<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d9809695\x26blogName\x3dDried+Sage\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dLIGHT\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://driedsage.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://driedsage.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-8684473031251806446', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

And on to D.C.

Northeastern Maryland, from my view, is a vast expanse of horse ranches and deciduous trees - fields and forests. Judy and Larry, aunt and uncle, live in that far corner of the state, walking distance from both Delaware and Pennsylvania. Much of the local land was owned by William DuPont - a name that should ring a bell with anyone even slightly aware of the New England aristocracy. The lands that he preserved for hunting and killing foxes is now state-protected park land for the enjoyment of equestrians and conservationists. We spent an afternoon walking the riverbanks of this property, tip-toeing around poison ivy, spying a 19th century one-room school house, and spotting the distinctively east coast flora and fauna. [Photos 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 ] Two days and a trip to Baltimore later, I was taken by my old college pal Eric to Washington, DC where I now rest after a long night of drinking and catching up. Eric lives in a narrow little rowhouse in central DC only walking distance from The Black Cat, a club where we paid twelve bucks to see a little known indie band named Rainer Maria. The band paled in comparison to our fascinating conversation about Latin American politics and the Neoconservative fascism of Washington, and both were a mere shadow in light of the fantastic late-night Ethiopian meal we stumbled upon on our way back to Eric's house. In that restaurant we found good conversation with the owner (and aquaintance of Eric's) and the best vegan munchies I've had at 2am in years. What, you may ask, am I still doing up at this hour? Honestly, I have no idea. Good night.

“And on to D.C.”