I could go on and on about Mount Gretna (it brings out my inner three-year-old), but there was a bike tour waiting. The drive from PA to Cape Girardeau, MO was long, grueling, and mostly rainy. Russ, who prefers not to drive anymore, is constantly on edge, which puts me on edge—how would you like to be yelled at every time the vehicle drifts slightly off center? Passing another car elicited white-knuckle terror.

The fact that my neck and shoulder are still hurting doesn’t help at all. Thanks again to Lynn and Sandy, who generously lent me a TENS unit, which has been a great help.

Despite all of Russ’s misgivings about my driving, we made it to Cape Girardeau alive and in time for his scheduled start. Actually, we arrived a day early, which gave us a chance to stay at and explore Trail of Tears State Park, where we saw a heart-wrenching short film on the forced Cherokee relocations, and visited a small but well done museum. The staff was very well informed, and gave us a lot of information, plus a detailed map of the routes taken by some 20,000 Cherokee from their lands in Tennessee to internment camps, and then to Oklahoma. Most had to travel by foot, through one of the worst winters on record. Nearly 1/4 of them died on the way.

Russ started his tour at the Mississippi River in Cape Girardeau on Sunday, May 24. The levees had many murals showing the area history. Lewis and Clark passed through here and it was a major ferry stop on the Trail of Tears.

Before taking off, the ritual of dipping a rear tire in the Mississippi:

He’s off! And I’m off to Johnsons Shut-Ins State Park.

Because I keep telling everyone what a magical place Mount Gretna is, I thought I’d gratuitously throw in a bunch of pictures I took on my latest visits (bracketing my week at home). On top of the fact that it sits on a mountain under shady pine, maple, oak and birch trees, and has a lake on the edge of town (much like Ashfield), the cottages and byways are full of whimsy and wonder. Just a sampling of what you will see there:

Bixler’s cottage, the grande dame of Chautauqua homes:

Even the cottage names are whimsical:

I had to omit the best one—Quiturbelliaken—because the signboard hadn’t been put back up for the summer.

And this is where the annual Mount Gretna Art Festival takes place in August. On par with Paradise City, it features over 250 juried artists and artisans—and there’s an equally big non-juried craft show just a block away.

Leaving Assateague for Mount Gretna and a family birthdays party (my brother Jeff and our cousin Gracie), I had the brilliant idea to buy a bushel of crabs. Wildly expensive, but remembering our crab feasts growing up and our family’s love of Chesapeake Bay crabs, I swallowed hard, paid the price, and headed for PA, ready to be greeted with culinary delight and appreciation.

Not exactly , as it turned out. Only half the crabs were consumed at the party (mostly by one group of six people, including me). But it was a great party, and it is always a pleasure to see Gretna and my siblings and cousins again.

Moe and I took a leisurely walk through town, past the Campmeeting, with its cheek-by-jowl Victorian cottages, and down to the Chautauqua area, with the Playhouse, Hall of Philosophy, and The Jigger Shop (ice cream parlor since 1889). From Memorial Day to Labor Day, the Chautauqua is alive with lectures, musical performances, workshops, theater, and art shows—every day there is something to enjoy.

My brothers both have cottages in Mount Gretna Heights—across the street from each other, which makes visiting back and forth very convenient.

John and I spent much of Sunday (the day after the party) cooking and picking the rest of the crabs. Then I spent eight hours on Monday driving home. By Monday night I couldn’t turn my head to the left and my left shoulder and neck were in stabbing pain. Four days of home remedies did nothing to help, so I finally broke down and went to urgent care, where I got muscle relaxants and prednisone. Those and painkillers got me functional enough to attend the exhibit of student works at the Hill Institute, where I teach sewing for clothing.

And just like that, it was time to hit the road again! This time, we are off for the whole summer. Russ is riding a whole new bicycle touring route, created to celebrate 50 years of Adventure Cycling. It’s called the Golden Gravel Trail, and it runs from the Mississippi River in MO to the southern Oregon coast. Seventy percent of the route is on gravel/dirt roads. I see some primitive camping in my future.

Rainy and cool, but ponies galore! As hiking was somewhat limited by weather, I decided to drive around a bit and see what I could see. Moe and I headed out to the ranger station, where who should we see but Chief and his band, with Phoenix close behind. There was a brief traffic jam while the “boys” had another scuffle. After the action died down, I turned around to head down island.

You can only go so far before the road ends and you can not go further without a special Over Sand Vehicle pass (you don’t need to have a Jeep or off-road vehicle, but you do have to carry items including a shovel and tow rope in case of getting stuck). There are a few pony bands that stay down in that area, so maybe I’ll try that in the future.

End of the road.

I’d never actually gone to the Life of the Forest trail before, so I stopped there and headed out, over Moe’s objections (dogs are allowed everywhere in the Assateague National Seashore except trails). Along the way, I spotted these young deer doing some mutual grooming.

And I was rewarded with the sight of another band of ponies, this time stallion Adriana’s Happy Camper with mares Pretty Lass, a pinto, Little Dipper, and Silver Spurs Island Mist, both unmarked chestnuts. Unfortunately, while I got a good look at them through my binoculars, they were too far away to photograph. I was told later by one of the “pony watchers” that Silver Spurs, b. 1999, and Little Dipper, b. 2003, are two of the oldest ponies on the island.

You may be wondering about the ponies’ names: for many years now, the Assateague Island Alliance, a nonprofit group supporting the Assateague Island National Seashore, raises money through auctions and raffles to “Name that Pony” or “Name that Foal.” Names range from the simple (Dewey, Billy Bob, Rosie) to the ornate (Fitzpatrick’s Declirian Star, Gokey GoGo Bones, Mr. Frisky Hooves, Tommy Thunderbolt Nektosha), depending on the age or imagination of the lucky winner. I’m waiting for a Horsey McHorseface to pop up.

Anyhow, after that, I headed back toward camp, but stopped at the Life of the Marsh Trail, as someone had mentioned seeing another band there. With poor Moe wailing away in the car, I headed out along the raised boardwalk and there they were!

From left to right: unnamed colt born late April, his dam Little Acorn, unidentified filly/mare, and stallion T.J. Hollywood. My third pony band of the day!

Colt exploring the marsh:

I got a good long look at them, then reclaimed Moe and headed back to camp. Couldn’t get to my campsite because Chief and Phoenix were just outside the entrance causing a ruckus, with the resulting traffic blockage. I’ve had enough of their shenanigans for the day!

it’s a regular Peyton Place! Stallions Assateague Phoenix and Chief are at it again over Autumn Glory and her fillies. Chief is in control for now, but it’s anyone’s guess as to how this will shake out in a week or two. Meanwhile, the band is regularly seen around Bayside Loop A, where I’m staying, giving me a front row seat to the drama! Chief is keeping a sharp eye out for Phoenix, and chases him off whenever he gets too close.

The current band. From left to right: unnamed filly, b. 2025, dam Autumn Glory, with her new filly hiding behind her, Unbound Brynn, her filly from 2024, and stallion Chief.

The baby having a siesta:

Phoenix pondering his next move:

I nearly got caught in the fracas when Chief crept silently up behind me, scaring the bejeezus out of me!

They hung around for quite awhile, but finally moved on, and Wednesday ended with a beautiful sunset.

Another beautiful but very windy day. More and I took an early morning walk.
View across to the Maryland shore:

A venerable pine shaped by wind—nature’s bonsai:

And then back for some breakfast.

As I’m still not comfortable taking the kayak out in this wind, I’ve had some time to contemplate the small (or not-so-small) glitches that always seem to occur, no matter how carefully you plan. The biggest glitch: I can’t get the solar panel to work. For some reason, it’s not connecting properly to the camper battery. Customer service recommended I check all the connectors with a voltage meter. (Note to self: buy a voltage meter). That would be a major problem were I staying longer, as there is no electricity in the campground. I’m using as little battery power as possible (cooking and refrigeration are propane), so I think I’ll be OK. Even after two full days and charging my phone and my iPad, I’ve only lost .3 volts.

Speaking of charging stuff: that’s another note to self: make sure you bring ALL the cables and connectors you need. I always seem to be missing one key piece. (Update: even though my iPad indicated it was not receiving a charge from the charging port in my camper, I noticed that the battery charge has actually gone up a bit, so I left it plugged in, and it did fully charge by this morning.)

And then there are the inevitable face-palm moments, like when I discovered that the darning patch I’d put on my favorite old shorts had actually sewn one leg shut! Oops.

Had to go to the ranger station first thing this morning to get my car hang tag, as I’d gotten in after they closed the day before. When I mentioned to the ranger about the ponies not making it easy to stay away from them, she chuckled and said “Yep. To them we’re just obstacles.”

She was proved right a couple of hours later, when I encountered this little family:

This is Autumn Glory and her brand new foal, who has the most gorgeous markings! Those white stockings! However, I had to keep backing up or hiding around my car/camper, as they sauntered right through my campsite.

This guy is Phoenix—regulars tell me he may or may not be the daddy, but he is not letting them out of his sight.

Yes, that’s the taillight of my car that is right behind them as the foal has a brief snack. And then they were off:

I had planned to go kayaking, but the wind is just howling. I’ll hope it dies down some before the rain comes in on Thursday. Time for more walks with Moe, and a little birding.

After a grueling 9-hour trip, Moe and I finally made it to our campsite on Assateague Island. I may have had something to do with the length of the trip, when I struck up a conversation with a group of older women who were on a bus trip from New Hampshire to Lancaster County and Gettysburg, PA. They were tickled to find out that I grew up nearby. I realized I was parked next to their bus, so invited them to see my camper and meet Moe. Anyway, the lunch stop took a little longer than expected.

Misty of Chincoteague, by Marguerite Henry, may have brought the ponies of Assateague to national attention, but it also multiplied the number of people looking to see/pet/feed and otherwise interfere with the herds of ponies that roam freely on the island. On Assateague, now a National Park, they are quite strict about keeping your distance from the wild horses (really ponies). There is a long list of rules to keep you and the wildlife safe (there are also deer, turkeys, rabbits, etc.). That includes not approaching, petting, feeding or otherwise messing with the ponies, and even stowing your food in horse-safe boxes, much like the bear boxes you see in New England parks.

What they tell you: Stay at least a school bus length away from any pony (that’s the big bus, not the special bus!). They can kick, bite, and charge—especially the stallions. What they don’t tell you: The ponies don’t make it easy! I arrived late, so pulled in to the park office to check my status, and before I could even open my door, two ponies appeared out of nowhere and sauntered across the parking lot right in front of my car.

Found my spot, set up camp, and expired for the night. Tomorrow promises to be beautiful, warm, and breezy.

Two things Moe is not fond of: thunderstorms and water.

Both of which he had to endure at Lake Muskegon.

Mid-visit, a thunderstorm came through. Moe nearly trembled himself to pieces until Mom stepped in with a comforting hug.

Then she turned around and betrayed him by taking him for a swim in Lake Muskegon.

(Love the look of sheer terror in the first picture!)

He survived, and was much cooler on a very hot day.

Thanks to my “notifications” requests, we were able to secure a site at Muskegon State Park, another of Michigan’s very popular lakeside parks. You put in your requested campground and what dates you need, and they will notify you if something opens up—and often, something does.

And Muskegon is very nice. There are two campgrounds—the Lake Michigan campground, which sits directly above the shore, and where you can access the Lake Michigan beach by a long stairway, and the Channel Campground, which we got. The channel campground sits right on Lake Muskegon, which is connected to Lake Michigan by a man-made causeway. They are renovating the walkways, so we could not walk directly from our campground to the Lake Michigan shore, but there was plenty to see, as there is a lot of traffic through there, including some large freighters and a twice-daily ferry across the lake.

Love those tugboats! And there were great hiking trails up behind the campground, which led to some spectacular views of the lakes (Michigan and Muskegon) and the “back dunes” landscape.

Cool, huh?

PLUS, I found some mushrooms I’ve been wanting to see. Behold the Water Measurer:

Aren’t they cool? They look like scattered stars in the sand. As an added bonus, there were other members of the puffball mushroom family:

The camp hosts were great, there were lots of birds to see on my early morning walks with Moe, and there was a pretty little beach just a short walk from our campsite. The only odd thing was, our neighbor’s tent kept making me hum “Do You Want To Build a Snowman” from Frozen.

Couldn’t figure out why. Then it hit me: