Muskrats & Memories

During the photo session with the muskrats this one decided to be brave and leave the safety of the water. After walking only a few feet from the water’s edge it seemed to lose its nerve; stopping and watching me intently trying to figure out what I was while listening to the clicking of the shutter

Bringing a tidbit to the surface the muskrats were content to feed in my presence with safety only a quick dive away.

My earliest memories of muskrats are of my grandfather trapping a few each autumn from the creek that borders our family farm. From his stories he had trapped muskrats quite a bit in his younger days when the money he made from the furs was important to him and grandma as they tried to make ends meet during the great depression.

As a little kid I would tag along with him as he carefully concealed his Victor #1 long-spring traps at the bottom of muskrat slides with the trap wired to a rock placed in deeper water so as to drown the rat once it was caught. Granddad had a couple of wire fur stretchers and a few boards whittled into the correct shape for drying the fur. I can still remember the sweet musky smell of the drying furs and the tales he would tell as he skinned, fleshed and stretched the pelts.

One of his favorite tales was of one particularly tough depression winter. He often spoke of those times, as he and many of his generation never forgot how difficult the Great Depression was. He told how that as long as they were able to keep the interest paid on their farm mortgage that the bank would not foreclose and in that particular winter the fur from his trapline provided the money to cover the interest.

To this day I when I encounter the little water rats they always bring back the long ago memories of granddad’s trapping and his stories of how he and grandma, a young couple with a recently purchased farm just starting a family, coped with the hardships that the Great Depression threw their way.

The Death of the Family Farm

Husking corn was rare in our area when I captured this photo of my mother and grandparents during the mid 1970’s

Civilization is in a state of perpetual evolution. As knowledge and technology change, so do governments and occupations. During the sixties the viability of the traditional small family farm passed.

The Pennsylvania Farmer Magazine was delivered monthly to our mailbox. Frequently the editorial column would focus the wrath of the failing farmers upon the favorite whipping boy, the Middleman. At the time, as an adolescent, the identity of the middleman was quite unclear to me. Only later did I come to understand the propaganda value of creating this scapegoat for farmers to focus their anger upon, instead of on the real issues driving the farmers to expand or fail.

Looking back to the 1800’s and very early 1900’s the small, nearly self sufficient farm, was a model of success. Livestock provided the milk, eggs and meat required to feed the family. A large vegetable garden along with a small orchard provided the family with both fresh and canned fruits and vegetables. Many farms raised sheep to provide wool and meat as well. Any overabundance was traded with the neighbors or traded to the local store for goods or services that could not be produced. The farm family in reality required little that could not be produced on the farm. Energy consisted of muscle power, both human and draft animals. Land that was unsuitable for farming was allowed to grow in timber providing lumber and firewood.

As technology improved, no longer was the farmer limited to the small amount of acreage he could till with his team of horses. With the tractor, not only could the farmer maintain more acreage, he needed to if he were to survive. With this increased technology came other increased cost; gasoline, diesel, electricity, telephone, insurance, fertilizer, and let us not forget taxation.

As the farmers productivity increased so did the distance to market along with an ever increasing requirement to deliver a more consistent processed product.

This is where the infamous, much maligned “Middleman” entered onto the scene. Who you might ask is this Middleman?

He is the trucker, the butcher, and the cashier at the local grocery store. He is the man at the feed mill who buys grain and then grinds and formulates it into livestock feed. He is the Kellogg’s who processes the corn into cornflakes; he is General Mills who turns oats into Cheerios. In short, the Middleman is everyone involved in moving the farmer’s product to market. Was the Middleman responsible for the demise of the family farm? In my humble opinion I say no!

Ultimately technology was to “blame” for making the remaining farms larger, more productive and more efficient while operating on slimmer profit margins. Because of farming improvements our country has been blessed with some of the cheapest food on the face of the earth; the cost was the loss of a way of life; The Small Family Farm.

Antietam, Parting Thoughts

As we leave Antietam I hope you have enjoyed viewing this series as much as I have sharing it. These photographs were taken one beautiful morning in late August as I roamed this sacred ground. I much prefer to visit such places when no crowds are present as it allows me to reflect upon what transpired here.

As I walk these grounds I feel as if I am in a sanctuary, much the feeling of reverence I experience in a house of worship but much stronger. The combatants upon this field were all American, some from the North and some from the South. Both sides worshiped the same god and asked their god to protect them and to give their side the victory. Many were good and a few were bad, but you could not separate them by the uniform they wore.

This war was fought to decide whether State’s rights came before the powers of the Federal Government. The issue was slavery.

Looking back I have difficulty understanding how a people who worshiped Christ and read the same Bible I read could have conceived and perpetrated such an institution but then again it is also difficult for me to understand how this same people took this land from its rightful owners, the Native Americans, through centuries of ethnic cleansing.

I have no answers, only questions as I contemplate the history of this great country. I have listened to preachers tell how our country was founded upon biblical principles by God fearing men and I am left to wonder when I look at the “skeletons in our closet”.

Antietam, Parting Shots

The final Union Assault was upon the Confederate right across what is now known as Burnside’s Bridge. This attack finally failed about 5:30pm with the arrival of Rebel troops under the command of Gen. A. P. Hill. The troops moved immediately into line of battle upon arriving after an exhausting seventeen mile march from Harpers Ferry effectively stopping the Union advance.

This cannon sits near where the Union troops entered Burnside’s Bridge.

A co-worker/friend of mine is taking a photography class taught by a former National Geographic photographer. The assignment for the fifth class is to shoot a scenic. He is required to shoot either in the morning between the hours of 7-9am or he may choose the evening between 5-7pm. I mentioned to him that Antietam would be a great place to shoot and took the opportunity to share this series with him. Following our conversation I began to make some mental notes concerning why I prefer the morning in most cases.

First I must admit I am a morning type of guy. My favorite part of the day is that peaceful time just before the sunrise. If you have ever shot anything other than the occasional snapshot I am sure you understand the effect of low angle lighting and its ability to enhance a photograph but naturally it is present both morning and evening.

Morning though is unique, heavy dew can make a scene sparkle or even become the subject itself. Ground fog can also be used to our advantage in many ways, and last but certainly not least; if the light is not correct for the shot envisioned, just wait, for it will improve. If this same situation presents itself in the evening the only remedy will be a return trip.


If it were necessary to choose between the two I am sure I would choose the morning but with that being said I would sorely miss the warm light that can only be found during a beautiful sunset.

Antietam, the Center

After the early morning attack against the Confederate left failed to break the enemy line, Union action moved to the Rebel center. The Union advance was halted by troops holding a very good position in the Sunken Road, soon to be renamed Bloody Lane.

The ferocity of the fighting here is demonstrated by the information contained on a plaque commemorating the 14th Indiana Infantry. Of three hundred and twenty officers and men engaged here from 9:00AM until 12:15PM, thirty were killed and one hundred and fifty wounded.

I captured this image through the rail fence that runs along the north side of The Bloody Lane

A Glimpse through the Window of Time

I glanced out the window of the Dunkar Church and was transported back in time. A small Confederate formation stood by their encampment, the same ground occupied by Stonewall Jackson’s troops in 1862.

This humble church, the sanctuary of worship of a small German Baptist sect became the objective of the Union Army 1st Corps commanded by General Hooker on the morning of the 17th, the bloodiest day in American History.

Silent

The Artillery pieces stand silent as they have for nearly one and a half centuries; a memorial to the men who fought and died here, a memorial to the day when the fate of our country hinged upon the actions of the men who met upon this field of battle.

As I walked the battlefield in the early morning my thoughts were interrupted only by the occasional biker or jogger. In the calm of the morning it was difficult to contemplate what the battle on this very ground must have been like. I tried to envision the movement of the troops, the sounds of the cannon and musketry, the yells and screams of the men. I tried to imagine the dash and daring along with the terror, the pain, and immense carnage but to little avail.

Antietam lies Peaceful and Calm

September 17th, 1862 Remembered

September 17th 1862 remains the single bloodiest day in American History.

Two Great Armies met at Sharpsburg Maryland one hundred and forty five years ago today to contest the right of states to leave the Union. A union created just some eighty years earlier. The north remembered this terrible battle by the name of the creek that flowed through the contested ground, Antietam. While in the south it was known as the Battle of Sharpsburg. Nearly twenty three thousand causalities were the result of this single day of fighting, all American. To put the causalities into perspective, this day totaled more than was suffered in the American Revolution, The War of 1812, The Mexican War, and the Spanish American War combined.

This photograph is of the historic Rohrbach's Bridge, forever known since that fateful day as Burnside’s Bridge. I captured this image one misty morning as the first rays of sunlight fell upon it.

Gargoyles & Castles

As out of place as a Model A at Daytona Speedway; the Berkeley Castle sits high on a ridge overlooking Berkeley Springs, West Virginia. Amazingly this castle was built as a summer cottage.

As I passed by this morning I could not resist pausing for a quick shot. After taking a few “tourist type” shots I began looking for an unusual perspective.

Click here to learn more about the interesting history of this unusual structure.

C&O Canal

The C&O Canal was conceived to be an affordable artery of transportation between the Chesapeake Bay and Ohio. Construction began in the 1830’s with the canal opening to barge traffic in 1850. Goods were moved by barges pulled by mule teams. The canal spans 184 miles and roughly follows the Potomac River. Seventy five locks were built to raise and lower the barges.

In retrospect the canal’s builders and investors had overlooked one very important competitor, a competitor who would keep the C&O from becoming the profitable investment they intended it to be, a competitor who would along with the rampaging Potomac River eventually become it's downfall, the B&O railroad.

Today the C&O is a National Historic Park. The tow path that mules once trod is now a hiking and biking path. Remnants of the canal are still visible.

I captured this image from inside of lock 47.

The Carrick Furnace

Today my Wife and I took a morning drive into parts of four Pennsylvania counties. While driving North on Rt. 75 in Franklin County we came across this interesting ruin from days gone by. During the late 1700’s and into the mid to late 1800’s Franklin County supported a number of iron works. The Carrick Furnace was operated by the Dunn Family from 1828 until 1880.

Amazingly, as you can see, some of the iron parts of the facility are still intact standing to the right of the hearth itself.

Shooting this scene in the fog seemed fitting as so much of the history of this business and the men who labored here is now lost to the “Fog of Time”

Today Franklin County does not support any iron or steel works although it is a thriving manufacturing area with many job shops and a few large OEM’s.

Historic Law Office, McConnellsburg Pa

I captured this image on a recent morning in McConnellsburg Pa. This home was built in 1892 with the matching two room law office adjacent to it. Recently restored and repainted its beauty contributes greatly to the Fulton County Courthouse Square’s appearance.

To learn more history about this home and office visit http://news.mywebpal.com/news_tool_v2.cfm?pnpid=541&show=archivedetails&ArchiveID=920391&om=1

Aitch, the village that Was

I’ll see you in “H”

What would normally be considered a rude comment has a different meaning in the Raystown Lake area of Pennsylvania. Aitch (pronounced H) once was a village but now is a launching area. This photo was taken in the early morning before the crowd of boats and jet skis arrived. The village of Aitch lies under the water of this small cove.

The 8,000+ acre Raystown Lake, created by the US Army Corps of Engineers as a flood control project in the 1970’s displaced many families. What once was a rural agricultural valley is now a playground for people from all walks of life.

The Collars

This evening I spent some time poking around an old barn. These horse collars hanging on wooden pegs drew my attention.

I could not help but question how this rustic scene came to be. Who hung the collars here on their pegs for the last time? Did they know they would never be used again? What became of this person? Do photographs of the horses who strained in the collars remain in someone’s collection of old family photographs? Perhaps I have the photos in my own family collection.

One thing I can be sure of is the person who hung the collars here never gave it moments thought that some day many years later someone would photograph them and that image would be available for anyone around the world to view. Of that I am certain!

At times it is good to stop for a moment in our busy lives and ponder our surroundings. I always seem to find more questions than answers but the moment is enriching just the same.

Mayapple

I remember my Grandfather teaching me to look for mushrooms among the Mayapples. Each spring Granddad would make numerous trips on his old Ford Ferguson tractor to the southwestern end of his creek bottom to search among the Mayapples for white morel mushrooms.

Frequently he would be rewarded with a number of the delicious delicacies. Grandma would slice them in half and soak them in a pan of salt water overnight. The following day would find her rolling them in flour and browning them in her cast iron skillet. Granddad may have found them but the entire family loved to eat them. The tasty plate of mushrooms would disappear all too quickly!

I assume the mushrooms still grow there but they are camouflaged so well that I never was good at finding them. Today I was content to photograph the delicate blossom of the Mayapple

A Historic Sunrise

Some folks are night-owls who stay up late into the night and arise from their beds long after the day has begun. They do not know what beauty they have missed. The dawn of a new day is frequently a glorious sight.

Saturday morning is my time to greet the dawn, some times from the mountain tops and some times in the valleys. Soon I will meet the sunrise on the Chesapeake Bay but on this Saturday I met the dawn by the Potomac River.

This river holds particular significance in the history of our country for along much of its course it was the dividing line between the North and the South during our country’s Civil War. As I stood along the historic river I thought about the time many years ago when General Stonewall Jackson and his troops were deployed along the far bank with the artillery on the hills beyond. From their position they shelled Union positions in the small town of Hancock to the left of the photograph. The Confederates spent a day looking for a place where the troops could cross giving the Union time to bring up reinforcements. Stonewall; upon learning of the arrival of Union reinforcements withdrew his troops.

At another time it was learned that Pennsylvania’s Governor Curtain would be passing through nearby. A plot to kidnap the Governor was conceived and Confederate troops quietly crossed the river hiding in a culvert nearby. Their officer along with a small detachment went to do reconnaissance and ordered the remaining troops to remain hidden until their return. The men became restless and a few went out to do reconnaissance of their own. They discovered a cold storage business and stole some ice cream. Shortly after getting back to the culvert their commanding officer arrived. The men, not having ever seen ice cream before hid it under their hats where it quickly began to melt, running down their faces. The soldiers had been discovered, their plan foiled and they quickly returned across the river

The Tonoloway Primitive Baptist Church

This church, established in 1752 served as the Union hospital during the siege of Hancock. A few years ago restoration work began and as the wall paper was striped away a number of places were found on the wall where the wounded had written their names and the date of their stay.

One-Room Schools Pt. 3

Although this school has been closed for many years it remains in very good condition. Although not being used, apparently the present owners are not allowing it to fall into disrepair.

I was very much surprised when I looked through the window to see a room much as it was following the last day of school. Only the furniture and wood stove appear to have been removed.

Many of our one room schools are now being used for other purposes. This school continues to serve the community as the Thompson Township Municipal Building.

The School Teacher

Morton’s Point School
March 29th 1923
Granddad is the teacher in the rear

My Grandfather’s was a school teacher during the one-room school era.

Granddad would sometimes tell stories of his life as a country teacher. The teacher would be hired by the school board year by year. Ladies were only employed as long as they remained single. The job entailed much more than teaching the students. Cleaning the school, splitting firewood, firing the stove before and after school along with disciplining the students was all a part of this demanding job.


The teacher would be roomed near the school. The school board would provide these accommodations by contracting with a nearby family to provide a room and meals for the duration of the school term. It was common for teachers to only serve one or two years at a particular school before being moved on to another location.


I recall hearing Granddad reciting poems he used while teaching his students. Poems such as, Thirty days has November………., Red sky at night, sailors delight, red sky in morning sailors take warning, were used to teach useful lessons to his hardscrabble country students.

Needmore Normal School
1918
Granddad has a small asterisk above his head

Becoming certified as a teacher was considerable different in those days. Following completion of the eighth grade the prospective teacher attended Normal School for the summer. Following this course they were then qualified to teach. They were also required to attend Normal School each summer during their teaching career. Granddad first attended Normal School at a local one room school and near the end of his teaching he attended State Normal School at what is now Shippensburg University.

Granddad left the teaching profession in the summer of 1927 to take up farming. With a wife and a new son it was time for him to settle down to live in one place with his family. Little did he know that teaching was about to undergo a revolution that would make combining family and teaching much easier.

Abandoned

The final bell has sounded. Class has been dismissed. All has fallen silent where students once gathered. The old school stands empty, faded and forlorn.


For many years the one room school house was a common sight across our county’s landscape. Rural schools were placed within walking distance of the pupils as they had little means for transporting the children. Change came slowly, but the advent of the school bus sounded the death knell for these quaint little institutions.


During the 1920’s larger schools began to be built in our area and by 1960 the last of the one room schools were closing. Advances in technology continually change our lives and the demise of the one room school is one more example.

Great Granddad's Barn

Although it has been out of the family for over forty years my Great-Grandfathers barn remains in great condition. Good construction and timely maintenance have kept this structure looking good for well over one hundred years.

With the light dusting of snow and a partly cloudy sky creating a spotlight effect, Saturday morning was the perfect time to photograph the old barn.