Every once in a while you stumble onto a place that feels like someone tapped you on the shoulder and said, “Hey, want to see something cool?” That was Sweet Run State Park for us, tucked off a quiet stretch of Harpers Ferry Road. The entrance is so unassuming you half expect a park ranger to lean out of the woods and whisper “Boo.” Instead, we wound down a gravel drive and met a pay station that gave me flashbacks to the honor-system boxes at old country churches. They offered a fancy phone app, but I dug out my last ten bucks, stuffed the envelope and hung the tag on the mirror like a trophy. From there, we wandered past an 1840s farmhouse and got our bearings before Charlie, our service dog and self-appointed trail scout, launched the day’s adventure.
He zeroed in first on the old spring house, trotting around like he was inspecting ancestral property. The trail started easy enough, with a pretty pond and a wide path that lulled us into thinking the whole park would be a stroll. It wasn’t long before the terrain turned a bit rocky, and Chris and I traded that look that says, “This isn’t the worst we’ve done, not even close.” The fall colors helped, glowing across 884 acres of rolling hills and interlocked trails that wind for 13 miles. Every bend seemed to open up to another postcard view. A few spots had traces of pioneer life, including an old log cabin standing in the woods like it was still waiting for its owner to come home from the mill. I always wonder who built those things and why they picked that exact patch of earth to stake their hopes.
Then came the great stream-crossing episode. We arrived just in time to witness a dozen Asian tourists tackling the rocks with military precision and enough commentary to qualify as a live broadcast. Each step was careful, deliberate and dramatic, and the whole production took about twenty minutes to cross ten feet of shallow water. When they were safely across, Chris, Charlie and I hopped over in under a minute and kept moving before anyone could hand us a scorecard. The trail was lively that morning, full of families, retirees, and every variety of dog imaginable, perfect for Charlie to make a few new acquaintances.
We passed one stream with a bridge and a sign banning horses, and I’m still not sure what the horses ever did to deserve such suspicion. We planned to spend an hour at Sweet Run, but the place had other ideas. Two hours later, we were still wandering beneath leaf-covered trails, past old stone walls, across sunlit ridges and through pockets of quiet that felt like a gift. The mix of history, scenery and lighthearted moments made it one of those outings that sticks with you longer than expected. Sweet Run may not look like much when you first pull in, but it’s the sort of hidden gem that rewards anyone willing to slow down, lace up and step out into the beauty of God’s creation. Days like that remind you why you keep chasing the next trail.
