A Walker in the Suburbs

The rocks appeared when we were told they would, a half mile into a fern forest. They seemed to emerge from the center of the earth, massive shelves of rock, dim and cavelike, green with moss. 

Rhododendron trees twined their roots around and through the rocks, and fissures erupted where you least expected them. It was an accidental discovery, a place found while looking for somewhere else. It was eerie and awe-inspiring, a glimpse of another world. I’m so glad we explored Maryland’s Rock Maze.

A favorite children’s book on our shelves is Paddle-to-the-Sea, a delightful tale of an Indian boy who carves a wooden canoe and paddler and sets them free in the headwaters of the Great Lakes. The little boat has many adventures, even crosses the Atlantic Ocean. The grown-up boy discovers it years later.

One of my favorite experiences on this trip was also a paddle. Not a paddle to the sea, but a paddle to see. It was just a kayak trip across a small lake, but the leisurely pace allowed for an exploration of lily pads and a tall-pine forest where low boughs kissed the water. 

I felt like I was seeing the lake for the first time. Dragonflies sipped water from my toes. The blue lake reflected white clouds. I thought about the restorative value of time on the water, of being adrift on a distant pond.  

Mountain Maryland, it’s called, and yesterday I had a good taste of it, having turned left instead of right at a crucial juncture. No matter: all the better to explore this slice of heaven, this melding of lake and hill and sky. 

This is the fourth year for an expedition to western Maryland, which is as different from D.C. Metro Maryland as one can imagine. 

Here there are fields of daisies and roads along ridge tops with views of barns and corn and cows. There are shady glens, broad vistas, and lakes with lily pads. It was love at first sight, and later visits have only confirmed the initial attraction. 

Mountain Maryland is a place for me.