Birthday Trip

This past weekend we journeyed to the north and east (northeast) of us to celebrate my (Cory) birthday. I thought that in light of this rather significant milestone, turning 30, a trip to visit my past was in order. This wasn't one of those fruity A Separate Peace trips where I relieve my past and we play 80's music in the car the whole time; no, this was a chance to show Sarah some of the things I did when I was growing up so she could get a better handle on why I am the way I am (and we listened to Harry Potter 7 in the car.) Thus we packed up and left for Virginia, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, to places I haven't been in over 10 years to make peace with my troubled past (I am so deep!)

Our first stop was Stratford Hall, Virginia, the birthplace of General Robert E. Lee (but you knew that already). Our mission there was not the historical significance of the spot, or to pay homage to a famous fellow southerner; no, our mission was simple: to find shark teeth. See, have a look:
This is me scouring the beach for shark teeth (or offering supplication to St. Hammerhead, the patron saint of shark teeth) that have washed up on shore. By some strange oceanic anomaly, this beach, this region, is a hotbed for fossilized (or maybe just really dirty) shark teeth. We found many, some quite big (Sarah found one that was 1.5 inches, and it was stained red - with blood or Kool-Aid - very cool!)

To get to the beach, we had to walk a long and winding road to the ol' mill. We could have driven but for this cursed sign that we openly defied by walking the whole way there (a freakin' LLoooong way!). It was Sarah's idea to ignore the sign - her open disregard for established rules brings to mind many Quinlans I know and even the great Gandhi and his passive resistance - either way, Sarah believes we should Fight The Power! (we had the beach to ourselves :)

This house, a la the third little pig with money, is why others come to Stratford. You know, take a tour, soak in the history and all that crap. No sir, we drove by it on our way out, sparing only a cursury glance and photo.

Day two brought us to New Jersey to visit with my parents (RQ and GQ), my long-lost brother home from his mission in Korea (Jonathan), and my grandmother (Grammie). No visit with my family would be complete without grueling manual labor. The order of the day: hauling and stacking logs (it could just as easily been shoveling coal or baling hay - you never do know). This is how we used to earn our daily porridge and frozen molasses on a stick.
After the work was done, we went to Atlantic City, which is an interesting place to say the least. By "interesting", I mean it's like Las Vegas and Dover, Delaware had an illegitimate love-child and named it Atlantic City. It has lots of gambling like Vegas, and lots of east coast dumpiness, like I imagine Dover (my apologies to Dover, I only imagine it to be dumpy). We mostly walked around and looked at shops on the boardwalk. Sarah found some time to play the nickel slots, which is fun for her. I had more fun watching middle-aged and elderly women pull the slots (actually push the button) over and over again, with some card stuck in the machine (like it's a direct line to their bank account), with no discernible sign of enjoyment in their eyes.


Sarah posing in front of the waves. Really nice waves (though you're not allowed to swim here, due to the rip tide, or the overly aggressive sharks).

Atlantic City has troubles that plague other major cities: gangs, crime, and homelessness. I felt sorry for this poor bum and went to offer him some cardboard and a Sharpie to make a 'wiLL worK 4 Fud' sign, but he rejected my offer. You see, it turned out to be Dad, just taking a nap on the beach. Dad says he used to do it all the time when he worked at the beach. "As a panhandler?" said I; "A lifeguard" he said. How many lifeguards sleep fully dressed in the heat of the sun? Hmmm?

We went home later for birthday festivities, including the obligatory confetti cake (mmmm...good!)

Day three found us in Hershey, Pennsylvania, the famed "sweetest place on Earth". For those of you who don't know, Hershey is where Hershey's chocolate comes from (surprise surprise). Hershey ("Milton" was his first name I believe) was known for his eccentricity, his fondness for the color purple, and hiring only "vertically challenged" "people". Here's an old photo of Hershey:


And here's where he used to work:
Do you see the old plant on the hill? (No one ever goes in, no one ever comes out!!)

Here we are, a safe distance away from the antics of old man Hershey and his roaming "poompa - loomba's". (Old man Wonka took all the Oompa Loompa's).

Getting ready for the free tour. It hasn't changed much in the last 14 years. They did jazz up the song and images at the end. They even added some Elvis pictures. I am a fan of The King, but please tell me how he relates to chocolate. Can you? (Maybe he was their "biggest" customer in his later years?)

This was too expensive to buy so Sarah just took a nibble out of one in the store and re-wrapped it. No harm done. (it's 5 pounds! That's right, FIVE! - They called it "The King")

After leaving Hershey, we had some extra time in our schedule, so we swung by Shenandoah National Park, riding along the Blue Ridge Parkway. We got there about an hour before dusk, which yielded some fabulous views.



(I'm thinking "fabulous")

We saw about 15 or more deer - and they aren't always easy to see, but those demonic eyes certainly help.


Some scenic views to end our landmark trip into the past.

As the suns sets on Shenandoah Valley, we ask ourselves some introspective questions: What is the meaning of it all? Where do we come from? Where are we going? And how the he!! do we get out of this demonic deer-infested and hill-billy run death trap and back to civilization?