US Naval Academy
Naval Station Marina
Halligan, Rd
Annapolis, MD 21402
GPS: 38.982346, -76.462862
Yesterday (Wednesday) was pack up day. After sending Adam and family on their way for a day of sight–seeing in Washington DC, we turned our attention to packing our stuff. We've been parked here for five months, so packing included a lot of acquired stuff. Seems like acquiring stuff is a human condition. By sundown, we had it under control and Thursday would be the normal Close–Up checklist.
This morning I returned my trusty golf cart to the shop, we closed up our rig, hooked up the truck, and said goodbye to the few Workampers still here. On our way out, we stopped at the office to bid farewell to Bob and Becky Miller, the park managers, who have been our bosses for the past five months. I cannot put into words what fine people these two folks are. It has been a pleasure working for them. I wish them the best in years to come.
Our travel today was due south. A short 169 miles which we accomplished in just under four hours. Pause a minute to look at the map and take a little geography lesson. We spent the summer in the Susquehana River Valley. Our trip south followed the river as far as Harrisburg. From there the river goes to the southeast and dumps into the Chesepeake Bay at Harve de Grace. The headwaters of the North Branch of the Susquehana River are in upstate New York, so the river bisects the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and cuts through the state of Maryland. I told Adam he could put a kayak in to the water at Yogi at Shangri–La and paddle to the USNA marina.
Here is what Wickipdea says about this river:
The Susquehanna River is a river located in the northeastern United States. At 464 miles (747 km) long, it is the longest river on the American east coast that drains into the Atlantic Ocean. With its watershed, it is the 16th-largest river in the United States, and the longest river in the continental United States without commercial boat traffic today.
The nation's 16th-largest river by volume, the Susquehanna rises and flows through New York, Pennsylvania, and Maryland into the Chesapeake Bay. It forms from two main branches: the "North Branch", which rises in upstate New York and is regarded by federal mapmakers as the main branch, and the West Branch Susquehanna. The shorter West Branch, which rises in western Pennsylvania, joins the main stem of the Susquehanna near Northumberland in central Pennsylvania.
Susquehana River Watershed
The river drains 27,500 square miles (71,000 km2), including nearly half of the land area of Pennsylvania. The drainage basin (watershed) includes portions of the Allegheny Plateau region of the Appalachian Mountains, cutting through a succession of water gaps in a broad zigzag course to flow across the rural heartland of southeastern Pennsylvania and northeastern Maryland in the lateral near-parallel array of mountain ridges. The river empties into the northern end of the Chesapeake Bay at Havre de Grace, Maryland, providing half of the Bay's freshwater inflow. The Chesapeake Bay is the ria of the Susquehanna. Ria means 'a long narrow inlet of the seacoast, being a former valley that was submerged by a rise in the level of the sea'.
Rising as the outlet of Otsego Lake in Cooperstown, New York, the north branch of the river runs west-southwest through dairy country, receiving the Unadilla River at Sidney and the Chenango in downtown Binghamton. It dips south into Pennsylvania briefly to turn sharply at Susquehanna Depot north back into New York. At Athens Township (just south of Waverly, New York) in northern Pennsylvania, just across the New York state line, it receives the Chemung from the northwest. It makes a right-angle curve between Sayre and Towanda to cut through the Endless Mountains in the Allegheny Plateau of Pennsylvania. It receives the Lackawanna River southwest of Scranton and turns sharply to the southwest, flowing through the former anthracite industrial heartland in the mountain ridges of northeastern Pennsylvania, past Wilkes-Barre, Nanticoke, Shickshinny, Berwick, Bloomsburg, and Danville.
The origin of the West Branch is near Northern Cambria, Pennsylvania. It travels northeasterly through Curwensville (where the river is dammed to form a lake), through Clearfield, Pennsylvania. The West Branch turns to the southeast and passes through Lock Haven and Williamsport before turning south. The North Branch joins the West Branch from the northwest at Northumberland, just above Sunbury.
Downstream from the confluence of its branches, the river flows south past Selinsgrove, where it is joined by its Penns Creek tributary, and cuts through a water gap at the western end of Mahantongo Mountain. It receives the Juniata River from the northwest at Duncannon, then passes through its last water gap through Blue Mountain, just northwest of Harrisburg. Downtown Harrisburg developed on both sides of the river, which is nearly a mile wide here. Harrisburg is the largest city located on the lower river, which flows southeast across South Central Pennsylvania, forming the border between York and Lancaster counties, and receiving Swatara Creek from the northeast. It crosses into northern Maryland approximately 30 miles (48 km) northeast of Baltimore and is joined by Octoraro Creek. The river enters the northern end of the Chesapeake Bay at Havre de Grace.
The USNA Support Facility is on the eastern bank of the Severn River just upstream from the mouth at the Chesapeake Bay. The marina there offered us a parking place for our unoccupied rig. There was also an RV Park nearby. Since our activities for this weekend are family oriented, we chose to park our rig at the marina and join Adam and family at their hotel.
We were settled into the marina parking place by 1500 hrs (3PM). We disconnected the truck and headed off to join Adam at his hotel. The day was a success.
Howard J. Lamade Stadium
Borderline Rd
South Williamsport, PA 17702
GPS: 41.230152, -76.980481
While visiting Lamade Stadium, we came upon the statue of Casey At The Bat. Our three grandsons, Andrew, Joshua, and Benjamin, have no connection or recognition of the story. Casey is a story from a different era. I got to thinking about the once famous poem and resolved to do some research and refresh my memory on this piece of Americana. Maybe three young baseball fans will get a kick out of this bit of baseball history.
Everything that follows in this post comes from Wikipedia. None of it is my work. I'll take credit only for a little bit of arranging.
SYNOPSIS
A baseball team from the fictional town of Mudville (implied to be the home team) is losing by two runs in their last inning. Both the team and its fans (a crowd of 5,000, according to the poem) believe they can win if Mighty Casey, Mudville's star player, gets up to bat. However, Casey is scheduled to be the fifth batter of the inning, and the first two batters (Cooney and Barrows) fail to get on base. The next two batters (Flynn and Jimmy Blake) are perceived to be weak hitters with little chance of reaching base to allow Casey a chance to bat.
Surprisingly, Flynn hits a single, and Blake follows with a double that allows Flynn to reach third base. Both runners are now in scoring position and Casey represents the potential winning run. Casey is so sure of his abilities that he does not swing at the first two pitches, both called strikes. On the last pitch, the overconfident Casey strikes out swinging, ending the game and sending the crowd home unhappy.
TEXT
The text is filled with references to baseball as it was in 1888, which in many ways is not far removed from today's version. As a work, the poem encapsulates much of the appeal of baseball, including the involvement of the crowd. It also has a fair amount of baseball jargon that can pose challenges for the uninitiated.
This is the complete poem as it originally appeared in The San Francisco Examiner, with commentary. After publication, various versions with minor changes were produced.
Casey at the BatbyErnest Thayer
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville Nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that –
They'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a fake
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And it's likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville — mighty Casey has struck out.
"No one imagines that 'Casey' is great in the sense that the poetry of Shakespeare or Dante is great; a comic ballad obviously must be judged by different standards. One doesn’t criticize a slice of superb apple pie because it fails to taste like crepes suzette. Thayer was only trying to write a comic ballad, with clanking rhymes and a vigorous beat, that could be read quickly, understood at once, and laughed at by any newspaper reader who knew baseball. Somehow, in harmony with the curious laws of humor and popular taste, he managed to produce the nation’s best-known piece of comic verse—a ballad that began a native legend as colorful and permanent as that of Johnny Appleseed or Paul Bunyan."
World of Little League
Peter J. McGovern Museum and Official Store
525 U.S. 15
South Williamsport, PA 17702
GPS: 41.228506, -76.982005
Howard J. Lamade Stadium
Borderline Rd
South Williamsport, PA 17702
GPS: 41.230152, -76.980481
All three of our grandsons – Andrew, Joshua, Benjamin – are into baseball. Joshua is the most intent. Andrew second, his first love is still soccer. Ben is still a bit young. Joshua and Andrew play on real "Little League" teams but I don't think they fully comprehend the scope of that name and the meaning of the Little League World Series. Michelle and I attended one of the World Series games in person back in June. The boys watched some of those games on TV at home in Denver.
That said, we eagerly anticipated today's adventure. The World of Little League complex is about twenty miles north of our work site at Yogi at Shangri–La RV Park. After breakfast, we all piled into the car and headed off to South Williamsport.
The parking lot off the highway is very small and you cannot see the stadium as you park and exit your car. We pulled in and the boys noisily piled out of the car. As they walked to the rail and saw the stadium for the first time, there was a collective gasp of awe and silence.
Howard J. Lamade Stadium
The stadium is open and walkable, so Adam, Amy, and the boys spent an hour wandering through the facility. They paused for pictures near the scoreboard with the statue of "Casey at the Bat"
That got me to thinking about the once famous poem and I resolved to do some research and refresh my memory on this bit of Americana.
Little League Baseball was founded in 1938 by Carl E. Stotz, so a picture at his statue seemed appropriate.
From the stadium, we moved the couple hundred yards down the highway to the museum and store.
I enjoy museums and I make a real effort to learn something at every one I visit. Here I was impressed with how much research has been done by the Little League organization to "resize" the game to fit young people and to make the game safer. I was also impressed with the exhibit of famous people from all fields of endeavor who played Little League Baseball in their youth.
The boys had fun with the interactive exhibits that tested ...
...running...
...jumping...
...catching...
...fielding agility...
As with all museums – "Exit through the Gift Shop". We spent some time and bucks here.
It was a good day, enjoyed by all. I'm happy we got to share this bit of American culture that lays in north–central Pennsylvania with our family.
Yogi at Shangri La Campground, Milton, PA
GPS: 40.943822, -076.845712
In our current lifestyle we don't get to see our grandkids very often. Maybe that's a blessing that keeps the relationship fresh. I don't think I could stand the energy level that surrounds three growing boys on a continuing basis. Yesterday was their travel day, so they were overflowing with unburned calories. Today was a day to get rid of most of it.
We spent a couple hours in Lewisburg. Michelle and Amy did a laundry, then took the boys to Lewisburg Area Recreation Park; Adam and I went to Barnes and Noble for a good internet signal. For lunch we used up a couple Subway gift cards and had subs at the cabin.
In the afternoon, a couple hours at the playground burned off some more enegry.
I enjoyed watching how three boys can make a baseball game with only three people.
Mom and Dad jumped in to help now and then.
It wouldn't be autumn in the eastern United States without jumping in a pile of leaves ...
... and we needed one more campfire.
Andrew is now an expert at building a campfire. Joshua and Benjamin also advanced their skills. All three were very respectful of fire and careful in handling it.
