The Shenandoah River is not long, but it has been disproportionately important to the history of the United States. Long a frontier between British North America and the wild country over the Appalachian Mountains, it served as a lifeline, linking the Valley of Virginia to the Chesapeake Bay by way of the Potomac River, to which it is a major tributary. The surrounding country has been heavily farmed since the 1600s—on a trip there last summer, I discovered the will of a distant ancestor of mine who had been working the land since the 1680s—and here and there industrial plants have sprung up, giving the misty air a little grit. But much of the area is wild and, in many places, of breathtaking scenic value.
One of Shenandoah National Park’s great “viewsheds,” as such particularly scenic places are sometimes called, is the Skyline Drive, which runs through the park along the spine of the Blue Ridge and dropping down into the broad Shenandoah Valley. The Appalachian Trail, on which I’ve spent many pleasant hours (and some not so pleasant ones involving bears and hailstorms, too), runs through the park as well. Much of the area was badly overused, heavily logged and overfarmed in its day, but it has been allowed to revert to its natural state, with old-growth hickory and oak forests and an undammed river, always a thing to be cherished.
Stop at the Hawksbill Diner in Stanley or Uncle Bucks in Luray and enjoy some home cooking. And once you’ve done so, be sure to visit the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley in Winchester, a regional treasure.
Speaking of watery places, England’s Lake District National Park turns 60 this year, though it has been drawing visitors for many generations, perhaps most notably the romantic poets of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Least known of them is William Wordsworth’s sister Dorothy, who was every bit her brother’s equal as a writer, inspired by the landscape around her. Here are some gists:
[Of the sun in a birch tree] The sun shone upon it, and it glanced in the wind like a flying sunshiny flower. It was a tree in shape, with stem and branches, but it was like a spirit of water.
[Of crows] They looked like shapes of water passing over the green fields.
[Of stars] They twinkled in and out, and seemed almost like butterflies in motion and lightness.
[And of the moon over the mountains] On Friday evening the moon hung over the northern side of the highest point of Silver How, like a gold ring snapped in two.
A place that stirs such words is worth visiting indeed. We wish the Lake District and its denizens a very happy anniversary.