Every October or so I get the itchin’ to go climb Hanging Rock. Which is exactly what the offspring and I did Saturday, forgoing our usual schedule of puttering about the house for a full-blown assault on our favorite rocky outcropping. I know: there are bigger hills to climb, but at just 38 miles away from my suburban driveway, this most famous of Sauratown monadnocks is mountain a plenty for me and mine. Thus we happily ambled up the Hanging Rock Tail, until the gentle ascent became a moderate slog. By the time we made it atop the quartzite, we were all ready for a rest. As we passed around the granola, tried to guess the zip code of the skyline shimmering in the horizon and kidded ourselves we’ll one day climb nearby Moore’s Knob, it occurred to me these were the times my own descendants might talk about when recalling their own storied childhoods Now if only the leaves would change...
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