Day 306
14 hrs, 25 kms

Today I want to get a closer look at impressive cluster of buildings in the middle of the mountainous forest . It looks like a university put smack in the middle of nowhere. So I take a closer look--and yes, these buildings are even more impressive with a closer look. One with a grand pillare entrance that looks like it could be about 100 years old. Another huge multistory brick building with a towering white cupola at the top.


What is this place? It says "South Mountain Restoration Center" which doesn't tell me a whole lot... and there's no one around to ask.

Later I Google it and find that, yes, it was built about 100 years ago as a sanitorium--especially for people with tuberculosis, but also the elderly and mentally ill. Yeah, that makes sense--I guess you would want to keep those people far away from the general population. But I'm still pretty impressed that they'd build such grand structures just to treat sick people. Nowadays it's still used as a nursing home.

The rest of this community, called South Mountain (which is not a borough, so I'm not going to count it as a "town") certainly doesn't have the same grandeur . There's a very run down wooden building called a hotel (but I think it's just a bar), and then a mix of decent, middle class houses, houses that haven't seen a paintbrush in decades, and old mobile homes plopped in random location. This doesn't look like the sort of mountain community where the wealthy build vacation homes.

So how did this community get started? Well, back in the early days. There were wealthier people who owned large farms in the fertile plains. Once the flat land had been all claimed, the lesser advantaged people had two choices: they could either stay in the valley and work as laborers and employees... or keep that American independent streak alive--move up to the mountains and live off the land the best they could.

Nowadays, these mountain folks don't live off the land any more. They drive down the mountain (which is still a bit treacherous in the wintertime) and... yes... work as laborers and employees . But that independent streak is still there. They still have a passion for hunting, chop their own wood to heat their homes, and remain a bit suspicious of the government.

As a matter of fact, the only flag I see waving in the mountains is the Confederate flag--and this isn't even the South!

Typically people think of America as being divided between "Blue State", liberal Democrats and "Red State", conservative Republicans. These, of course, are stereotypes, and American culture is much more complex than a simple "Blue vs Red" division. And South Mountain makes me think of a sub-division of "Red State" America: you have "Patriotic Red State"--folks who proudly display the American flag and are very are very proud of serving in the military... then you have "Rebel Red State"... people who are also conservative, but have a great distrust for the federal government.

I kind of suspect that South Mountain folks lean a bit more towards "Rebel Red State" ... just a hunch...

Another observation: there are still several churches here--but not a single store. I guess that goes to show that customers are less loyal to their local businesses than they are to their local churches.

One house looks particularly interesting: the house looks abandoned--and it has 4 trailers in the back, three of which also look abandoned! I guess this is a family that "molts" its home--leaves it there in the yard, then just hauls in another trailer to replace it!

Not everybody here likes like this, of course--many houses are well maintained. It just seems to be the sort of area where everybody is sort of free to live as he pleases...

A Surprising Encounter

Finally the houses come to an end and I enjoy a quiet walk through the forest, up over a ridge and I start to head downhill towards another vast, fertile plain of Adams County . Here I learn something new: I thought that it had to get REALLY cold for a fast moving stream to freeze over. Well, I guess it was cold enough for that to happen. A stream has frozen completely across--including little waterfalls! Water is still flowing beneath the ice, though.



Suddenly a car stops up ahead and e fellow gets out. "Can I give you a ride? I can't stand to see a fellow carrying a guitar having to walk!"

"Thanks--actually I enjoy walking... for I walk and play music along the way--that's my style"

"Oh, well, I'm planning on launching show call 'Has Guitar Will Travel' about traveling and playing music!"

Imagine that. It feels like a scene from a movie--one of those scenes that you watch and think "that would NEVER happen in real life!"

OK--maybe if I were walking through Los Angeles, maybe--but South Mountain??

We exchange information and I continue on my way .

Reaching Fairfield

Finally I reach the prosperous, fertile plains with sprawling farms and not a square foot untouched by humans... and soon I reach the village of Fairfield.

Fairfield is basically just one street--but yeah, it's got some charm to it. There's a map from 150 years ago showing the locations of the shops along here... the "shoe manufacturer" and "confectioner" are long gone, but there are still a couple of restaurants and, yes, a grocery store, with a pizza place in the back. Yes, Fairfield is still alive. Though, I kind of doubt many people do their weekly shopping here--can't really blame them, looking at the prices. It's hard to compete with Walmart with its super-streamlined supply chain and mass distribution, even if Walmart is on the other side of the mountain.

I order a slice of pizza, and two of the employees, Valerie and Pedro ask for a song.

"Sure--for another free slice of pizza!" I respond, tongue in cheek ... I play a couple songs, then Valerie plays one--for the first time in front of an audience. She actually has a very nice voice.

She's from Annapolis--which is in the greater Baltimore area, and doesn't care for "middle of nowhere" Fairfield too much.

"But it's OK--I'll be leaving soon--going to college to study political science"


"Where to?" I ask.

"I don't know.... anywhere but here"

Pedro is originally from Oaxaca but has lived in the US since the age of nine with little connection to his country of birth. "My grandparents did try to teach me a few words of Zapotec (his ancestral language)... but I forgot all of them.

Another very memorable encounter of my journey.