Whose woods are these?

A famous poet once said that he had a theory as to the answer, but yet had much unfinished work. This is where you guess that I might initiate an in-depth soliloquy on the allegorical aspects of such a picture, its history, and its relation to the aforementioned poetry. Well, deep subjects are to be avoided much the same as doctors avoid wells. In case you are wondering, I haven't got a bad joke buzzer; it seems the batteries must have died long ago. The picture above is the Worthington Farm area of the Monocacy Battlefield in Maryland. A couple weeks ago, I arose early and set course for the western area of Maryland. This is similar to driving to Fort Worth from home. The lack of reference points will confuse some, and amuse others. Still others may have fallen asleep after looking at the picture. (That is how I read books) With the moon shining through a clear night sky, I packed up my box and left my house. Also, I packed a backpack with lunch and a bit of breakfast. My Scion xB (the box which was now packed) hummed loudly as the engine warmed up on this frigid Fall morning. (The engine maintains high RPMs until the car is completely warm). I rode West for some time, then turned South towards Monocacy battlefield. This I did just before the sun began to lighten the way. With my headlights still a necessity, I drove into the parking lot of the National Monocacy Battlefield park. I pulled out a flashlight to read the map at the trail head. As the sun lit up the battlefield, I realized that the entire trail could be seen from the parking lot. (Any chance to whip out my trusty flashlight I seize with the undue enthusiasm of a person who was exclusively privileged to some knowledge). I bundled up for the hike as only a Texan might do. With a mere 0.5 miles of flat terrain to tread (the sun wasn't entirely up yet), I donned my fleece, my gore-tex, my ski gloves, and my stocking cap. That said, I was already wearing pants. As I waddled out of my car, the park attendant pulled up to start her day of work. She got out of her car wearing a t-shirt and jeans. No one else was on the trail that morning. The path ended at a scenic river which they named the Scenic River. I agreed with the title and took a few pictures. Photography skills are not genetic and the river pictures appear watered down in the dim morning light. Finished taking pictures, and yearning for the warmth of my car, I retraced my steps to the parking lot. In the woods, I spotted a family of deer about to emerge into a large open field. There were no hunters around, but deer don't forget a monumental film like Bambi, and they darted across the opening to the forest on the other side. I drove to another historical site that was under construction. It seems that they were making history. Anyway, the next area of the battlefield was the Worthington Farm Area(the pictured house). There I hiked about 3 miles around a trail that led through the battlefield. The first half of the trail led along the river again (pictured). "Witness Trees" were marked with silver discs imprinted with numbers. These trees were alive during the battle. I continued on through a densely wooded hillside (pictured). The only person I encountered on the hike was a lonely man with a leaf blower. He signaled his presence with his gas-powered engine and a cloud of fiery leaves that preceded his proceedings. As he walked, he revealed the path that was hidden under a bed of leaves several inches thick. Having started on the opposite end of the trail, I hadn't enjoyed the benefit of his trailblazing efforts. Accordingly, I was forced to navigate by blue paint markings on trees. After we crossed paths, though, I followed a swath of dirt so distinctly cut as to look unnatural*. The trail ended at the Worthington Farm House and my car was parked nearby. I climbed into my box and went down the hill towards the road. Not to imply some feeble impersonation of the fabled comic strip character Calvin (and the inseparable Hobbes), I must say I was driving my car to accomplish this venture. The Battlefield covered much land, but that was my last stop at Monocacy Battlefield. As I drove on, though, the battlefield surrounded the main road for another 10 minutes. With no deep metaphorical musings mustered, I headed on to Gettysburg Battlefield in Pennsylvania.

*Certainly it was, and so my observation was justified. However, lacking a bad joke buzzer, this line, and many like it, may not make sense to many readers. (It would be something if there were many readers)

**Lacking the technological tenacity (or fitting foresight) to place the pictures where they ought to be, the photos are actually stacked in reverse order of their references in the writing.