Drumlins and Other Things

Hearing the plows to their thing at 5 a.m. this morning, I knew it must be snowing outside. Three hours later I awoke to a somewhat winter wonderland. And I knew exactly what to do. I threw my snowshoes into the Matrix and drove over to Lancaster to tramp around Dexter Drumlin.

Drumlin is another word for hill. Except these hills were carved by glaciers (cue Wagner operatic music) MILLIONS OF YEARS AGO. Dexter is a lone drumlin surrounded by the rolling hills of Lancaster and Atlantic Union College. I didn’t need the snowshoes. There was maybe 1 inch of crusty snow covering Dexter. The sky spit icy rain the entire time but no matter, I had the whole place to myself. (Shocker.)

Whenever I climb the summit, I imagine a lone rider galloping through the fields wearing distinctly 18th century garb. The place has more 18th than 19th century going for it. It’s more Jamaica Inn than Jane Eyre, if you know what I mean.

Where's my woolen cloaked rider?

Where's my woolen cloaked rider?

Check out my pics on Flickr to find out for yourself.

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