"'Where were you when . . .?' is a common script"

Like the Kennedy assassination and the Twin Tower attacks, it's likely that the COVID-19 pandemic will become the "Where were you when ...?" question for a generation. I happened to be in Cumberland, Maryland, as a halfway meet-up for Scott and me. It was intended to be a low-key weekend, including drinks with an old friend, homemade dinners at our AirBnB (left), and some hijinks at the Hooley Pub Crawl (right). I fully expected an unexpected run-in with a former student would be the big surprise of the trip.

 

But by Saturday morning, announcements about scaling back the St. Patrick's Day party were made. For better or worse, we decided to still participate, although we kept our distance at most places, including Dig Deep Brewing Co. (left). But by the evening, it became apparent that perhaps we should take more precautions, so the next day, we put some real space between ourselves and the world by hiking the lakeside loop at Rocky Gap State Park (right). We finished the 5 miles at the casino contained in the park. Its slot machines were shockingly silent and its bars eerily empty. Employees told us they were being sent home soon. (Incidentally, I went on a hike and then to a casino on 9/11, too, which is weirdly coincidental for a person who dislikes casinos.) After one last drink in the wild, I headed back home, to DC, as well.

 

But not long after, upon deciding that holing up alone in my apartment in a shuttered city would probably not be best for my mental health, I headed to Ohio for the long lockdown haul. And with that decision began the now cliched phase called "the new normal," or as I like to call it, based on another trope topic: "What I Did on My Staycation." At first, we spent the short, cold days inside, throwing darts, playing online trivia, and counting the cars lined up for the DQ drive-thru (top left). On those only-in-Ohio surprise summer-like respites, we rushed to the local baseball field for some bocce competition (top right). We Zoomed into a Seder celebration (bottom left) but had a simple meal by tablelight for Easter (bottom right).

 

 

When the shutdown stir crazies set in, we set out on hikes. Our first foray was to Rockbridge State Nature Preserve because nearby Hocking Hills State Park was so inundated that it was made off-limits to visitors (top left). Another adjacent alternative were the nearly empty trails through Zaleski State Forest (top right). Sometimes, we stayed a little closer to home, enjoying the wildflowers at Stage's Pond State Nature Preserve (bottom left) or hunting for geocaches at Slate Run Metro Park (bottom right).

 

  

As the weather warmed, weekend hikes turned into daily walks, occasionally on the small trails near the Bergstresser/Dietz Covered Bridge, the last standing covered bridge in Franklin County. Running under this bridge is Little Walnut Creek, where we canoed twice when the water level was high enough (top left). Another weekend, we got into the flow at Darby Creek (top right), and a few times, we paddled into the middle of Hargus Lake to take a dip. One time, we got off the couch and out with SOFA (Southern Ohio Floaters Association) for an excursion at Paint Creek State Park (middle). At one point, we pulled out of the lake for lunch and a short hike up a creek (bottom left). Our destination was a small cave system, a veritable adult jungle gym complete with bats (bottom right).

 

 

Before we paddled, we pedaled, in Athens. We rode the trail from The Plains into town, so I could set eyes on my alma mater (top). On the way back, we stopped by a few trailside breweries to pick up some growlers, but not before I tried to get a refund on my mispent youth by visiting my former houses: one on Mill Street, where a big, friendly doggy now lives (bottom left), and another on Kern Street, where I long ago left my permanent mark on the sidewalk out front (bottom right).

 

For my birthday, we traded pedal power for horsepower for a trail ride near Athens, led by Uncle Buck's Riding Stable (top left). Despite my enthusiasm, I (and my butt) happily opted against the longer trip to Moonville Tunnel (top right). It was more than enough to just be out amid the tranquility of tall trees (bottom left). It's just too bad the stable's saloon wasn't open for business (bottom right), so there was no opportunity for some refreshment while we re-engaged our legs.  

 

 

Instead, we headed to horse-themed Rockmill Brewery, which previously was the location of our first post-lockdown outing (top left). The beer is great, but the setting is equally spectacular. Its property edges up against the Hocking River (top right), which flows down from the Rock Mill that gave the former farm its name. By a bend in the river sits a small chapel, which hosts weddings but is also the backdrop for a live music series (bottom left) that lets you bask in some tunes as the sun goes down (bottom right).

 

  

Most of the time we managed to spread out, but we made space for our bar trivia bubble (left). Due to an unfortunate series of events, we had to give up on our regular haunt. Luckily, the U.S. flagship of BrewDog is within walking distance, so we started heading there for trivia instead (right). (Don't be alarmed by the fire truck; the situation was taken care of and we safely returned to our suds.) So basically, besides hiking, canoeing, biking, and horseback riding, I used my vacation to earn free beer with random facts from my brain. Or in other words, to turn a new but now common phrase: I gained the "quarantine 15," just like everyone else. 

 

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Adams, Rebecca G., and Rosemary Blieszner. “Baby Boomer Friendships.” Generations: Journal of the American Society on Aging, vol. 22, no. 1, 1998, pp. 70–75. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/44875682. Accessed 18 May 2021.

"A point just beyond the Franklin County line, to the south of Canal Winchester"

Normally, it would be hardly surprising that my first post, beyond the introduction of this blog, is about a trip. But travel has hardly been prevalent in this past pandemic year -- unless you count walks around the block, which don't seem worth recounting. It used to be, when I looked at my calendar, it was filled with lots of weekend trip reminders. Now, when I look back a year ago, it's filled with Zoom happy hours (below) and aspirational but ultimately postponed or cancelled events, including a cousin's wedding, a spring break in Maine, and a concert of a lifetime. 

 

With the exception of some road trips within friend and family bubbles in Ohio, to Mansfield (top left) and Toledo (top right), travel became the equivalent of regular escapes to the outdoors for biking, hiking, and canoeing (which I plan to detail eventually). It wasn't until the end of July that I took what I would consider a "real" vacation: a few days in a beach house on the Eastern Shore, tacked on to the tail end of a work detail in DC. We hit the sand at Assateague State Park and the boardwalk at Ocean City, but mostly, I balanced babies on my hip and drinks in my hand (bottom).

 

For the next four months, I stuck within Ohio confines. Around Thanksgiving, I ventured beyond the Buckeye borders for the first of what would become two moving hauls. Despite my best efforts, I could not squeeze all my stuff in the back of an SUV, so we scheduled a second trip for just after Christmas. This time, we didn't want to make it a straight out and back, so we decided to stop for a night. We picked Winchester, Virginia, because I was familiar with its pedestrian-friendly historical center from when I stayed there for some federal government training -- and I discovered there were now four breweries within walking distance of downtown. 

We managed to hit three of the four: Alsatian Brewing, where we had delicious pizza from the Italian place downstairs; Winchester Brew Works, where we picked up some crowlers as souvenirs; and Broken Window Brewing Company, where we basically wanted to become regulars. The timing just didn't work out to visit Escutcheon Brewing Co., as it is closed on Mondays, but we managed to hit two other breweries nearby: Front Royal Brewing Company and Backroom Brewery.  

The last two breweries were our reward for a strenuous hike we took at Sky Meadows State Park (top left). We ended up doing a loop of about 6 miles, way more than planned, but the gorgeous weather inspired us to be intrepid. To be honest, most of the challenge came at the beginning, which was a steep uphill to the Piedmont Memorial Overlook (top right). After a short stint on the Appalachian Trail (bottom left), we trickled back down alongside Gap Run to the farmhouse (bottom right). 

 

 

But in some ways, the biggest accomplishment of the trip was the very end because, with my DC apartment completely devoid of my belongings and me, it meant I had officially moved to Ohio. Then a few months later, just like that hike in Virginia, my resettlement in Ohio became a bigger adventure than initially planned. I crossed something off my bucket list with the biggest adulting of my life: We bought a house. With a yard. And a barn. And all the hardwood floors, tiled fireplace, and decorative glass charm a 100-year-old home can offer.

But this post is supposed to be about travel, right? Metaphorically at least, it's been a long road to arrive at this destination. And there's even a bit of fiction-like symbolism. I have made my home in Canal Winchester, which was named after that very Winchester where we stopped during the second moving trip (left). When Reuben Dove established the Ohio village almost 200 years ago, he named it after his father Henry's Virginia hometown. In 1841, when the post office opened, the name was officially changed to Canal Winchester, to distinguish it from the many other Winchesters in the state by highlighting the Ohio & Erie Canal running through it. The canal is long gone, but the town continued to grow, as a railroad and then a highway replaced the waterway as the main transport option. Before I felt comfortable traveling freely, I frequently passed on walks and runs a park owned by the Canal Winchester Area History Society, a complex that includes a train depot, a grain elevator, and a schoolhouse (right). 

 

On those short jaunts, I didn't know that one day I would be making the long trek from Winchester to Canal Winchester -- as the Doves did, becoming the area's first residents. As one of the city's most recent residents, I now realize that this move, as I imagine it was for them, just might be one of the biggest journeys of my lifetime. 

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Prosser, Charles S. “The Disconformity between the Bedford and Berea Formations in Central Ohio.” The Journal of Geology, vol. 20, no. 7, 1912, pp. 585–604. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/30060735. Accessed 7 May 2021.