Hockessin Hash House Harriers History

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Hash Details
Hash Number:580
What:Hockessin Hash #580
When:Oct. 15, 2005
Where:Nichols Community Park, Landenberg, PA
Hares:Cribsnatcher
Tinsel Tits
Message
This is from our glorious GM, so if it is cloudy tomorrow you can try to blame him, but it is really the religious advisors' >:) fault, since they are conduit (or a big pipe) to the beer and weather gods, and they should drink:
"Here comes the sun! :"> Defense Department strategic meteorologists have forecast sunny skies & temps in the 70's. Treat yourself to a Saturday afternoon in the Park."
What: Hockessin Hash #580
When: Saturday, October 15, 2005 at 3:00pm
Where: Nichols Community Park in London Britain Township in beautiful Southern Chester County, Pennsylvania
Who: Tinsel T*ts & Cribsnatcher
D'erections: Park is located on Route 896 north of Newark between Flint Hill Road and Good Hope Road. From I-95 take the Newark 896 exit and head north. Travel through Newark and then cross over the State Line into Pennsylvania. Go another 1.5 miles or so to a stop sign at Flint Hill Road. Go through the stop sign and immediately on your left is the Nichols Park. Park. Pay your nickel ($5). Hash.
Hashers
Hash Trash
Crossing the Great Peninsular Divide
Hash #580 October 15, 2005
Hockessin Hash House Harriers

On a beautiful autumn Saturday afternoon as flouncy clouds sailed across a pale blue sky, a sturdy-looking Pack of about 25 Hash Hounds and three Canine Hounds Jackson, Shera and Toby converged upon Kemblesville Pennsylvania for some sun, some fun, and a little bit of a run.

Cribsnatcher, the Founding Father of the Hockessin Hash House Harriers and Tinsel T!ts, the Earth Mother of the Hash, magnanimously offered their haring expertise for the day, choosing to lay trail along the westernmost outlands of Tinsel’s beloved Landenberg.

The anxious and stamping Herd gathered at Nichol Park, a soul-numbing community McRecreation Pit built at the insistence of the nouvěau arrivistě Yuppy arrivals in the area. Among other things, the park was meant to provide their sniveling, obnoxious and bratty spawn a safe and bland facility in which to pretend to enjoy the countryside’s natural beauty. The countryside’s natural beauty first had to be re-graded, defoliated, storm water managed, Port-a-Pottied, mulched, paved and fenced before the precious little pussy-ass tykes could at last be allowed to “roam the wilds”. All natural features and every hint of the smallest danger had been removed from the site, so the tight-assed newcomers could enjoy the parkland without fear of getting as much as a grass stain on their shoes or a bramble scratch on their legs.

Ignoring at least three and as many as four of the posted park prohibitions – NO DOGS! NO ALCOHOL! NO LOITERING! NO DRUGS!, the Hashers waited with increasing impatience as the Hares described various trail marks and apologized in advance for the journey upon which they would soon embark.

The Hares cut the crap and sent us On Trail.

To my way of thinking, there is nothing so beautiful as seeing a loosely knit Pack of Hashers making their way through farm fields, open meadows and windswept hillsides. Moving slowly, as if through a Wyeth oil, the Hounds sniffed out the trail and scampered along hedgerows, through an isolated Black Walnut copse, and then into a sentinel stand of Osage orange trees. Now atop a gentle rise and silhouetted against the late afternoon sky, the Pack continued the march to the north and east. The Slobbering Pack made a treacherous crossing of Route 896 to a restful Beer Check on a parallel country road.

We drank some beer, ate some goldfish, hassled some drivers and hit the trail again. As often happens, the Pack broke up into three wandering tribes, each separating themselves from the others. There was then further diminishment of one of these tribes when Jackson the Dog and Crusty Calves, nursing a pulled groin, disappeared from the trail without a trace, not to be seen since.

But because God protects little children, drunks and Hashers, somehow the three groups re-converged at another one of those goddamn man-made “unnatural” natural area parks (avoiding some tough guy hunters along the way) and made their way to Crossan Park and On In.


As Route 896 runs through these environs it is known as the Newark-New London Road. New London is the small colonial era crossroads village about three miles north of today’s Hash trail which at one time served as a waystation for stagecoach travel between Philadelphia and Baltimore. It was also the home of the Quaker New Ark Academy, founded in 1743. In 1833 the Academy was moved down the road a few miles south, evolved into the University of Delaware, and lent its name to the growing town of Newark, Delaware.

But the Newark-New London Road has another, much older distinction. For untold millenium before Europeans came to the New World, herds of Piedmont Plateau deer beat a trail along the same ridges and high slopes upon which modern Route 896 today meanders. Indigenous people walked on the very same deerpath to travel north and south upon the spine of what eventually became known as the Delmarva Peninsula. Walking was easiest on the gentle grades of the Peninsular spine.

Much later, after the development of the wheel, the deerpath evolves into a wagon trail, a dirt road and finally into the macadam surface we see today. Still, through all the changes and improvements to this road, the alignment never strayed more than a few hundred yards from the highest ridge of the Peninsular Divide.

To the west of the Divide, all streams eventually drain into the Chesapeake Bay; to the east they drain into the Delaware Bay. If a Hasher were to drop her trousers and pee into the Chisel Creek (which runs through Nichol Park where we began today’s Hash) her excreta would find its way into the Chesapeake. If that same Hasher were to empty her bladder into the West Branch of the White Clay Creek (which runs through Crossan Park where the apres was held), to the Delaware Bay it goes.

Before the assembled Hashers could tuck into delicious steaming crockpots of hearty harvest fare, the Right Rev. Butthead gathered those present into a Circle of fellowship, castigation and attempted debauchery:

Surprise! The Pack felt that the trail was a bit sh!tty, and suggested that the Hares enjoy a Down-Down.

Virginal Cherry Hashers Just Terry and Just Heather, who by general estimation sported between them an average bust of 34-B, declined the Option which might have confirmed this suspicion, choosing instead to take the Down-Down.

Just Fred, however, enthusiastically accepted the option and, to the utter indifference of most, flashed both left and right t!t. He too, then took the Down-Down.

The cult of Hashi Interupti were well represented this day by Up the Rear, Turn the Other Cheek, Lost Boy, Circle Jerk and Do Me On the Beach. They took their medicine like true Hashers - bitching and moaning all the time, as if having a beer were a bad thing.

Had Wet Spot been grabbed, hog-tied and thrown into the Holy Hash Circle before he was allowed to escape antě aprěs on his cute lil’ two-stroke scooter, I am sure that he too would have joined in the mass whimpering.

Devil Woman, having only just met five time Hasher Just Myrna, offered the Naming Nomination of Wet Lay, which we believe refers to Just Myrna’s recent Haring and trail setting during an all day soaking downpour, but of course we can hope that the allusion is actually of a more carnal nature. Forced to her knees, Wet Lay was first gently anointed with a sprinkle of Holy Hops, then given the full inverted 12-ounce baptism.

After the Circle was closed, raucous and raunchy behavior was replaced by the subdued revelry of ravenous Hashers enjoying their apres repast. There were quiet murmurs and mumbled mouthfuls. The setting sun transformed the park into a landscape tinged with pinks and grays, and even the Hash Doggies at last curled up for a nap.

A few hardcore party hearty types made plans to maintain their buzz at a nearby roadhouse, but a clear majority took the Religious Advisor’s advice and simply went in peace into the night.

Bunion Butt
October 2005
Files:
Hash_Trash_Crossing_the_Great_Peninsular_Divide.doc