Back from a three-day jaunt to Wellsboro, PA, that was great fun--of the strenuous variety. We went in the 39-foot RV with jeep behind and what a strange sensation it was to travel while sitting at a nice little dinette.
It's a long trip to Wellsboro in upstate Pennsy--takes roughly seven hours from my place, if you start there, which we didn't.
We didn't eat at a restaurant once. Having such a vehicle means you take all your food with you and cook it on board or on a fire at the campsite.
We went first to the Grand Canyon of the East Campground where my friend and her husband had to stabilize the RV, unhook the jeep, attach various lines and drains (electricity, gas, fresh water, as well as "black" and "grey" of the same--you don't want to know), and other chores that seem to go with camping.
Grandson and family came shortly, bringing hot dogs, hamburgers, and side dishes, which were cooked partly on the stove inside and partly out on the roaring fire. We ate at the picnic table, all had our fill, then talked and played until J., N., and the boys took me to my motel--the Grand Canyon, where I've stayed many times before.
Hey, a whole bunch more went on, but I'm not going to enumerate activities day by day, except to write they included lots of forest, the pool, hiking, badminton, boys on bikes, three yapping dogs (or, as I call them, "ugly mutts"), walking the hilly three-quarter mile to J.'s house, and viewing the spectacular scenery all around, which, of course, residents take for granted.
A high point was our trip to the aforementioned Grand Canyon of the East, a place of breath-taking beauty. In contrast to the other Grand Canyon, with its majestic mountains and rough terrain, this is all rolling hills covered with forest, rising up to the horizon, then dipping down, down, down with a wide stream below, and mountain laurel everywhere. We were there on a perfect late spring day, the sky so blue and the few clouds so white, you wished you could paint it. There are lots of wonderful vantage points--the area was outfitted with wooden walks, railings, and other conveniences by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) during the Great Depression--and couldn't be more visitor-friendly.
It took a long, l-o-o-ng time to get home, as everybody else on the eastern seaboard seems to have taken a trip, too, and we were sitting for an hour on Route 80, but as for me, hey, I had all the comforts of home--what a luxury.
Didn't get back to my place until after 7:00. I immediately unpacked, jumped in the shower, checked email, and readjusted my mindset to routine. Neat, neat holiday, the best part seeing the precious little boys.
WIDER: At the motel on Sunday, I clicked on the television before bed and came across a rendition of "Our Father," sung in front of a huge American flag backdrop. I was surprised when the shot changed to reveal it was a show at the U.S. Capital building, which was all bathed in light like heaven itself. The mall in front was filled with an audience of what seemed to be several thousand. I realized that this was a Memorial Day commemoration, which later naturally included the sloppy and saccharine "tributes" to our hired killers--oops, I mean "brave troops"--and standard shots of pretty mother cuddling pretty child, picturesque old people, the obligatory middle-class African Americans (but not too many), and of course, young men and women in glorious uniform. The stops were pulled out of all the old cliches to convince us that we do God's work when we slash and burn and kill little children in other countries. Always and forever, God is on our side and anybody who disputes that should probably be jailed after a righteous drubbing to show them they need to heed the Prince of Peace. Oh, wait...
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