Shenandoah

Dear Dad,

We were supposed to head down to Durham, North Carolina for a tournament this weekend, but at the last minute G3 decided he didn’t want to go. I don’t really know why. He said he was tired of driving long hours this season, but I’m not sure that is the real—or full— reason. Since he didn’t want to go to the tournament, and I didn’t want to be stuck home after planning to get way away (I was disappointed because I had been looking forward to competing in an out of district tournament) we packed up our camping gear, tossed it into the car and headed down to Shenandoah National Park. The destination seemed appropriate. Why not spend the anniversary of your death at a place you liked, a place we had once visited together?

Since it was an eleventh hour decision, we got on the road later than I usually like to leave. But the weather was nice and we hit limited traffic so we got to the campground early enough to set up and cook dinner before the sun set. The sites were all first-come-first-serve this time of year and since it’s April, we thought we’d have plenty to choose from. That was not the case. The campground was not full but there were a lot more people there than we expected. Still, we got a decent site and immediately set up our tents. While I cooked, warming up taco meat for Kati and G3 and beans for myself, G3 sawed wood for the campfire. There was lots of downed debris and it was all for the taking.

On Friday morning and into the afternoon, we took two short hikes. The first was on the Bearfence trail which was only 1.4 miles round trip, but it involved a fun rock scramble along one section of the trail. G3 greatly enjoyed that. Climbing rocks and boulders has always been a favorite for him.  Kati had a little difficulty, providing the comic relief as she slipped and slided and struggled up a few crevices. But she survived and was able to laugh at the video G3 shot of her. G3 had fun posing for pictures for me to send to Nona. He climbed trees, did his signature side kick atop a giant rock, and even suffered through a picture with me.

Next, G3 and I hiked to the highest peak in the park: Hawksbill. The view was hazy but pretty. By the time we reached the overlook, clouds had covered the sky which kept it from being too hot. The loop we intended to do was supposed to be about three miles. But along the way we didn’t realize where the path divided. Inadvertently, we went the wrong way. Instead of turning onto the Appalachian Trail, we ended up in a parking lot a mile from where Kati was waiting for us. It wasn’t too bad having to walk along the road to get back to the car. Being in the woods would have been preferable, but as G3 pointed out, even the view from the Skyline Drive was pretty. And we probably ended up walking just as far as we intended.   Of course it reminded me of when you brought me there many years ago. I was in middle school and for summer vacation we spent two weeks in Virginia. A few of those days—my favorite of the trip—we spent in Shenandoah. One afternoon, we set out on a hike. It wasn’t supposed to be long but we followed the wrong blazes and ended up walking much further than we intended. You and Mom were exhausted when we finally finished, but I loved every minute of it.

Since Friday was the three year anniversary of your death, we went wine tasting in your memory. You would have liked both wineries we visited. Wisteria Farm & Vineyard reminded me a little of Martha Clara—before it was sold—out on Long Island. There were roosters walking around and visiting with the customers. Kati and I each had a wine flight and we toasted you. It was peaceful sitting outside but the wine wasn’t that good. I don’t think you would have liked it. It was either bland or too sweet.

Brix & Columns was our next stop. The mountainous scenery was gorgeous. You would have loved sitting outside with us, looking at the mountains, and listening to the live folk music. Again, it was reminiscent of some of the time I spent with you at the wineries in Long Island. but the setting here was definitely prettier than there. We weren’t so thrilled with the wine. However, the first sampling was a Cabernet Franc which made Kati comment, “One of your Dad’s favorites. How appropriate.” 

Once again we are camping near inconsiderate people. If you want to listen to music, stay home. Some of us enjoy the camping experience because we like escaping modern technology. I don’t pay for a campsite so that I can be subjected to others people’s noise. 

The music, thankfully, didn’t last long. We sat for a long while by the campfire and by the time we went to bed most of the other campfires around us had been put out. I’ve never been afraid camping—ever. But as I was getting into my sleeping bag, I thought I heard footsteps. Plus, light and shadows kept flickering in the tent. I nudged Kati asking if she heard anything. She didn’t, but she did notice the light. I unzipped the tent to see if anyone was outside and there wasn’t. In the morning, G3 said I freaked him out. He had trouble falling asleep in his tent because he heard me and I spooked him. Kati couldn’t get back to sleep either. She feared aliens might be planning to abduct us. She didn’t hear footsteps but the lights were troubling her. She started listening for sounds of aliens clicking and speaking in their mother tongues. I felt bad. Next time, I will keep my concerns to myself. In the morning, I realized the light we saw was probably the headlights of passing cars and the footsteps were the leaves rustling in the wind. 

During the night it rained, but not hard. The sound of the rain drops falling on the tent was soothing and the few times I woke up, it lulled me back to sleep. 

Saturday marked 18 years since Kati and I got married. Yes, we got married on tax day. (For you history buffs, it’s also the day Lincoln died, the Titanic sank, and Boston was bombed.) We had hot chocolate and coffee at the campsite, then cereal for breakfast in the car as we headed off to take a hike. G3 and I hiked—three miles out and back— to Mary’s Rock Summit. It wasn’t too taxing of a hike—the uphill wasn’t too steep—but the view at the top was beautiful. We sat on the rocks, took pictures, and just enjoyed the moment. We would have stayed longer—G3 just wanted to stay there and forget that school is on the other end of this weekend—but Kati was waiting below and I didn’t want to keep her waiting too long. 

We continued driving north and stopped ten miles before the northern most point of the park. This time, the three of us made the two mile round trip to Compton Peak. We went to see the basalt rock structure. The ranger at the Visitor Center asked if we had ever been to Devil’s tour in Wyoming or the Giant’s Causeway in Ireland because the formation was similar to those landmarks. We’ve been to Devil’s Tower so we were curious enough to see how the rock in Shenandoah was similar. Obviously, it is much smaller, but the hexagonal shape of the rocks was identical. We found it fascinating because a few years ago we watched a documentary that explained all the ways the hexagonal shape is found repeatedly in nature from the rocks at Giant’s Causeway to the honeycombs made by bees. It is always interesting when we can apply why we learn in a documentary to what we see or experience in real life.

In the afternoon, we returned to the wine trail so Kati and I could celebrate our anniversary. On the way to Shenandoah, she saw a sign for Gray Ghost Winery. We were both draw by the name. Then yesterday, the woman at the Wisteria Winery told us the Gray Ghost was Stonewall Jackson. She was incorrect. I Googled it—i had to, you know me and history. It turns out the Gray Ghost was John Mosby a Colonel in the Confederate Army. I never heard of him so I was that much more intrigued. As a result, we headed straight for that winery after our hike and I am glad we did.

As you know, Kati and I have visited many wineries over the years. Wine tastings are a standard part of our vacations and camping trips—you know the rule Kati gets one winery per president’s house and TWO for every battlefield. (Knowing my obsession with history, I’ll let you do the math.) But I’ve never enjoyed a wine stop as much as I enjoyed The Gray Ghost. The woman doing to tastings is the daughter of the owners. As soon as we walked in I asked her who the Gray Ghost was. That ushered in a very enjoyable conversation about history. She even brought her father over to further explain Mosby’s role in the war. A history lesson at a winery—it was a win win for me and Kati—what more could we want. 

According to what we learned today, Mosby was against succession, but like many men at the time, his allegiance was to his state, more so than the country. He fought for the Confederacy because, like Lee, he was loyal to Virginia. His skill was being stealthy and getting behind Union lines. He captured men and horses while evading detection—and capture—prompting Lincoln to dub him “The Gray Ghost.” At the end of the war, he did not surrender. He then became a Republican and worked in Grant’s administration. How its it I never once came across his name? Not in a textbook, nor at any of the Civil War historical sites I’ve visited. Well, coming from the North, the only Southern military man we learned about was Lee. Our history books leave out so much and schools still haven’t figured out how to make history fun. But it surprises me that I never came across him anywhere else in my travels, especially in Virginia.

Dad, I wish you were alive because you would have enjoyed a visit to The Gray Ghost. I could see you hanging out at the bar, sipping wine and discussing the Civil War. And the wine was good—the best we’ve encountered in Virginia. I’d recommend the place to anyone passing through the area. (If you stop by, ask to see the John Mosby relics from the war.) When we left, Kati felt awful. We got so caught up in conversation she forgot to tip. I guess that’s an excuse to go back some day.

We stopped at Little Washington Winery next, but aside of a beautiful view of the mountains, there wasn’t much to write about. The wine was meh, and the staff was not very friendly.

On the way to the wineries it poured so hard Kati pulled over to wait for it to subside. Our fear was that when we got back to the campsite we’d find our tents flooded. But, the campground was dry. The rain seemed to have missed the park. However, Sunday morning, as I was packing up our gear, I discovered that I had been sleeping in a puddle. Water from Friday night must have seeped through the bottom of our tent. At least my sleeping roll kept my sleeping bag dry. The tent is relatively new. We only bought it last summer. Why are our tents so plagued with leaks?

Sunday morning was beautiful—warm and sunny. G3 and I did not want to leave. We’d have loved to stay for another hike, but real life beckoned. Spring break is ending and we all have to return to work and school on Monday. Ugh!

I miss you!