Anneland. That's what I'm going to call my mountain property. It's the most beautiful little scrub forest in the world! I'm just back from my first visit, and now I am going to bore you to death with the details!
I know, I know. I should be sticking to interviews. Who wants to look at photos of a scrub forest in the middle of nowhere?
Then I will be brief.
I did not know the boundaries of the land I bought, so when I arrived to find 5 inches of snow on the ground, I was also pleased to find that the surveyor had wrapped neon pink ribbons around trees on the property line. These same trees are also blazed white. No question where my place begins. And thank goodness for that, because here's my neighbor:
I made a list of things I was hoping to find on my property. One thing was a really mature tree. And, bingo.
I wasn't kidding about the snow. It's usually cold in those mountains in April, but it doesn't often snow this much. But hey, I love the white stuff!
Saving the best for last. When I got the survey at closing, I thought there *might* be a view. On that account I was surprised to the point of weeping.
I don't have any plans to build on this property. The land is not even on the grid. But if my ship were to come in, this would be what I saw while sipping the morning tea and doing my devotions to Venus Cloacina.
And oh yeah, that ridge is Polish Mountain, where my grandfather's farm was. It's not the farm pictured, but that's a good thing.
The only other item I have to report in this boring ass blog post is that I have vowed never to take the Pennsylvania Turnpike to access my property. For one thing, its pace is worse than frenetic. For another thing, the tolls would set me back $100 per trip. So I took little ol' Route 30, the Lincoln Highway. Through Lancaster (Amish buggies), York (Walmarts), Gettysburg (battlefield), Chambersburg (city square), Caledonia State Forest, McConnelsburg (unfortunate name), and down to Route 522. Skipped that turnpike completely, and it only took me about an hour more! (It takes a solid hour to go the first 20 miles out of Philadelphia).
Something funny did happen on this trip. Saving it for the next installment of this Endless Navel Gaze called "The Gods Are Bored."