2025 Road Trip - Cherry Hill RV Park and Washington, DC
- Randi Jones
- May 30, 2025
- 10 min read
We’ve hit the road on our first big adventure with Coddiwomple (our trusty pickup), Cat (our cozy RV), and Rita, our ever-faithful travel companion. We rolled out of Belton on May 15, and we’re excited to share the journey—one stop at a time.
This blog will mostly fall into the Mile Marks – Feeding Our Wanderlust category, as entries will be organized by the places we stay in our home on wheels. However, I’ll also be sharing stories about the amazing people we meet, the beautiful places we explore, and, of course, the delicious food we find, cook, and enjoy. I hope you come along for the ride.
Cherry Hill RV Park
While I didn't capture many photos of Cherry Hill Park, this campground truly exceeded our expectations. We initially chose it for its convenient access to Washington, D.C.—with both a bus stop and Metro station right at the park's entrance—but we were blown away by the amenities and the welcoming atmosphere.
The park is located in College Park, Maryland, which claims to be a center for education, experimentation and exploration. The park offers full hook-up RV sites, tent camping areas, and unique glamping options like yurts and cabins. There are heated swimming pools, a hot tub, sauna, and a splash park for kids. We didn't try it, but the Capital Cafe offers delivery, take-out, and dine-in options. It's a huge park, but is run so well it feels like a mom and pop operation.
That's what really stood out to us - the atmosphere. The park was full of families making memories—we saw kids zipping by on scooters and bikes, groups gathered around firepits cooking dinner, and neighbors chatting under the shade of tall trees. Playgrounds were scattered throughout the park and were lined with golf carts and scooters and filled with laughing children. Just steps away, others were relaxing, reading, or simply enjoying the fresh air - all right in the middle of the city.
Day 1 - The Mall
After the quiet hills of Pennsylvania, Washington, D.C. and its traffic was BUSY.
We began our exploration on foot, strolling down the legendary avenues where so many pivotal moments in American history have happened. Two of my favorites were
Pennsylvania Avenue, where inaugural parades have marched and voices have risen in protest, and
Constitution Avenue, which was lined with monuments and memorials, built to remember the ideals our country was built on.
With each step, the city unfolded —stone by stone, statue by statue. And just beyond was the National Mall - stretch of green space and reflecting water surrounded by the symbols of a nation's journey that I have read about and watched movies about and told students about, but not experienced until today.
We were all captivated by the Washington Monument—stark and imposing against the sky. Standing beneath it, we couldn’t help but marvel that this towering obelisk, the tallest stone structure in the world, was built without cranes or computer modeling. It was begun in 1848, paused during the Civil War, and finally completed nearly four decades later. As we looked up, we talked about the ingenuity it took to build it, but we felt the enduring legacy of our nation’s first leader.
We made our way to the White House and joined the steady stream of visitors viewing it from the sidewalk along Pennsylvania Avenue. Standing at the black iron fence, we thought it looks smaller than what we see on TV.
Standing before the Lincoln Memorial was unlike anything I had expected. I’ve read so many of Lincoln’s speeches and writings over the years—words that shaped a nation and still echo in classrooms, books, and that are part of the tapestry of our American identity.
I’ve taught novels and historical accounts shaped by the Civil War, wrestled with the moral weight of Lincoln’s choices, and tried to help students understand what was at stake in some of nation’s most difficult times.
So to walk up those white marble steps, to stand in that solemn, open-air chamber with Lincoln seated high above, carved in quiet dignity—it was indescribable. The statue is massive, but the stillness took my breath away. There was something reverent in the quiet, and I could feel the weight of history pressing gently on my shoulders.
My husband, struck in a different way, kept commenting on Lincoln’s square-toed boots. It made me smile—the way something so specific and human could pull me closer, reminding us that this larger-than-life figure was also just a man. Somehow, that detail made the whole moment even more powerful.
Looking up at Lincoln’s face, I thought about what he fought for—equality, unity, liberty—and the cost he and others have paid.
And then, turning to read the Gettysburg Address and Second Inaugural Address etched into the walls, it felt like standing inside a cathedral of American memory.
Lincoln’s words are not relics; they’re alive, asking all of us in each generation to listen again, to consider what freedom and democracy demand of us today.
Visiting the memorial was not just a moment of sightseeing—it was a moment of deep remembering.
Visiting the World War II Memorial was also deeply moving. As Texans, we naturally gravitated to our state’s pillar among the 56 representing the U.S. and its territories. It was grounding to stand there and reflect on those we know and remember from our home state who served in a conflict that spanned continents.
The Wall of Stars —with its 4,048 gold stars, each representing 100 American lives lost—was a silent tribute to the cost of freedom.
Nearby, a quote from General Douglas MacArthur made me pause and remember again the sacrifices made by our forefathers. 'The guns are silent. A great tragedy has ended. A great victory has been won.'
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial was deeply personal for me. My father fought in Korea and Vietnam and passed away early in my life due to the effects of Agent Orange.
The memorial is more than stone and names; it is a space to reflect on sacrifice and loss.
Watching people search for the names of loved ones and carefully etch them onto paper for personal keepsake memorials felt intimate and personal. Each tracing was an act of remembrance.. These small gestures—kneeling at the wall, pressing paper to stone, running fingers over engraved names—spoke volumes about the grief, pride, and connection carried on by those left behind.
Over the years, reading and teaching many works about the war—most notably Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried—have profoundly shaped my understanding of the complex nature of truth, memory, and trauma connected to Vietnam. This book is a MUST-read.
Nelson DeMille, in Up Country, writes, “Vietnam is a country, not just a war" (Go read this book if you haven't). Standing there, I felt the weight of those words, and they reminded me that beyond the battles and memories, Vietnam—like America—is a land with its own people, stories, and history—a complexity often lost in the shadow of conflict. The memorial honors not only Americans who died in the conflict but also the land, people, and stories beyond the battlefield—reminding us that healing and understanding require seeing the whole picture.
If you've been following my blog, you know Mark Twain is one of my all-time favorite authors. His War Prayer, offers a powerful reflection on the prayers for victory we so often take for granted. He reminds us that when we pray for triumph, we are also praying for the suffering, defeat, and death of the other side. Twain questions how such prayers align with the nature of God, writing that “God hears not the prayer of the nation that invokes Him to smite its foe.”
These stories and these authors, along with many others, helped me grasp the human side of the Vietnam conflict beyond facts and dates, revealing the emotional and moral struggles faced by those who lived it.
Today's visit brought back passages from many of those stories and poems, proving once again that art and literature are vehicles for not only honoring all lives touched by war, but for recognizing the shared humanity on both sides of conflict, and in our every day lives.
Day 2 - Arlington National Cemetery and Old Town Alexandria
Our visit to Arlington National Cemetery was unlike any other stop on our journey so far. The moment we stepped through the gates, the quiet stretched out in every direction—miles of tree-lined paths winding through gently rolling hills, each lined with row after row of white gravestones. The sheer vastness of the cemetery is humbling. It feels endless, and every stone carries a story.
We noticed the variety almost immediately. Some graves were marked with simple, uniform headstones in perfect rows; others stood out with crosses, stars, or custom engravings.
Learning about the history of the cemetery, we were reminded that Arlington was once the estate of Robert E. Lee’s family. During the Civil War, it was taken over by the Union Army and slowly became a burial ground for soldiers.
We passed newer sections with smooth lawns and polished markers, and older areas where the stones leaned. Even the landscape itself varied—some hills were shaded and wooded, while others were open, bright, and wide.
At one point, we paused at a gravestone that simply read “Jones”—our own last name.
We don’t know the person buried there, but it made us stop and think about the thousands of families like ours who have loved and lost someone in service.
One of the most moving parts of our visit was the solemn ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Established in 1921, the tomb holds the remains of unidentified soldiers from multiple wars. It represents all those who served and were never brought home, and stands as a promise that they will never be forgotten.
The guarding of the tomb and changing of the guard is a quiet, powerful ritual—every movement by the soldier is slow, precise, and deeply intentional. Not a word is spoken, but the silence says everything.
As Taps played in the background, we could feel the weight of history and sacrifice. The respect shown here and felt here, even though it reminded me of changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, was different. Maybe because these sacrifices were made in my country, for me and my family.
We also visited the grave of President John F. Kennedy, where the eternal flame burns day and night. Nearby are the graves of Jackie Kennedy and other members of the Kennedy family. People stood quietly, heads bowed, reading the engraved words and watching the steady flame. It’s a peaceful spot, filled with a sense of both history and hope.
We passed the columbarium—walls of niches holding the ashes of veterans and their spouses. These spaces were just as reverent as the fields of graves, with fresh flowers and small mementos left by loved ones.
As we walked the quiet, tree-lined paths of Arlington National Cemetery, we paused to watch a horse-drawn caisson carry a flag-draped casket to its final resting place. The procession moved slowly, and the rhythm of hooves echoed from the pavement. This tradition dates back to the Civil War and continues today as a symbol of honor and respect.
The caisson—once used to carry ammunition—is now used to transport the remains of those who have served with distinction, usually commissioned officers, Medal of Honor recipients, and those killed in action.
It was quite a sight: the black horses, the caisson team in full dress, the slow, deliberate pace. It reminded me that each grave at Arlington holds a story of service and sacrifice, and that the rituals honor individuals, even in the midst of so many thousands.
After the quiet reverence of Arlington, we made our way to The Wharf in D.C. Set along the Potomac River, which is a mix of waterfront charm with modern bustle. Even on a Tuesday afternoon, it was busy —people strolled the boardwalk, kids played near the fountains, there were boats docking and people were eating outside watching all of it. It was easy to imagine what it must look like on evenings and weekends with live music and night lights reflecting on the water.
We stopped to learn about The Maine Lobsterman, a statue honoring America's maritime heritage and the connection between Washington's waterfront and the nation's fishing communities. The statue comes with a funny and obscure backstory. You can watch a short video about it HERE.
We thoroughly enjoyed walking through the Municipal Fish Market at The Wharf, the oldest continuously operating open-air fish market in the United States. Established in 1805, it is the central hub for fresh seafood in the capital. Its colorful stalls offer everything from just-caught crabs and oysters to shrimp skewers and chowders, making us hungry.
We stopped for lunch at Kirwan’s on the Wharf - another perfect referral from Breely. It's a cozy and authentic Irish pub nestled along the waterfront. The interior was crafted by Irish carpenters who brought over furnishings, woodwork, and décor directly from Ireland, including every bar, tile, table, chair, panel, and photograph.
Check out some of my favorite fellas hanging around on the wall.
The pub features three distinct bars, each with its own atmosphere. The blend of salvaged and new wood, Irish floor tiles, and light fixtures gives the pub a truly Irish feel.
The website claims the menu features traditional mainstays of Irish cuisine with a unique, modern touch, and the fare and drinks we sampled definitely lived up to the claim.
The calamari with cherry peppers and boom boom sauce was spot on, as were the fish and chips. The Galway Girl they served is now one of my all-time favorite cocktails.
After strolling the Wharf to work off our lunch, we boarded a ferry to Old Town Alexandria whose cobbled streets and colonial charm are part of a nationally-designated historic district on the Potomac River waterfront.
With no set agenda, we wandered in and out of independently-owned boutiques and bookstores, admiring the colorful doors and iron balconies, enjoying the brick buildings along the King Street Mile.
On our ferry ride back to The Wharf, we were treated to a spectacular show on the water when dozens of sailboats appeared across the river, darting in and out among ferries and other boats that looked like it was choreographed.
Watching their white sails catch the fading light was the perfect way to end the day and our time in D.C.
Up next: Virginia and Tennessee.
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