Just Like Nothing (else) on Earth: Sweet Run State Park 

By Tim Jon

“It has a new name,” I thought, “so I’ll take another look.” See, ever since I’d moved to Loudoun County in the late 1990’s, this place had been called the Blue Ridge Center for Environmental Stewardship; a mouthful, I know, but the actual site was even bigger. Much bigger. Weighing in at around nine hundred acres, this local open space behemoth spends most of its days quietly resting along the Mountains in its former name, up near Harpers Ferry, close to the confluence of the Potomac and Shenandoah Rivers. 

I’d tramped around the place a time or two, and even considered staging some outdoor Shakespeare on the grounds, back when we all were somewhat richer in youth. One of my first stories in this series (dating back to the fall of 2010) came about after an invigorating autumn hike across some of the meadows and into the deep woods of the lower trails in the southern portion of the facility. 

But today’s foray of verbal adventure follows our intrepid traveler on one of the hottest days of a recent summer, exploring new territory and placing a new name on the title: “Sweet Run State Park.” It was just as hard as ever to spot the turn-off from Harpers Ferry Road, and the gravel entrance and approach to the parking area was as primitive as on my first visit, so I felt like rekindling an old friendship. 

Now, if you’re familiar with the Blue Ridge Mountains, you understand that they’re not the Swiss Alps, but they do involve some elevation. Inclement weather visitors will remember that a cold rain in the valley can mean dangerous, icy conditions up on ‘the mountain.’ 

I was also reminded, on this latest visit to one of my favorite local places, of just how much work is involved in tramping up and down those slopes, which can feature rocks, roots, mud, leaves and other, unexpected impediments to one’s travels. 

I mentioned that this was a hot day, and I gave myself no mercy in choosing a walking route about the acreage. I took a general circular pattern, much indented with zigs and zags which followed—usually—the path of least resistance. 

But, between the heat, the heights, the rocks, the roots, the fallen trees, the twists and turns and  to me, at least—a confusing array of trail markers (some for hikers, some for horseback riders, and all for the consternation of a weary [and rapidly aging] storyteller), I was dripping perspiration and exercising my breathing apparatus like a city boy behind a hay-baler. 

I kept telling myself it was good therapy to work my body at this level; then I repeated this lecture to myself, again … and again: after about the ‘dozenth’ time I’d delivered this message, I started hearing a few cat-calls from the ‘back row of seats’ in whatever classroom I was imagining. These voices grew louder with each step, and louder with each hundred yards, and louder, still, with each mile I was logging on this sweltering afternoon in the deep woods (I was, however, very grateful for the effects of the nearly complete shade from all the mature hardwoods among these acres); I finally came to the realization that, yes, indeed, it would be nice after a couple of hours of repeatedly climbing and descending, to reach my vehicle, and to actually sit down. And do nothing. 

And, yes, I wearily trudged my way back to my car and enjoyed the re-discovery of the comforts of civilization: a seated position, a refreshing drink, a 21st Century music system, and a cessation of the plodding, sweating, confusing miles I’d left behind. 

Oh! But I had images of my travails: in my mind’s eye, I saw the moving canopy of green, and the winding, uneven and unending trail system I’d been trying to follow; I also had (I hoped, anyway!) a digitally-recorded series of photographs to jog my personal memory bank, and to prove to the rest of the universe that I was, indeed, here on this day. And this was all good. 

So—I can look back on at least two very distinct visits to this expansive public resource—a pleasant autumn, bluebird day stroll, and a sweltering summer slog—both etched very starkly upon my wealth of experience. 

Now, I will return at some point; I simply need to choose a time of year and a specific weather pattern in which to immerse myself and my environment, to create a match for my earlier, equally memorable additions to my treasure chest.