Grandma Gatewood's Walk: The Inspiring Story of the Woman Who Saved the Appalachian Trail by Ben Montgomery
Authors: Ben Montgomery
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of the glaciers of the last ice age that scraped them south before retreating. The section was the rockiest on the trail, and each stone seemed to be purposefully placed on edge. She desperately needed new shoes. She had sliced the sides of the pair she was wearing to make them more comfortable, to give her bunions room to breathe, but her feet were swelling from all the walking.
A little after 11:00, she arrived on the outskirts of Duncannon, Pennsylvania. She was wearing Bermuda shorts and she was already in town by the time she thought about changing into her dungarees. A cluster of children were playing on their front porch and, upon seeing her coming up the road, one little boy hollered.
“Look!” he told his playmates. “There goes a lady tramp!”
Emma kept walking. It wasn’t the first or last time she’d been pointed out in derision, and she didn’t let it stop her. A few minutes later, the lady tramp crossed the mighty Susquehanna River and popped into a little restaurant at the end of the bridge. She ordered a tomato sandwich and chased it with a banana split to lift her spirits.
After her dinner, she went in search of water. By 9:00 P M, she still hadn’t found any. She fished her flashlight from her sack and stood beside the road, waving the light in hopes a car would stop. When one finally did, it held two women and their children. Emma told them she was looking for a place to stay—or some water at least. She piled in and they drove fifteen miles before the woman pulled up to a house where Emma spent the night. The homeowner drove her back to the trail the next morning.
Besides the throbbing in her feet, the hike through eastern Pennsylvania, about one hundred miles west of Philadelphia then, was easy. The difficulty was finding a place to stay. She walked fifteen miles on July 15 before she approached a large house to ask if they had extra room. She could see a woman inside doing housework, but when the woman came to the door she claimed she had arthritis and wouldn’t invite Emma in. At the next house she came to, the homeowner said he didn’t have any extra beds or room. She tried eight houses in a row and was turned away at each one.
The next house she came to was little bitty, and a buxom blonde answered the door. The woman said she didn’t have an extra bed, but she sent the children to an outbuilding, where they prepared a cot for Emma. She told them she preferred the front porch swing, if that was OK, and she fell asleep there that hot summer night as the woman washed her clothes in a machine.
8
ATTENTION
JULY 16–26, 1955
The sharp rocks were killing her feet, each step a new jolt of pain. Emma didn’t wear the hard-soled boots of a seasoned outdoorsman but rubber-soled sneakers that quickly wore out. In an emergency, she had taped the discarded rubber heel from a man’s shoe to the bottom of her instep for more arch support. Her footwear was more akin to the moccasins worn by Daniel Boone, who was born in the vicinity and used to hunt and fish in these hills as a boy.
Happy to let her feet heal, she spent the night at the Hertlein Campsite and made it into the narrow little town of Port Clinton, Pennsylvania, the next afternoon. She poked into a store to see about getting a new pair of shoes. The place was a wreck, the worst disorder she’d ever seen. Boxes were piled high and there was a layerof dust on everything she touched. She bought a few snacks and sat on the porch out front for a bit before heading down the street to see about a room at the King Fish Hotel. Just then, a woman in a nearby house hollered.
Are you the woman who is walking the trail?
she asked.
I am,
said Emma.
The woman, Mrs. Swayberger, was very excited, and that made Emma happy. The woman told her son to stand next to Emma for a photograph, and the woman’s daughter insisted Emma follow her around the corner to meet her husband, who was interested in the trail.
She had again been recognized. Word
A little after 11:00, she arrived on the outskirts of Duncannon, Pennsylvania. She was wearing Bermuda shorts and she was already in town by the time she thought about changing into her dungarees. A cluster of children were playing on their front porch and, upon seeing her coming up the road, one little boy hollered.
“Look!” he told his playmates. “There goes a lady tramp!”
Emma kept walking. It wasn’t the first or last time she’d been pointed out in derision, and she didn’t let it stop her. A few minutes later, the lady tramp crossed the mighty Susquehanna River and popped into a little restaurant at the end of the bridge. She ordered a tomato sandwich and chased it with a banana split to lift her spirits.
After her dinner, she went in search of water. By 9:00 P M, she still hadn’t found any. She fished her flashlight from her sack and stood beside the road, waving the light in hopes a car would stop. When one finally did, it held two women and their children. Emma told them she was looking for a place to stay—or some water at least. She piled in and they drove fifteen miles before the woman pulled up to a house where Emma spent the night. The homeowner drove her back to the trail the next morning.
Besides the throbbing in her feet, the hike through eastern Pennsylvania, about one hundred miles west of Philadelphia then, was easy. The difficulty was finding a place to stay. She walked fifteen miles on July 15 before she approached a large house to ask if they had extra room. She could see a woman inside doing housework, but when the woman came to the door she claimed she had arthritis and wouldn’t invite Emma in. At the next house she came to, the homeowner said he didn’t have any extra beds or room. She tried eight houses in a row and was turned away at each one.
The next house she came to was little bitty, and a buxom blonde answered the door. The woman said she didn’t have an extra bed, but she sent the children to an outbuilding, where they prepared a cot for Emma. She told them she preferred the front porch swing, if that was OK, and she fell asleep there that hot summer night as the woman washed her clothes in a machine.
8
ATTENTION
JULY 16–26, 1955
The sharp rocks were killing her feet, each step a new jolt of pain. Emma didn’t wear the hard-soled boots of a seasoned outdoorsman but rubber-soled sneakers that quickly wore out. In an emergency, she had taped the discarded rubber heel from a man’s shoe to the bottom of her instep for more arch support. Her footwear was more akin to the moccasins worn by Daniel Boone, who was born in the vicinity and used to hunt and fish in these hills as a boy.
Happy to let her feet heal, she spent the night at the Hertlein Campsite and made it into the narrow little town of Port Clinton, Pennsylvania, the next afternoon. She poked into a store to see about getting a new pair of shoes. The place was a wreck, the worst disorder she’d ever seen. Boxes were piled high and there was a layerof dust on everything she touched. She bought a few snacks and sat on the porch out front for a bit before heading down the street to see about a room at the King Fish Hotel. Just then, a woman in a nearby house hollered.
Are you the woman who is walking the trail?
she asked.
I am,
said Emma.
The woman, Mrs. Swayberger, was very excited, and that made Emma happy. The woman told her son to stand next to Emma for a photograph, and the woman’s daughter insisted Emma follow her around the corner to meet her husband, who was interested in the trail.
She had again been recognized. Word
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