#37 🎵 Where Did She Come From, Where Did She Go, Where Did She Come From, Squarepie Joe 🎵

Peters Mountain Road to Route 325 (Clarks Valley Road)

10.34 miles | 1,391 ft. elevation gain | 1,744 ft. descent

Pennsylvania finally decided to give us a little break today.

Don’t get me wrong…there were still plenty of rocks reminding us exactly where we were, but compared to yesterday, today’s terrain felt almost…civilized. (I know, Pennsylvania hikers are probably laughing right now.)

The trail, however, told a different story.

Everything was soaked from the violent storms that rolled through overnight. The ground was muddy, the rocks were slick, and every step reminded us just how much rain had fallen.

Before we even started hiking, though, something happened that stayed with me for the rest of the day.

As I pulled into the Appalachian Trail parking lot on Route 325 (Clarks Valley Road), I noticed a woman standing with her thumb out.

Hitchhiking.

Honestly, that’s something I’d mostly seen in old movies, not standing in front of me on the Appalachian Trail.

I pulled into the parking lot, and she walked over to the car. I asked if she was okay.

She smiled and explained that she had been caught in last night’s tornado warning and severe storms. Everything she owned was drenched. Her sleeping bag. Her clothes. Her backpack. Every piece of gear she depended on was soaked through. She was hoping someone might give her a ride to the Stay-AT Hostel so she could dry everything out. I learned her trail name was Squarepie.

Katie had just arrived to leave her car before we headed out on our hike, and we both immediately felt for her.

We offered her food and water, and I told her, “If you’re still here when we get back, we’ll take you to the hostel.”

I didn’t say it just to be nice.

I meant it.

Some people may think picking up a stranger is risky, and I understand that perspective. Kindness should always be paired with awareness and good judgment. But I’ve always believed that if we let fear keep us from helping others every time an opportunity presents itself, we risk losing something important about who we are.

I’d rather live in a world where people stop to ask, “Are you okay?” than one where everyone simply drives by.

That promise stayed with me for the next 10.34 miles.

Every time the clouds started building, I wondered if Squarepie had found a ride.

Katie and I talked about Squarepie throughout the entire hike. We both agreed that if she was still waiting when we got back, we’d take her to the hostel and offer to grab her dinner first.

Thankfully, today’s storms never found us.

We were also grateful that today’s trail was much kinder than yesterday’s. Pennsylvania’s rocks have certainly earned their reputation, and after yesterday’s relentless footing, today’s terrain felt like a welcome reprieve. The trail was still saturated from the storms, muddy in places, and slippery underfoot, but every easier step was appreciated.

When we finally descended the mountain back to Route 325…

Squarepie was gone.

Instead of celebrating another completed section, our first thought was about her.

Had she found a ride?

Was she safe?

Had someone stopped to help?

We looked around the parking lot for a minute, hoping she’d already made her way to a warm shower, dry gear, and a comfortable bed.

We’ll probably never know.

We don’t always get to see how someone else’s story ends.

But we always get to choose the role we play in it.

The funny thing is, she stayed on our minds long after the hike ended.

When we got back to the hotel, Katie looked over at me with a grin and suddenly started singing…

“Where did she come from? Where did she go? Where did she come from, Squarepie Joe?”

I laughed so hard and I keep laughing. What a silly song.

After spending the entire day wondering whether a complete stranger was okay, it was exactly the moment of levity we needed.

But even through the laughter, I realized something.

Sometimes people cross our path for only a few minutes. Sometimes all we can offer is a bottle of water, a snack, a conversation, or the promise of a ride if they still need one later.

We may never know whether those small acts made a difference.

That can’t be the reason we do them.

Kindness isn’t about getting credit or hearing the ending to the story. It’s about deciding what kind of person we want to be. It’s about pausing our lives, for someone else.

For me, that’s someone who chooses compassion over convenience.

Someone who believes it’s worth taking a thoughtful, calculated risk to help another human being.

Someone who hopes that if I ever found myself standing beside the road after a terrible night, soaked to the bone and needing a little help, another hiker would stop and ask me the same simple question.

“Are you okay?”

I hope Squarepie found a warm shower, dry clothes, a good meal, and a safe place to sleep.

And wherever the trail carried her next, I hope kindness found her before the next storm did.

Trail Lesson: The Appalachian Trail isn’t just about miles, mountains, or even Pennsylvania rocks. Sometimes the greatest lesson isn’t found at the summit, it’s found in a trailhead parking lot, in a conversation with a stranger, and in the choice to care for someone you’ll probably never see again.