see a sting ray?” said the guide.

He could have said, Want to see a shark? and my answer would have been the same.

“Yeah!”

The rush of the moment takes over and that’s when the real living starts. It just doesn’t happen often so you have to take advantage of it when it does.

We anchored by Playa Punta Arenas on the northwestern tip of Vieques. The beach was nearly empty except for our group. The sand was gold and backed up to green jungle. The water was turquoise and clear and I could see my feet and a few fish swimming nearby. There was a lunch of sandwiches and pasta salad on the boat and an open rum cocktail bar plentiful with pina coladas. The paradise was really making its mark and the coconut was cool and sweet.

Luquillo

We returned to the main island and headed to Luquillo to peruse the food kiosk offerings there. After walking the length of the kioskos, we decided we’d try La Parilla and Nativa Latin Cuisine. At La Parilla, we each enjoyed a cold Medalla, a beer brewed in Puerto Rico, and ordered a carne frita meal to share. The pork was tender and delicious and the view wasn’t half bad.

At Nativa Latin Cuisine, we had our second island time experience that was worth the wait. We ordered mofongo, a savory delight and Puerto Rican staple made of mashed plantains. Ours came topped with criollo sauce and chicken and let’s just say we crushed the whole thing even though we weren’t hungry after La Parilla. Yum!

Icacos

The next day promised more adventure. We took another snorkeling tour and learned our lesson from the day before. We sat at the front of the boat this time, well into the covered section and stayed dry as the people in the back of the boat and up top got soaked. It shouldn’t feel good, but what can I tell you?

The second snorkeling adventure took us to a reef near the island of Icacos. We saw many more fish on this trip, but no larger creatures. It was cool to swim right up to the reef, although the reef, unfortunately, appeared to have suffered the effects of coral bleaching. After our guides called us back to the boat, we headed closer to the beach in Icacos and swam to shore to walk on the white sand.

Were it not for the crowded, party-like atmosphere at 11:00AM, I think I would have preferred this beach to the beach in Vieques from the day before. Remoteness has its own charms, though, so I’m happy we got to do both. A couple of pina coladas and coconut mojitos later, and it was time to head back to Fajardo.

El Yunque

Our next planned activity was a kayaking tour of the bioluminescent bay, Laguna Grande, later that evening so we had some time to add something else to our plans. We opted to drive out to El Yunque National Forest, the only tropical rainforest in the US. In El Yunque, we made a few brief stops including the Visitor’s Center, a kebob stand for a hasty lunch, La Coca Falls, and Torre Yokahu. If you only have time for one, I suggest Torre Yokahu as it offers impressive 360 degree views of the forest.

Laguna Grande

Ok, so remember the thing about the fear of sharks from earlier in this post and it going out the window due to the thrill of the moment? Well, I also have this thing about the dark. In the pursuit of adventure, fear must be cast aside sometimes and discomfort-embraced. This is what I told myself as we kayaked along the narrow canal through the pitch black mangrove after dark on our way to Laguna Grande, one of only five bioluminescent bays in the world.

We kayaked single file along the canal, guided only by a small red light on the back of each of the kayaks in front of us. We could hear the splash of paddles in the water and the coqui frogs singing in the tangled trees all around us and, somehow, I was not afraid anymore. It was beautiful- a line of dotted red gliding through the water on the way to the lagoon. Real life seems unreal sometimes, I thought.

We arrived at the lagoon and our guides instructed us on how to best view the bioluminescent effect in the water. The bioluminescent effect is a defense mechanism of the dinoflagellate plankton in the water and is activated when the plankton are disturbed by movement. The moon was pretty bright the night of our tour, but we still got to see a sparkling effect when moving our hands and paddles in the water. The tour also provided dark tarps that we covered ourselves with in order to better see the effect. It was magical and strange and probably looked like a weird ritualistic practice to the unknowing eye, but it was worth paddling through the dark to get a glimpse of the sparklers in the water.

After our tour, we changed quickly in the car to make our dinner reservation. Turns out we didn’t need to rush after all, though, as the host decided our reservation was too late in the day and lectured us on how we shouldn’t have made a reservation so late (even though it was available and not even the latest reservation available). They said they would still “help us” and we could stay, but we decided we didn’t need that favor on our last night after the lecture already ruffled our feathers a bit. Instead, we went to the local grocery store, Pueblo, and picked up a bottle of wine and a few things to make a delicious dinner of our own. It ended up being a fun and relaxing way to end our last night in Puerto Rico, so I’m almost happy for the little hiccup.

On our final morning, the usual wind present on our Airbnb’s balcony was still and we enjoyed some leftovers from our homemade meal the night before while sitting outside, soaking up the beautiful view one last time.

I enjoyed our trip, but was happy to head back to the airport and home to New Jersey. Even though the forecast for the evening promised cold and rain, there’s just something so inviting about home after being away. When the wheels touched down in Newark, I heard some passengers on the plane voicing their disappointment as they looked out the window, but I was looking forward to a hearty dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. Something about getting away makes home more special. It disturbs the regular routine for a while and makes it sparkle brighter, even in the dark.

Travel

Molasses in January: A Savannah Winter Travel Journal

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

When we planned our trip to Savannah, GA for this past weekend, we looked forward to slowing things down and enjoying a winter retreat with warmer weather than we’ve been having at home. We planned on long, brisk, scenic walks through the Hostess City, beneath shaded canopies of live oaks draped in Spanish moss. We didn’t even imagine that the snow from days earlier in the week would have any impact our plans to explore.

Until last week, it hadn’t snowed in Savannah in seven years, according to many of the locals we encountered there. In our Uber ride from the airport to the historic district, we learned that the airport had only re-opened two hours before we landed, after being closed for three days. The streets and sidewalks were frosted with ice and snow, left to crust over, slick and perilous for tourists and local pedestrians determined enough to brave them.

We knew we’d slow things down in Savannah this past weekend, we just didn’t realize how much.

“Little, tiny, baby steps,” said Mike as we shuffled our way from the corner across from Wright Square to the front door of our Airbnb. The street was white and lined with parked cars molded to the curb with solidified snow. We saw people trying to dig out the sidewalks in front of their homes and businesses with metal, pointed-spade, garden shovels and leaf blowers and marveled at the unexpected culture shock of this city in the snow.

I checked my email and learned that our Restaurant Week dinner reservation had been canceled by the restaurant due to the road conditions, but was prepared with some alternatives. We got settled in our Airbnb, a beautiful one-bedroom apartment across from Wright Square and figured out our new plan for the evening.

Once we were settled, we headed out to brave the icy sidewalks in pursuit of cocktails and dinner. Our first stop was Alley Cat Lounge, a speakeasy-style cocktail bar located on a lane between Ellis and Telfair Square. We perused the Alley Cat Rag, a newspaper-style menu where the drink options are disguised as catalogue advertisements. I opted for the Improved Whiskey Cocktail, which tasted like an old fashioned but smelled like black gumdrops due to the touch of Absinthe it contained.

After cocktails, we little, tiny, baby-stepped our way south to The Public Kitchen & Bar on Bull & Liberty Street for a late night dinner. We were seated in a mid-century modern dining room with geometric pendant lamps that made the hygge-fan-girl in me very pleased. The food at The Public was probably the best of our trip and it had some serious contenders; let me tell you. We enjoyed the Autumn Salad, the Seafood Mac (a creamy, cheesy delight packed with lobster, shrimp, and scallops), and the Lamb Burger (our favorite single food item of the entire trip, a perfectly cooked and spiced burger paired with goat cheese and sweet pepper jam-take me back!).

After dinner, we packed up our leftovers and headed back out into the cold night. We slipped and slid our way back up Bull Street and stumbled across Chippewa Square. Chippewa Square was used as a filming location in the movie, Forrest Gump, and served as the backdrop to the bench where Forrest sits with his suitcase throughout multiple scenes in the movie. While the bench is in a museum now, we still paused to snap a picture only to learn that we had taken the photo from the wrong side of the park. We remedied this error, however, the next evening.

The next morning, I checked my email and learned that our tour of Bonaventure Cemetery for that afternoon had been canceled and that the cemetery would be closed until Monday due to the winter road conditions. We did not end up making it out to the cemetery on this trip as our timing did not allow for a Monday visit. Our morning walking tour of the city, however, was still on, so we headed around the corner to meet up with our tour group.

Our guide from Genteel & Bard Tours was a conservatory-trained actor and certified tour guide who had a contagious enthusiasm for the history of the city. He led us around the historic district, sticking to soft snow or the sunny side of the street as much as possible to allow for safer walking conditions, but we still got to skate around a little bit as we learned more about Savannah’s historic figures and the city’s design.

Among the homes featured on our history tour, was the Green-Meldrim house off of Madison Square. The home served as the headquarters for General Sherman, of the Union Army, during the winter of 1864-1865. According to our guide and a plaque in Madison Square, Sherman met with 20 leaders from Savannah’s African-American churches at the house, under Lincoln’s orders, resulting in his issuing the Special Field Orders No. 15, which reserved coastal land in the south to be settled by freed families of enlisted freedmen. The order was in place only for a short while though, unfortunately, only to be revoked by President Andrew Johnson following President Abraham Lincoln’s death.

Our tour continued south, past scenic Jones Street and through Monterey Square. We learned about the significance of what local Savannahians apparently refer to as “The Book”. The Mercer-Williams House was once home to Jim Williams, an influential player on the chessboard of Savannah Society, in his day. Williams held political sway and significant policy influence by means of invitations (or lack thereof) to his lavish, Saturday parties. Jim Williams was also tried four times for the same murder, the story of which is the basis for John Berendt’s novel Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

We continued to wind our way through the slippery streets of the historic district and stopped in front of a derelict, Georgian house that was purchased by the owners two years ago and partially demolished, losing the symmetry iconic of Georgian-style architecture. Further renovation on the property must abide by the city’s strictly enforced historic preservation rules. The house overlooks beautiful Taylor Square, so I suppose the renovation will have been worth the wait, once completed.

With one more view of beautiful Jones Street, our tour ended in Lafayette Square, flanked on two sides by The Cathedral Basilica of St. John the Baptist and the Andrew Low House, once home to Juliette Gordon Low, the founder of the Girl Guides and the Girl Scouts.

We took some time for a short rest back at our Airbnb, hoping that the sunny day would work its magic on the icy city and then headed back out for some more views and adventure.

We made our way east across the city and up towards the Savannah riverfront, encountering Savannah’s “Waving Girl” statue of Florence Martus and her dog. We would learn more about her on our Savannah Riverboat Cruise the next day, where our guide told the story that Florence lived on a remote island with her brother, a lighthouse keeper, following their parents’ early death. She would wave to every ship that passed the island, calling out to sailors to ask where they had sailed from and where they were heading. She even trained her dog to wake her up so she wouldn’t miss a passing ship. The tour guide also told us that Florence Martus’ funeral was the most attended in Savannah’s history due to her renown among the maritime community in the area.

We headed up to our next stop for some drinks and lunch, Bar Julian, a place recommended to us by our Airbnb host as having the best rooftop view of the city. I ordered a Mint Julep and we shared a Kafta flatbread that was absolutely delicious. The views were pretty beautiful, but I think my favorite views of Savannah were smaller scale, and from much lower heights, beneath the towering oaks in the city’s plentiful squares.

For dinner later on, we headed to Wright Square Bistro and enjoyed delicious and plentiful fare of mushroom lasagna and steak frites, along with some house red wine and good conversation. It was one of those dinners that I feel like I’ll remember for a long time because of the whole experience and how relaxed I felt in the restaurant’s cozy, unfussy environs. I was enjoying myself so much that I forgot to take any pictures.

Still full from dinner the previous night, we set out the next morning with a goal to see every Square in Savannah and to get a better glimpse of Forsyth Park. Our guide on our walking tour the previous day seemed less than thrilled with Forsyth Park’s centerpiece, a beautiful fountain that the city ordered out of a catalogue and installed in 1858. I still thought it was pretty beautiful and wanted a photo with it.

Our appetites returned in full force and we walked north in pursuit of brunch at The Collins Quarter downtown. We were seated in a cozy room downstairs and our server told us that we couldn’t go wrong with anything we ordered. Based solely on what we ordered, he was correct. I opted for the breakfast sandwich and a spiced lavender mocha. I think it may have been the best coffee of my entire life.

After brunch, we took a river boat cruise on the Savannah River aboard the Georgia Queen and learned about Savannah’s claim to fame as the third largest port in the US (if you combine LA and Long Beach; 4th if you don’t). We learned the history behind the Florence Martus statue and passed by Old Fort Jackson during a cannon fire reenactment. Our guide even pointed out some dolphins in the river and I managed to snap a photo of one in the last photo pictured here! Eep!

Our adventure continued on at the American Prohibition Museum, an impressively-themed tribute to a weird time in history. As we wandered through the lifelike dioramas and displays, including a whiskey gutter, moonshine operation, mob-hit scene, and speak-easy, we wondered just how drunk America was all the time to make the movement seem sane to the “Dries”, those in support of Prohibition. From the samples of propaganda on display throughout the museum, the sway of the media seemed clear, but from the artifacts on display and loopholes detailed in the information plaques, so too was the nation’s affinity for drink.

After the American Prohibition Museum, we were in need of a drink or two. We headed over to Service Brewing Co. and ordered a flight to share. Each sample we tried was excellent, so I imagine it would be hard to go wrong with any of their offerings.

We continued on to the lobby of the JW Marriott in the new Plant Riverside District, it having been suggested by our Airbnb host and our riverboat tour guide as something worth seeing. The biggest draw to the Marriott’s lobby is the huge, chrome, dinosaur suspended from the ceiling followed by the fossils and some massive geodes on display. We found the plaques associated with the display items to be a little pretentious, and didn’t feel the need to stay long. I think we may just be spoiled having lived in New York for years. I have never seen anything quite so impressive as the fossils on display in the American Museum of Natural History, so a chrome dinosaur isn’t gonna do it for me. Someone else might think it’s really cool though, so take what I say with a grain of salt and enjoy as you will.

The next morning, before leaving what is now among my list of favorite places I have visited, we stopped to grab me one one spiced lavender mocha before heading off to the airport for our flight home. Savannah is over for us for now, but it was more beautiful than I dreamed it would be and I look forward to going back someday. Perhaps we’ll walk slow again upon the snow beneath the oaks some other January to come. For now, I have my memories to retrace our icy steps.

Travel

Pennsylvania Getaways: Gettysburg

Beth DeFries3 Comments

The sun is still sleeping as I sit down to write this morning and I’ve been up for a while. It’s raining substantially for the first time in a long time and with recent water restrictions issued by the state, New Jersey certainly needed this.

I’m sipping on steaming Earl Gray from my favorite mug at the kitchen table while cooking a batch of steel cut oats on the stove. I hear them bubble and breathe behind me under my lax supervision and am already dreaming of spoonfuls swirled with hints of creamy peanut butter and real maple syrup.

I have been trying to think of how best to start this post for a few days now, with no luck. The words evaded me, creeping in my wake like the shadow of a silent army whose next move I couldn’t predict. Sometimes first lines attack by surprise and facing them becomes urgent.

This one’s about three days in July of 1863.

Growing up, I visited Gettysburg a few times with my family, my dad and my uncle being huge history buffs, but I was never quite old enough to appreciate the sobering significance of the town’s quaint streets and picturesque scenery: rolling hills dotted with clusters of trees, farms, orchards, rocky outcrops, and majestic monuments. This time felt different, however, and I went in more prepared to experience the weight of the place.

Driving through downtown Gettysburg on a Friday evening in early November, it wasn’t obvious that the town was much different from any other historic location we’d visited in the eastern US. The streets were lined with small businesses, shops, restaurants, and colorful, old buildings. The red brick sidewalks around Lincoln Square were packed with tourists on their way to dinner, drinks, or an evening walking tour, little shopping bags swinging in hand with purchases from specialty boutiques and souvenir shops from among the town’s plethora of offerings.

We continued on our drive down Baltimore Street to our hotel, Best Western Gettysburg, located in the historic part of town, across the street from the battlefield. On our way, we passed more historic looking buildings mixed in amongst even more gift shops, museums, art galleries, ghost tour companies, and taverns.

“That’s where we’re going tonight,” I said to Mike as we passed Dobbin House Tavern, gesturing to a stone house on our right, set back a little from the road. Each of its colonial style windows flickered with inviting candlelight and I found myself looking forward to dinner. I knew I had been there before as a kid, but couldn’t picture the inside other than a vague memory of a historical diorama of an underground railroad refuge.

We checked into the hotel, got settled in our room, and met my sister and her husband back down in the lobby. The restaurant was only a short walk from the hotel, but it was chilly outside and the cozy tavern, its waiting area appointed with a huge hearth and rustic, colonial furnishings, offered us much appreciated respite from the wind. We found my dad standing near the host stand among a small crowd of others waiting to be seated and he greeted us with his usual enthusiasm and urged us to go check out the secret hideout that was partway up a narrow staircase off the waiting room.

He looked around the little waiting area and said, “I don’t know where mom went.” We didn’t know either and had not seen her outside. While my dad went out to solve that mystery, the rest of us went to check out the underground railroad display. The crawlspace was even smaller than I remembered and contained life-size mannequin depictions of people in hiding within its cramped confines, representing a stop on their harrowing journey to escape enslavement, one fraught with peril and risk of capture at any turn, even north of the Mason-Dixon Line.

It turned out my mom had been looking for us outside along Baltimore Street, but we had come in from the road that ran behind the tavern instead and did not initially cross paths. Once reunited, it wasn’t long before a woman dressed in colonial attire summoned us all to follow her and seated us in the main dining room, which had a cozy, refined atmosphere with low-lit overhead fixtures and wooden tables adorned with blue and white dinnerware and candlesticks sheathed in hurricane glass.

We enjoyed the hearty tavern fare and good conversation, a highlight of which was when my dad dropped his voice to an awed whisper to tell us, “This is the oldest house in Gettysburg.” According to the tavern’s website, the house was built in 1776 and was the home of Reverend Alexander Dobbin and his family. Guided tours of the house are available for those looking to delve deeper into the home’s history as well as that of the Dobbin family. We, however, opted only to dine on this visit.

While at dinner, we established some plans to take a bus tour of the battlefield and visit the Gettysburg National Military Park Museum and Cyclorama the next day. After finishing our meal, we all headed back to the hotel and turned in for the night to decompress from the long drive and to get some rest. While the room was very comfortable, I won’t pretend like I wasn’t a little worried I’d wake up in the middle of the night to find the ghost of a civil war soldier hovering by the foot of the bed. Pushing my irrational fears of phantom soldiers aside, I slept well and, needless to say, my worries did not materialize.

I’ve been to many a historic place with my family, but we frequented Gettysburg more than others and because of this, I’ve always known that it holds a unique sort of charm for people fascinated by American history- and rightly so. The streets of the town and its surrounding farms, fields, and woods were, after all, the site of the bloodiest battle fought on American soil.

The bus tour was fine. In hindsight, we should have done the museum first and then the tour, so that’s on me for booking our combo tickets in the wrong order. Personally, I think I would opt for a self-guided driving tour next time due to personal humiliation reasons. Our guide made lots of attempts at jokes that didn’t really land and it felt like being in some mobile, history class detention where the punishment was rapid-fire, pop quiz questions asked aloud at random, for which you paid $46 for the study material, but it didn’t arrive on time.

I’ll explain further. To my horror, I was called on by the tour guide as we stood overlooking Oak Hill and Ridge, after he gave a scenario during which my mind inconveniently wandered. I’ll relive it for you all now in hopes of processing it better myself.

“Cape May!” barked the guide, “What’s your name?”

“Beth,” I said, knowing I’d answered that question correctly, at least, as my panic began to rise. I instantly regretted wearing a hat with words on it, wondering just what on Earth he had been saying a few moments ago.

“What do you do if you’re the leader of the Confederate Army in this situation?”

One- I got nothin’. I completely froze and forgot how to speak and was very quickly turning into a Jersey tomato.

Two- Such a scenario would never happen in real life both due to my own moral compass and my leadership inexperience.

Three- Mike piped up behind me with the helpful suggestion of, “Free the slaves,” which I concluded was the only correct answer, regardless of what the guide was actually looking for.

The real answer was apparently “shoot”, but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you the context behind it.

After the bus tour was over, I buried my recent tussle with shame deep down with all the other fun stuff and we grabbed a quick lunch at the cafe in the Visitor’s Center. Next, we queued up for our timed entry to The Gettysburg Cyclorama film and painting. My mom was most excited for this part and I was eager to see the painting with the intriguing name that she kept mentioning.

The film portion of the experience, narrated by Morgan Freeman, was informative and interesting and provided a summary and timeline of the events and circumstances that led to the start of the American Civil War up through the battle of Gettysburg. It discussed the deeply rooted economic and moral issues upon which the elite of the American south had founded and sustained their fortunes: the issue of “Slave Labor” vs. “Free Labor”, free labor meaning that the laborer was free to earn income from the fruits of their own labor.

After the short film, we were led up to The Cyclorama, a striking, 360 degree painting depicting Pickett’s Charge. The massive oil painting is the work of French cyclorama painter, Paul Philippoteaux, and his team of assistants, and provides a unique insight into the experience of the battlefield on July 3, 1863, the final day of the Battle of Gettysburg. In more recent years, sculptural installations have been added in addition to the accompanying light and audio show and narration to further immerse the viewer in the painting.

The experience of viewing this impressive work will surely move any observer and garner their attention for the scale and chaos of the final day of the bloodiest battle in history fought on American soil that squashed General Lee and the Confederate Army’s final hopes of overtaking the northern states. The artist and his team visited and studied the battlefield nineteen years after the battle took place and gathered information using guidebooks, maps, and interviews with veterans in order to depict the scene with accuracy. If you go to Gettysburg, do not pass up the opportunity to see this incredible piece.

Armed with a visual of the battlefield in action, we headed into the museum. The Gettysburg Foundation website recommends allotting two hours for this museum, but if you are really interested in all of the details, civilian accounts, and original artifacts, it would be wise to allow yourself much more time. A few standouts from the museum for me were:

  • A photo of Gettysburg taken a few days before the battle, picturing an idyllic, quiet town
  • General Lee’s modest encampment cot, medical chest, and field desk
  • Accounts of the days leading up to the battle, the battle itself, and the horrors of its aftermath, heavily left to the Gettysburg civilians to clean up and manage.
  • The story of Gettysburg’s “Citizen Hero”, John Burns, a veteran of The War of 1812 who followed the sounds of the battle from his porch to join the Union Army and got captured and subsequently released by the Confederate Army
  • A room dedicated to President Abraham Lincoln’s famed Gettysburg Address, which he finished writing while staying at the David Wills House in Gettysburg off what is now Lincoln Square, before delivering it on the battlefield in November 1863.

Three days in Gettysburg led to an estimated 51,000 casualties across both sides and one civilian death- a young woman named Jennie Wade, who was shot through two doors in her sister Georgia’s kitchen while preparing dough for bread to help feed the Union Army. She was originally buried in the front yard of her sister’s home with the help of Union soldiers, and has since been relocated to the Evergreen Cemetery, the site of Lincoln’s delivery of The Gettysburg Address, and not far from her beau, Jack Skelly.

On our final day in Gettysburg, we revisited some of the sites covered on our bus tour and some, surprisingly not. We drove up to Little Round Top and walked to the lookout to take in the beautiful, sprawling view of the fields and hills below and afar. Below to our left was the outcrop known as Devil’s Den. We walked down the hill to explore there further and vague memories of the place stirred in me at the sight of children running around and playing on and through the boulders. My first memories of Gettysburg from when I was a little kid involve climbing on cannons with my cousins and sister and wanting McDonalds. And they’d let that kid lead the Confederate Army? I don’t think so.

Gettysburg will play tricks on you. At times, it can be easy to forget that you are standing on what is essentially a sprawling cemetery because it is a place full of natural beauty, not to mention it has also been heavily influenced by commercial tourism over the years. But then there are moments when the picture becomes clearer: when you can imagine the drums and the cannon fire, the shots and the battle cries of soldiers charging ahead into uncertain fates, where you can smell the stench of fear and overwhelming loss in the air, see the grass stained purple with hot blood, soldiers and civilians collecting the fallen in the aftermath, following the muffled utterances of the wounded still holding on.

There is never a monument far to remind visitors of the immense sacrifice on both sides during this battle. Our tour guide told us that Gettysburg is one of the most decorated battlefields in the world and that wherever monuments were erected indicated where those soldiers fought during the battle. It was sobering and weighty as I knew it would be and I’m glad we went back together.

For our last stop on our trip, we visited the grounds of President Eisenhower’s farm. The house was closed for the season, but strolling around between the buildings and the helipad ended our trip on a lighter note than the image of craggy entrapment that Devil’s Den conjured up for me. I remember writing a book report on President Eisenhower in the fourth grade and I’ll just say that I didn’t do very well on it. I hope you will enjoy this post more than Ms. Masters enjoyed my book report. This concludes my Pennsylvania posts, so mourn or celebrate that as you will and, as always, thanks for reading.