Having said yesterday that I would not hike in clogs, I promptly began the day by hiking in clogs. Take that, responsibility!
We set out from Culp’s Hill at like, 9am. It was 42 degrees out, but that’s okay, because The Hubs and I got engaged on Devil’s Den, the day after a blizzard, in sub-zero temperatures and shin deep snow. Yes. We are that dedicated.
For November, it was gorgeous outside–and surprisingly busy for the middle (end?) of fall. We’ve been running around this battlefield since we were in college (back in the dark ages) and I can tell you, from experience, people do not stomp around the field in the cold. Well most people. This weekend was fantastically warm, so I’m willing to bet that’s what brought frisbee wielding children (I said to The Hubs: “Want to see me throw down real fast? Let that kid hit me in the head with a frisbee.”), Boy Scouts, and what may have been a family reunion with 45 people dressed in matching red shirts. Or they were all really snazzy dressers.
And while I’m thinking of it. Just a public service announcement to all my male readers out there. Skinny jeans and moccasins are not a wise fashion decision. I saw it today on Little Round Top. It was horrifying. Don’t do it. Trust me.
Since it was a kid free day, we decided to hike/climb/crawl/jump/scamper/sprint to places on the battlefield that we had never hiked/climbed/crawled/jumped/scampered/sprinted before. You would think that would be few and far between, but lo and behold, we spent the day tramping down grass,
locating trails/potentially making new trails, and at one point I think maybe even crawling over a fence and into an area we weren’t technically supposed to be in. The photograph to the left, of a monument to an Ohio Brigade on Culp’s Hill, is actually taken as we scaled down the side of a mountain (not really). I was wearing clogs because that’s how I roll. Concern for my ankles be damned. But listen, I changed into my sneakers before we started hiking up Big Round Top and I have never tripped and fallen over my feet as much as I did trying to climb up that darn hill. Even the one, singular time I was drunk in town and walked back to the hotel, asking The Hubs “is that guy real?” every time we passed a fellow pedestrian. No. Today I looked like I’d been guzzling Long Island Iced Tea in the car.
I also forced The Hubs to take pictures of me, in various parts of the battlefield, for potential use as an “about the author” picture for my book. You know, should I ever finish it (and on a side note, I am still on track with NaNo! I got brave and entered in my word count last night) and subsequently publish it. One such photo is now proudly displayed on my “About Me” page. He’s an awesome photographer!
Today’s potentially “crossing over into an area we shouldn’t” is brought to you by the 139th Pennsylvania, a monument that is located behind a small stone wall (we’re not talking Fredericksburg stone wall here, people, we’re talking like breastworks) and up a hill. This was The Hubs Goal of the Day, as he had two family members on his father’s side who were members of the 139th. One died outside of Fredericksburg in June of 1863 and the other fought at Gettysburg. His name is on the Pennsylvania monument. So, off we went to the area in question. The Hubs studied it. “I don’t think that road says private lane or anything. I mean. I would assume it would say keep out if we weren’t allowed up there.”
I opted to quote Jurassic Park. “I think we can make it if we run.”
“I still think it would be posted if we couldn’t go back there. I mean, people should know if they have monuments in their yard, other people are going to want to look at them.”
The decision was made to go for it. He was over the wall in two steps. He turned back to me. “Do you need help?”
That goes without saying. But I began my trek. “No–ow!–I can do it–whoa!”
Graceful. As. Always.
I was the unofficial lookout. But no one really seemed to care we were up there, which is actually kind of disappointing. We just did our thing. He took some pictures. And then we left.
Tomorrow’s agenda includes the ever popular Walking of Pickett’s Charge which, as previously mentioned (like four times), that’s where I may/may not have seen a ghost. I’ll save that story for tomorrow.
And finally, we ate a fabulous Mexican restaurant tonight called “Montezuma’s.” Now. Can I just say. I am a bit leery of eating somewhere named after a guy who also has stomach ailments named after him. I mean, would you be first in line to eat at “Cholera Carl’s” or “The Diptheria Diner”? No. You’d be like, “Hmmm. McDonald’s it is.” But tonight I said, “Sure, why not?”
And it was amazing.
I’m not kidding. If you’re ever in Gettysburg or Chambersburg, you need to go. The place was clean, the staff was nice, there were free chips and salsa when you first sat down. The food was delicious! Look, I even took a picture for you, faithful readers:
It’s the fajita quesodilla and I’m telling you what. Order it. It was amazing!