2025 Road Trip - Cherry Hill RV Park and Washington, DC
- Randi Jones
- May 30
- 11 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 variety of amenities and the warm, welcoming atmosphere.
The park is located in College Park, Maryland, touted as a center for edeucation, experimentation and exploration and is a must-stay for campers visiting D.C. or the surrounding area. The park offers a variety of accommodations, including 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 felt alive with the joyful energy 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 you could find people relaxing, reading, or simply enjoying the fresh air and birdsong—all right in the middle of the city.
Every site included a fire ring, and the smell of campfire cooking filled the air in the evenings.
Despite being just a short distance from downtown D.C., the campground felt like a peaceful, self-contained retreat where people come not just to explore the capital, but to truly unwind.
Day 1 - The Mall
After the quiet hills of Pennsylvania, Washington, D.C. and its traffic greeted us with a frenzy. There was an electricity in the air here—something about the neoclassical buildings, the steady hum of traffic, and the awareness that decisions shaping a nation are being made just beyond the building facades.
We began our exploration on foot, strolling down the legendary avenues that have framed so many pivotal moments in American history. Two of my favorites
Pennsylvania Avenue, where inaugural parades have marched and voices have risen in protest.
Constitution Avenue, lined with imposing monuments and memorials, echoing the ideals this country was built on.
With each step, the city unfolded its story—stone by stone, statue by statue. And just beyond, waiting to welcome us, was the National Mall. A stretch of green space and reflecting water the area is 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—its stark, imposing presence rising boldly 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 felt a quiet reverence—not just for the ingenuity it took to build it, but for what it represents: the enduring legacy of a nation’s first leader, and the ideals he helped set in motion.
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 took in the iconic facade—smaller than it looks on TV, but no less powerful in its symbolism.
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 the nation’s most trying hour.
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 it’s the stillness that took my breath away. There’s something reverent in the hush that seemed to settle over all of us present that day. 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 the ideals he fought for—equality, unity, liberty—and the cost at which they came.
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 deeply moving. As Texans, we naturally gravitated to our state’s pillar among the 56 representing the U.S. and its territories. It felt 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 sobering, silent tribute to the cost of freedom.
Nearby, a quote from General Douglas MacArthur captured the weight of the moment: 'The guns are silent. A great tragedy has ended. A great victory has been won.' Surrounded by the fountains and stone, we paused—not just to admire the monument, but to honor the people and sacrifices behind it.
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 of reflection on sacrifice and loss.
Watching people search for the names of loved ones and carefully etch them onto paper for personal keepsake memorials was both intimate and reverent. Each tracing was an act of remembrance, a silent testimony to love that endures. 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. This simple truth 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 our 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 with time. 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 reminiscent of the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, was unlike anything else I’ve ever witnessed. 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. Fresh flowers and small mementos had been left by loved ones, adding personal touches to this solemn place.
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 solemn procession moved slowly, the rhythm of hooves on pavement echoing through the hush. 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 reserved for transporting the remains of those who have served with distinction, most often commissioned officers, Medal of Honor recipients, and those killed in action.
There was something timeless in the 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 of honor are carried out with care and intention, even in the midst of so many thousands.
There was something deeply grounding about walking through a place like this. The silence, the care, and the sense of shared memory stretch far beyond the boundaries of the cemetery. It’s a place that demands for reverence—and one that offers perspective.
After the quiet reverence of Arlington, we made our way to a very different kind of historic place—The Wharf in D.C. Set along the Potomac River, the area is a mix of waterfront charm with modern bustle. Even on a Tuesday afternoon, the energy was lively—people strolling the boardwalk, kids playing near the fountains, boats docking and setting off, and outdoor diners enjoying the view. It was easy to imagine how this place hums on evenings and weekends, with live music, busy patios, and the glow of string lights reflecting on the water.
We stopped to learn about The Maine Lobsterman, a statue that serves as a tribute to America's maritime heritage and the enduring 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 has long served as a 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 to taste some of the fresh fare.
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 unique ambiance. 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 coctails.
After strolling the Wharf to work off our lunch, we boarded a ferry to Old Town Alexandria.
The short ride offered fresh air and views of the city from the water before delivering us to the cobbled streets and colonial charm of Alexandria's downtown and nationally-designated historic district on the Potomac River waterfront.
With no set agenda, we wandered at our own pace—ducking into independently-owned boutiques and bookstores, admiring colorful doors and iron balconies, and soaking in the character of the historic brick buildings along the King Street Mile.
On our ferry ride back to The Wharf, the day began to shift into the golden hour, and we were treated to a spectacular show on the water.
Dozens of sailboats danced across the river, darting in and out among ferries and other boats with effortless grace.
Watching their white sails catch the fading light was the perfect way to end the day and our time in D.C.—peaceful, beautiful, and a little bit magical.
Up next: Virginia and Tennessee.
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