Nick and Joanie give me a glorious, scenic route that my GPS refuses for the longest time to believe will be the best one to get me from Sheperdstown, WV to Gettysburg, PA. State Highway 77 goes through a beautiful the State Park and natural area. Wow, what a beautiful morning on which to drive! The sounds and smells of the awakening spring in eastern farm and woodland is so welcoming and refreshing, as it tugs on the heartstrings of my growing-up memories.
As a musician, the sound of the air through the windows teasing my beard and the ambient smells are the best sonic and olfactory accompaniment for the morning’s travels.
For the first time this morning, I’ve driven through Sharpsburg and the Antietam battlefield and cemetery, names which conjur more memories and images from my study of history. As I arrive in Gettysburg, I am taken back to a mostly cloudy vacation trip with my parents and sisters when in elementary school. The place does hold the power of history, of loss, of memory and of moving on. And, thrown into the mix, the curiosities that are abundant when history becomes a commodity…along route 97 into town there is even an American History Store, a shop where one can, apparently, purchase some memories, or at least memorabilia with gravitas.
At Gettysburg Theological seminary, I meet and talk with my friend, Gil Waldkoenig. We originally met in 2000 when he invited me to be the Guest Lecturer for the Town and County Institute and Connie and I were Pastors-in-Residence that Novemeber week.
Today we eat great hummus or tuna wraps at the Ragged Edge in the YWCA, where I return to swim most of a mile later. We reminisce about our week-long tenure in 2000 when both of our families were able to me, we were able to pick some tunes together and I hear about the Ecological Theology classes that Gil is exploring and teaching. He points out what he calls "the best teacher" on a campus that was a witness to the Civil War as it was the ridge that runs through campus was the battle line for both the Union and Confederacy at different times. This teacher is a tall, stately oak tree.
(The Best Teacher)
After a time making some telephone calls at the picnic bench which is being showered by newly-released white blossoms (“tut, tut, it looks like snow!”) I drive southweast to Maryland and arrive at Marilyn and Charlie’s about 4:30 pm.
I am relieved that my boxes of product have arrived (as planned). We load in my instruments and get caught up on our respective news. Marilyn arrives home and we head out to Pastra Nostra for gnocchi with pesto sauce (my dish) and meeting of other congregants. Then across the street to Oseh Shalom, trying to beat the rainstorm that is inevitably blowing in.
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