Greetings from Rock Creek Park

“My” park is less famous than Yellowstone or Yosemite, but it’s every bit as much a national park, just smaller. I grew up in Washington DC. My teenage years, in the early 1960s, were very difficult, both at home and at school. I developed an interest in hiking at the age of 12. It was a great way to get away from my house. Lacking a car or a license, I was pretty much restricted to trails reachable by bus or a short ride from my dad.

In northwest Washington DC, that was not a problem. There is an amazing network of stream valley parks and greenways, with interlocking trail systems in that part of the city. (Administratively, they are all part of Rock Creek Park).

I quickly explored these, and moved on to Rock Creek Park itself at 13. I fancied myself as another Hernando DeSoto or Meriwether Lewis, fearlessly entering uncharted wilderness (a bit of exaggeration, but hey, I was a kid). Rock Creek Park quickly became a place of refuge and comfort for me. I was able to leave my troubles behind for a few hours on weekends. Even after more than 50 years, I have clear memories of some of those hikes. I did a great deal of my initial exploration of the park in the late winter and early spring of 1962, on six consecutive Saturdays. I can still recall walking under leaden skies through a stark, black and white landscape of bare trees. In a couple of years, I’d hiked every trail in the park, including unofficial ones.

I continued hiking in Rock Creek Park as an adult, until I retired to Southwest Virginia in 1999. The town I live in now is surrounded by the Jefferson National Forest, and there are enough trails there to keep me busy for the rest of my life. Nonetheless, whenever I go back to Washington, I make an effort to visit Rock Creek Park, particularly if it’s winter

Sincerely,
Tom