The Concord Grapes

The ripening of my Concord Grapes brings back memories of my youth. We had a large Concord vine growing on an arbor along our farmhouse lawn. The grapes would begin ripening near the end of summer. It seemed they were always ready to eat by the first day of school. I remember my brother and I coming home from school and feasting on the delicious grapes.

Concord Grapes have a thick skin. The way we always ate them was to squeeze the grape while holding the stem end between our lips. The result was an explosion of flavor as the pulp popped into our mouths leaving the skin between our fingers.

As life goes, many years have passed since my school days and the old vine has long since perished.

When I moved to my current residence thirty years ago I planted two vines. I took this shot of them about a week ago and tonight while mowing the lawn I noticed that many of the grapes were ripe. The mowing had to wait as I again relived old memories. Childhood memories brought alive by the taste of those wonderful grapes.

Today was the first day of School

Family Picnics

In his rush to make the steamer disappear
Logan has forgotten to wipe off the telltale signs of its demise

Remember when we were young? For some of us it has been more years than for others but fond memories always linger on. Great food along with family and friends, jokes, stories, and good conversation are not soon forgotten. Family picnics create memories that last a lifetime.


Logan, pictured here, is just beginning to fill his storehouse of memories while at the same time giving us older folks new ones along with refreshing our memories of our own childhood long past.

A Cold Winter Night

A light snow passed through our area this afternoon. The sky cleared as darkness fell revealing a full moon shining beautifully over the new fallen snow. It brought back memories from my youth.

My bedroom was in the second story of the old farm house. The room was unheated with an inside temperature nearly the same as outside. A thick pile of blankets and quilts made my bed very snug after the initial shock of getting in. My bedroom had a window with a view. On cold crisp moonlit nights I would sometimes lie in bed looking out upon the beautiful snowscape until sleep would overcome me. As I viewed the scene outside my home tonight these memories came flooding back

No, I wouldn’t trade the comforts of my modern home for that drafty cold farmhouse. I no longer have to dread the thought of bare feet on a freezing floor, putting on ice cold clothes in the morning, or worse still stepping barefooted into the small snowdrift on the floor after a windy night. I no longer dread those things but neither do I feel the exhilaration of rushing down the cold staircase to hover over the delicious warmth radiating from the wood stove while savoring the sensation of the heat penetrating to my very core.

I would not want to go back, but the memories are precious

I will always treasure them

Our past is what makes us the person we are today

Ramming Through

The Ram seems poised to push his way to freedom through the brush and vines that have him trapped as time and the elements erases his very existence.

I photographed this Ram while taking a stroll this evening on a neighboring property. It has been many years since I seen this car but it does hold special memories from my youth. Paul, who is my Dad’s first cousin, took an interest in my brother and me when we were still quite young. We shared some similar interest and Paul was eager to share. We traveled with him in this car to many local jam sessions where everyone would bring their musical instrument and play and sing until the women folk would bring out the refreshment. Homemade ice cream, watermelon, and many other assorted goodies would be served. Afterwards some more music and lots of visiting would complete the day. The music consisted mostly of old Country tunes seldom heard today like The Wabash Cannonball, The Old Age Pension Check, and The Great Speckled Bird.... Songs that truly spoke of country living.

Paul also introduced us to his style of buck hunting. Paul was a very proficient “still hunter” and took us a few times to the mountain and taught us the basics of his technique. It was from him that I learned how to “hunt” deer and not just go and sit hoping that a buck would pass. Paul’s old Dodge carried us on all of those early outings. I remember the floorboards rusting out and when he would cross the creek the water would come in. We quickly learned that when crossing the creek that it was a good idea to lift our feet!

While photographing the Ram the memories came flooding back

Double Exposure

The old Tower Snappy was a very primitive camera compared to the inexpensive models of today. The aperture was preset and the shutter had only one speed. The film was wrapped in paper with a black lining to block light. The outside of the paper was of a different color with the frame numbers printed on it. The film was advanced manually buy turning a knob while watching for the next frame number through a small red window in the back of the camera body. There were no safeguards to protect from double exposure so if one forgot to advance the film between shots a surprise awaited them when the photos returned from processing.

The above photograph of my Dad with his first school bus is an example of the accidental double exposure. Although the image is jumbled it has remained in my collection of snapshots from my early years

My First Camera

My photography hobby began at an early age. In 1963-64 Mom and Dad bought me my first camera. I remember Mom ordering it from the Montgomery Ward catalog. I do not remember the exact price but it was somewhere around $1.50! The camera was a Tower Snappy which I turned around and always referred to it as my Snappy Tower. It took 620 film which was available in both B&W and color. My brother was shooting an old Ansco box camera that took 120 and Mom had a 127 so we never got our film mixed up. Most of our early photos were taken with B&W film as color was prohibitively expensive. When Mom would order in a new supply of film it was just like another Christmas Day! Soon rolls of film would be mailed off for developing and the two to three week turnaround seemed forever!

I still have the old Tower Snappy although it has been retired for many years

This photo was taken of me by my brother in 1964 when we were visiting a neighbors farm. I suppose it was our version of a “Photo Shoot”. My prized “Snappy Tower” is hanging from my arm.

Reflections of Christmas Past

With Christmas just around the corner I must take a moment to reflect on Christmas past. We always had everything we needed growing up on our family farm but excess money was not one of our family luxuries. Each Christmas my brother and I would always find that “perfect present” to wish for, usually from the pages of the Sears or Montgomery Wards catalog. Christmas editions were quickly scooped up and swiftly became dog-eared. A little while later, circles drawn in pencil would appear around those items that we felt we could not live past Christmas without. With full knowledge that we could not possibly get everything hoped for, less than veiled hints would be dropped as to the order of importance of the marked items.

Since we spent our days in school, we would not be home when the packages arrived by US Mail. Many evenings after school were spent in activities of which Santa would not approve!

Dad and Granddad were school bus drivers and would arrive home between 5:30 and 6:00 while my brother and I would be home by 4:30. Mom and Grandma would be busy with the evening milking, giving brother and I chance for some quality snooping! Sometimes we would get lucky and find Santa’s stash. The excitement of seeing those boxes was overwhelming. The temptation to sneak a peek would become irresistible. Quickly a plan to explore the packages without leaving a clue would be formulated. We probably were not as good as we thought, although Mom and Dad never left it show, and neither did we! The challenge was to check everything out before the temptations were wrapped in pretty paper. Once wrapped they were as safe as if they had been put in Fort Knox for there was no way we could duplicate Mom’s wrapping job!

In 1962 the present I could no longer live without was a train set. I first found it in one of those delicious Christmas catalogs. I remember finding it hidden under Mom and Dad’s bed one evening. Now this was “Serious Temptation!” This was such an important present there was no way I could be satisfied with just a peek! Oh how carefully I would open the precious package, noting exactly how each part fit into its spot! I would fit the track together carefully and set the locomotive on it followed by the cars! What an amazing sight to behold! Oh how that little train would wiz around the track! A few minutes of pleasure then it would be time to carefully repack being careful to place each part in its place and finally closing the box!

Contrary to the admonishments of our parents “don’t snoop or you’ll ruin Christmas”. Snooping was just as much a part of Christmas as Christmas Morning! The anticipation, the checking all the popular hiding places, the looking for new places, the thrill of finding, and the “Danger” of getting caught were all very important elements of the Total Christmas Experience! And besides, when we Snooped Successfully, we knew that Christmas Morning would not be disappointing in the LEAST!

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Did you snoop this year?

A Tribute to Aunt Mae

My Aunt Dorothy Mae passed away this past Tuesday. I will always remember what a quiet sweet lady she was. Mae was my mother’s big sister and they remained close through out their lives. When I was a child, Mae and her husband Paul would come to our farm for Sunday afternoon visits. While the adults sat around and talked I would frolic around with my cousins showing “the town kids” all the wonders of the farm. They were enjoyable days which would always end too soon.

My last memory of Aunt Mae is of a day my wife and I visited her and Uncle Jr. We were working on collecting our “Family Genealogy in Pictures”. They had an old portrait of their father and his brother taken in the early 1900’s which I photographed to add to our collection. Mae and Jr. spent the afternoon telling us stories about their childhood. It was a most enjoyable afternoon spent with two lovely people.

This photograph of Mae and Paul was taken somewhere in the mid 1940’s when my mothers family was enjoying a picnic. The photographs from this day make up the majority of the pictures in our collection of their side of the family from the earlier years.

Our Neighbors Home

Our next door neighbor’s home was built around 1908. The architecture you see here is typical of the more upscale farm houses in our area at that time. The original design was meant to house two families. This was the home of the folks featured in my August 16th post “Family Photos. I took this photo in 1976.

The farm has been in the same family for well over one hundred years now. Gerald and Virginia are the current owners and are the third generation to have lived in it. The house has been remodeled and still retains all of the charm and beauty of the country farm house.

I enjoy living beside such a picturesque home, but the best part is not the house,
but rather what good neighbors Gerald and Virginia are.

Memories

Family ties are strengthened by spending time together and participating in activities we all enjoy. In this photo a friend is teaching his sister to shoot a rifle. One can easily see from their expressions that they are enjoying the moment.

Good times make good memories;

Both are great medicine for the soul

Pennsylvania’s Rural Holiday

Of all the holidays celebrated in rural Pennsylvania, Monday will be the largest. This holiday is always celebrated on the first Monday following Thanksgiving. Schools will close for one to two days. Factories will close for as much as the entire week! Many other businesses will be closed also. The population of our county began to rise Friday and will reach its annual peak by dawn Monday morning.

Hundreds of trucks and SUV’s will be parked by the roadsides. All available camping spots on state forest land will be occupied and blaze orange will be visible in nearly all vehicles moving on our country roads.

What is the cause of all this fervor and celebration? Deer Season!


I now look back at my youth; deer season was a big event for me, it was the time that Dad and Granddad would go out before dawn and oft times return with a mystical, nearly supernatural, mythical creature from the forest, The Buck! The buck would be hung to be admired and later processed into delicious venison.



In this photograph I am posing with one of Dad’s bucks around 1960. I remember his story of how he dropped this buck on what had been my Great Grandfathers farm at very long range. I never knew Dad to take a quick shot, and he very seldom missed. Now with his advancing years he has no interest in taking another deer.

I began deer hunting in 1966. My Grandfather and I set out to hunt the woodlot on our family farm. Shortly after dawn the rain began. Soon it was coming in wind driven sheets. I had no rain gear and was soon thoroughly soaked. I sat at the base of a tree I had picked because of the deer trails running near. In the downpour my youthful patients wore thin very quickly and by 8:00 I was wondering just how long I could hold out! A few minutes later I noticed a deer moving in the brush behind me. In a few moments his head and neck appeared from behind the small pines. A BUCK!!!

I could not believe my luck! My little Winchester 38-40 was already up, the front sight settled in the rear notch, I trained the sights on his white throat patch, as if by magic the little rifle cracked. At a mere fifteen yards, I had taken my first deer, a small eight-point! I felt like a king! I had just accomplished a right of passage into manhood. I was now a Deer Hunter!

Soon Granddad and Dad arrived and helped drag my trophy out. With the rain pouring down, they were glad to call it a day and retreat to the warm dry house. I remember the temperature dropping and by evening the first snow of the year was on the ground.

We never thought to photograph my buck until it was nearly too late

That was forty years ago! I can scarcely believe that time has flown so quickly. I have never missed a deer season, never missed opening day and have never gone a year without harvesting a deer. Many things have changed in all those years, but God willing,

I will be there, In the Woods
Silently
Watching and Waiting For

The Buck

Thanksgiving Tradition

When I was growing up our family’s way of spending Thanksgiving was different than most of America’s although not uncommon here in rural Pennsylvania at that time.

Thanksgiving was hog butchering day. I remember our family butchering on Thanksgiving from when I was a small child, too young to help. We continued the tradition until my Grandparents passed away in the mid ‘80’s. Granddad and Grandma would purchase pigs at the livestock auction in the spring. Raising the pigs was Grandma’s project. She would feed them a wet feed mixture twice daily along with corn on the cob. The weeds we pulled from the garden would also be carried to them. They would grow quickly and by Thanksgiving would normally weigh 225-275lbs.

When we were ready to begin Grandma would go in the house and turn up the radio so as not to hear the shots or the squeals if the shooting should go awry. Grandma’s attachment to her hogs ended once this part of the task was completed. Being the sturdy farmwife, she viewed the processing of her pets into the winters meat as just another part of life on the farm.

We actually did the butchering as a two day operation, Thursday we killed, scalded, scraped, hung, and gutted. Friday was reserved for cutting meat, grinding sausage, cooking lard, and applying the first of the sugar cure to the hams, shoulders, and bacons. Mom would refrigerate the sausage keeping it fresh until deer season the following week. She would always count on her successful hunters to provide venison burger to mix with the sausage and increase the lean content.

The old butcher kettle heating up for the hog scalding
Note the scalding barrel in the far right of the photo

Pork, soon to be made table ready

With Thanksgiving being a very busy work day our family always postponed the traditional feast until Sunday. My brother’s wife continues this tradition, although we now call it the pre-Buck-season dinner. As for the butchering, I alone continue this tradition by purchasing a slaughter hog from market each winter. This year, as in past years since my mothers passing, my father will spend the day with my wife and I, and yes, we will have the “traditional” Butterball!

These photos were taken the Thanksgiving of 1971.

This was the only time I can remember that we had a deep snow to butcher in.

The Watering Trough

Along the side of Pa. Rt. 16 are the remnants of this old watering trough. It was used to water horses as they stopped to rest while climbing the Tuscarora Mountain. Later it was used to top off the radiators of the early cars. I remember my grandfather telling of the days when it was made of wood.

The water came to it through a pipe from a mountain spring. When I was a child we would haul our livestock to market across this mountain and frequently stop on our return to get a refreshing drink of the cool mountain water spilling continuously from the pipe. On a hot summer day it was a most welcome respite before continuing our trip home.

I remember my grandfather telling that in earlier years it was made of wood. The watering trough was a very useful piece of infrastructure whose time passed as technology improved. I remember my grandfather once saying that he had seen man go from the horse and buggy to the moon. Now I look back and can only marvel at the amazing progress that I have witnessed in my years. I am sure that my stories of “the old days” seem just as quaint to young folks now as Granddad’s did to me.

Hunting

In Pennsylvania the fall hunting seasons are in full swing. Archery deer, small game and turkey are now open, with the muzzleloader doe having closed last Saturday and general deer season only a few weeks away.

The motivation for hunting is as varied as the hunters themselves. Some hunt only for the thrill of the kill and some of those have no concern for the game they hunt or the laws that govern hunting. These are my enemies; I have spent over two decades of my life fighting them. Others are true sportsmen who care deeply about the environment and all of the creatures in it. That hunters were at the forefront of the first conservation laws in this country and with their dollars continue to finance the majority of wildlife protection and habitat improvement projects in our country is a little known fact.

For me, hunting is a time to be spent in our wildlands, in solitude, alone with the beauty of nature, away from the ringing of phones, the hassles of the office, or the traffic snarls. It is a time to slow down, to feel the chilly breeze upon my face, to savor the sweet odor of new fallen leaves, to watch as a single leaf falls to the ground, to watch the first snowflakes of the year, a time to be alone with my thoughts, while at the same time being so attuned to my surroundings that a glint of sunlight or a flicker of movement through the undergrowth is not missed and will reveal the presence of a previously undetected creature.

Hunting is a time to visit old homesteads that have been abandoned for many years. A time to sit and look at the ruins and think what life may have been like in those days. What were these people like, where did they go, what were their hopes and dreams? I can only daydream about it for I will never know. Many lie in now unmarked graves, their names lost to history.

Hunting is a time to pause beside a mountain brook and listen to its music as it makes its way down the hollow, to look at the beauty of the leaves trapped in its flow.

A time to look closely at the bubbles formed for only a moment at the bottom of a miniature waterfall.

Hunting is a time to reach back and reconnect with our early ancestors when their next meal depended upon the success of the hunt. It is a time to again connect with the predator instincts that are genetically encoded within each of us.

This is what hunting means to me.

Autumn Creek

On this day the creek is ablaze in spectacular fall colors. I stop and look in silence. I have known this creek for my entire life. My childhood home place is bordered by it on two sides. The creek was an everyday part of our lives. As a child it was a place to skip rocks, a place to swim, it is where I caught my first fish. Most days it is a pleasant gentle stream, a nice place to relax.

Occasionally its attitude changes for a time and it becomes a raging torrent devouring everything in its path. When the floods come we are certain to have fences swept away. The crops growing in the fertile creek bottoms are lain waste.

In its rage it deposits a new layer of fertile silt upon the fields, new ground for new crops to thrive in.

Dick’s Lower Place

Today I visited an old farmstead known to older locals as Dick’s Lower Place. Dick Mellott had previously lived farther up the mountain and after moving the locals began referring to his two homesteads as the upper and lower place. While the family lived at this location my Grandfather taught the children at Maple Grove, the local one room school. At the time there were many families living on this mountain side and some of the remnants of their homes still remain. These were hardscrabble farms with thin rocky soil where scratching out a living was difficult at best. The area has now reverted mostly to forest and much of it is now part of the Pennsylvania State Gamelands system. The names of these places will soon be lost to history, possibly with the passing of my generation. The stone cellar is all that remains of the house, but two of the outbuildings were made of rot resistant chestnut log construction and the ruins remain.

The rough hewn logs tell the story of hours of toil; felling the trees with a two man crosscut saw, flattening two sides with an adze, notching them with an axe and stacking them into a building. Not much money was required in the construction but rather the cost was many hours of hard backbreaking labor.

The adze marks from many years ago are still plainly visible.

A square cut nail still protrudes from a fallen timber.

A hole bored by the doorway, probably used as part of a long gone latching mechanism.

Today the family is gone. The children who once romped here have all grown old and passed on. Only the yucca remains as the last living reminder of the family who once lived here.

The Little Country Church

I have always had an appreciation for the architecture of the little country churches. They are so different from the mega churches often built today. These little churches seem so serene, as though the problems of the world have passed them by. Many of them are quite picturesque as well. They are often accompanied by a small grave yard. As you wander through it you will find many generations which have made this church their spiritual home and are now at rest, buried beside their ancestors.

These churches house small congregations as well, usually less than one hundred and frequently much less. Unlike large churches where one may attend for years and never learn everyone’s name, here all know one another intimately. Everyone regularly attending soon becomes like family members and the term “Church Family” has a very real meaning.

I grew up in a small church and vividly remember the Sunday School classes, the preachers pounding the pulpit, revival service with dinner in the church basement at its conclusion. I remember the Sunday afternoon hymn sings where the local talent would give their rendition of the good old gospel songs.

If you have never attended worship at a Little Country Church and you have the opportunity, do it! You will be glad you did. You may find yourself with a whole new family of friends.

Reflections of the Past

Grandpa and Grandma husking corn

In my youth our family consisted of three generations living under one roof on the family farm. Our farm was consistently behind in technology. Corn was the last harvest of the season and as such it seemed there was no hurry finishing the task.

The process started cutting the corn with a binder pulled behind the Farmall H tractor. The binder tied the corn in small bundles and dropped it on the ground. Once the cutting was done we would pick up these bundles placing a number of them together in a shock. To weather proof the shock it needed to be tied tightly. This was accomplished by wrapping a rope around it and with a person on each end pulling it as snug as possible then wrapping a twine around the tightened shock and securing it. After an appropriate time to dry the shocks were then taken down and each and every ear husk by hand. The ears were then put on a wagon, hauled to the crib and shoveled into it. The corn fodder (stalks) were retied into bundles and set up into shocks to be fed to the cattle during the cold days of winter.

One of grandpa’s hobbies was growing watermelons. He grew some of the largest, sweetest watermelons for miles around. Late each summer many friends and relatives would come for a Sunday afternoon visit and watermelon feast. As the threat of frost would near Grandpa would pick the remaining watermelons and place them in the corn shocks through out the field. Of course he couldn’t remember which shocks contained the melons so when one was discovered while husking it was time for a break.

Life moved much slower in those days. It didn’t seem as if people were in the hurry they are today. Neighbors visited neighbors; families spent many Sunday afternoons together. Have we really improved our lives with the fast passed atmosphere of the present?

This photograph was taken with my Minolta SLR

The Gate

The gate has served its family for many years. Its duties has been to keep the cows and chickens out of the lawn and to keep the children safely in. Once this was a bustling farm, the parents, busy running their business while tending to their five children. Of the young children who once played in the lawn some have passed away. The gate now hangs in disrepair as this farm as well as its occupants shows the obvious signs of age.

Time waits for no one.

The old have learned this truth,

the young will as time passes.