HARPER'S FAIRY

The absolute first sign that age was attacking me was when I climbed the stairs at work and had to breath hard. I still have trouble ascending.

No Bill Bryson, I tried the Appalachian Trail at Harper's Ferry, Virginia. Limited by time, I like to think that I could have advanced farther. Smack in the middle of the Trail, which I think must be a misnomer or misspelling: it has to be Trial, it is flat for awhile before escalating into the Maryland Heights, and by the way, that is properly named.

Below is the beautiful Potomac as it reaches out to the equally beautiful Shenandoah River. Canoeists and a beautiful church with elongated steeple marked the view chock full of green trees.

We met no memorable characters as Bryson. Lots of friendly people, a few with dogs. Plenty more with dogs had passed before. One couple with Abigail forgot that we had petted her just thirty minutes prior when we met them again on the trail as we were headed back to town.

Our grandson found a stick which he used for walking. He didn't much need it, but he had observed other more serious hikers and he wanted to belong. He also found a snake skin and G-Ma, armed with a plastic baggy, secured his prize.

I had my sip of the trail and I'm glad we did it. All told, we probably walked three miles of it. I know; I know. That's not really a sip. But it was enough to savor. And that's all that counts with this Harper's fairy.