Evitts Mountain and the Mason Dixon Line

Here's the pleasant if unspectacular view from the top of Evitts Mountain, looking southeast into Maryland.  Actually, the best way to get to this spot is by following the trail from Maryland into Pennsylvania.  Although only Maryland goes to the effort of putting in and maintaining a trail, all the views are on the Pennsylvania side of the Mason Dixon--which you cross in the forest at the summit.

This shot looks northwest into Pennsylvania.  There's a sad homemade monument to someone called "Jenny Girl" in this photo.  I wonder what her story is.  Every place has many stories; it was the story of Evitts Mountain that brought me here.  At Maryland's Rocky Gap State Park, you can follow the Evitt's Homesite Trail up to the summit.  About halfway up the mountain are the remains of an old homestead from the early 1700s.  It's said to have been the home of a hermit who moved out to the furthest frontier to be alone when he found that no woman would have him--especially not the one he loved.  All there really is to see is an old well.

The hermit's name was Evart, and the mountain is named after him, with a slight variation in spelling.  Here's the old historic Mason Dixon Line marker in the woods beside the trail.  The "M" is for Maryland.  It's hard to believe that Maryland was ever considered part of "The South."  Today it's a proud little suburban state that touts its several modest attractions and manages to be a lot more progressive than its neighbor to the north.  In a way, Maryland has it all: beaches, forests, mountains, at least one big city.  But in another way, all the stuff it has is on the slightly mediocre side.  Gritty Baltimore is its one big city; these hills are its idea of mountains, but I've heard its coastline is nice... 

It's the Belgium of the states, an in-between place where cultures have come to clash, where wars have been fought, where silent battlefields bear witness to a violent past with monuments and solemn, hushed lawns where many died.  Historic sites, sprawling, wealthy suburbs, screaming interstates, a few carefully preserved patches of woods, rail trails, a small but busy beach.  That's Maryland.  I like it.  

Along the Evitt's Homesite Trail, the Mason Dixon Line marker is a little less impressive.  To get the views, you have to keep hiking a short distance into Pennsylvania, where the trail cuts rightward and down the mountainside.  How many an enslaved person made for this arbitrary political line, this artificial and invisible boundary, only to discover that their so-called "owners" were allowed to pursue them even once they got past this line?

The marker does have rather a grand air about it, sitting as it does at the summit of the mountain and overlooking two states.  In the summer, there would be little to see here.  Just leaves.

Looking again from Pennsylvania into Pennsylvania.

And again.

You see this signpost along the trail in the Maryland state park?  This is how a state with a modicum of pride goes about the art of existing.  They've got their classy, historic state logo at the top, but adapted, with an oakleaf to make it more outdoorsy.  They've got the trails all nicely marked and color-coded like the maps.  This is Maryland: modest, fussy, orderly, proud.  They've got good signage and an identity that they try to make visible.  Driving along the interstate, they advertise "scenic overlooks," which rarely amount to much, but at least they're trying.