Two Trips Navel Gaze

My traveling experiences are so limited that it's embarrassing. I've never taken a major vacation, as in getting on a plane and biffing off to another continent or some fantastic national park. At the rate I'm going, it looks very unlikely that I ever will.

In the meantime, girls just wanna have fun. So this summer I took two weekend excursions, one with my daughter The Heir, and one with my daughter The Fair. (Old timers will notice I've changed this up a bit.)

The Fair and I went to my old stomping grounds. We visited my sister for an overnight at her home near Williamsport, Maryland. That was fun, because Sis has done a 180 in her political views and is no longer remotely interested in the Pentecostal people she used to hang with. We had a lot of fun! Here's Fair at the Potomac River, which was quite high.

The next day The Fair and I went to Cumberland, Maryland, where my grandparents are buried, right next to my grandfather's brother (and near another brother). I got to telling Fair all about how kind these people were, what straight-up great folks they were, and she listened to me gab. She's very interested in family lore, and I never get tired of talking about it.

So we laid some flowers on my grandmother's grave (she loved flowers). Then we drove out to Polish Mountain. There's a beautiful covered bridge at the foot of the mountain, perfect for photo opportunities.





This, of course, is The Fair, earning her name.

And here I am, on the other side of the bridge. Notice how high the creek is in the background! It's never like that in August!

(I try to counter-act my New Jersey license plates by wearing Orioles garb and putting an Orioles baseball cap in the back window of the Subaru.)

The best thing about this bridge is that, even after a major renovation in 1998, they didn't replace my grandfather's initials, carved who-knows-when. They used the original beams for the renovation ...

Those are my dad's initials too. Dad was a Junior. But this is Senior's work.

The Fair and I went to Polish Mountain specifically to watch the Perseid meteor shower. We have done this before, but not for a long time. We arrived at the old family home (now no longer in the family, and I'm the only one who cares), and of course it was cloudy. So we passed a few enjoyable hours excavating old bottles from the former trash heap that my great-uncle and great-aunt had out along the mountainside. Just look at this magnificent item Fair literally dug out of the ground!

Scoff if you like at the process of ancestor worship, but Fair and I had just spent an hour at a cemetery talking about my great-aunt and what a treasure of a person she was. This item was buried in the ground. Fair only saw the lid. It's an old one, too!

Time came to build a bonfire, except the skies opened up and a thunderstorm commenced. When that died down, we did build a fire, on the long shot hope that the clouds would clear away. And they did, for about an hour of meteor-viewing. We saw about a dozen. This is a low number, but hey, it clouded up again!

Fair and I stayed at the Road Kill Cafe, which has cute little cabins that are very rustic and clean. The next day we took a hike in Green Ridge State Forest. Now, this is where it really became frustrating. I have a goal in that forest to reach an extremely obscure swimming hole called Long Pond. Trouble is, the hiking trail is super steep. That doesn't stop me (see below), but on this day, we kept hearing thunder, and we kept getting little spits of rain. It just didn't seem like a good bet to be clambering about in those conditions. Fair did climb a bit and get a glimpse of the swimming hole, from a distance. So we at least know for sure it exists.

There are lots of cats and kittens at the Road Kill Cafe, just wandering around with only basic needs met. Fair loved this. We found many excuses to loiter, even when the cafe was closed.

This was an excellent and memorable trip back to the land of the ancestors (blessed be to them). I'm so glad my daughter The Fair is interested in learning about her family!


More recently I went on an overnight excursion with my daughter The Heir. While Fair is nostalgic for the land of her blood, Heir is eternally infatuated with New Jersey. This is good and bad. The bad part is, what a lousy state to be infatuated with! The good part is, it's easy to have fun experiences in New Jersey, because we don't have to drive for hours to get there.

Heir and I love to hike. I've been collecting waterfalls, so I tried to find a hiking destination that would include both waterfalls and vistas. Heir likes vistas.

Vistas? Waterfalls? In New Jersey? Shhhhh ... don't tell anyone!

Heir and I hiked for two days in Norvin Green State Forest. She was very patient with me on the impossible, ridiculous, no-woman-my-age-should-be-doing-this rock climbing.

First we took a trail to a place called Osio Rock. There was only one scary part.

The sign gives you an option for a difficult climb or an easy go-around. Guess which one Heir wanted to do? So, what the hell, I'm only gonna be 60 at my next birthday, I'm only the breadwinner in my house ... why not?

Yes, I did climb down this cliff. It was one of many.

It has always been my dream to go hiking in the grand parks of this lovely nation, but I've never had the opportunity. But I'll bet you even the most veteran hiker of Yosemite and the Grand Canyon never saw what Heir and I saw from the top of Osio Rock.

We saw the skyline of New York City. The photo does not really capture the surreal quality of the experience, but here goes:

Can't really see the skyscrapers unless you enlarge the photo. But trust me, they were there. It was like something out of Star Wars.

On the second day of our hike, I had researched a charming loop trail to a place called Wyanokie High Point. The trail also included a waterfall, Chikahoki Falls. I love those names, don't you?

The trouble was, the map that I was using didn't have proper topographical benchmarks on it. Free advice: always consult the topo map! Heir was very, very patient as I lugged my ancient butt up over rocks and down steep inclines, and up over more rocks, and up and up and up, then down and down and down, and all of it over rocks, rocks, and more rocks.

The waterfall was really pretty.

A smart, well prepared woman of a certain age would have called it quits right there, by the waterfall. Not me. Oh no. Off we went to Wyanoki High Point, by the toughest route on the map! I shiver just thinking about it!

I. Am. A. Badass.

The last observation I'll make about the jaunt to Norvin Green State Forest is that it was the first time I really used my organic, free-range hiking stick, pictured above. I grew it myself, and it was very helpful and not at all heavy or hipster!

In case you wondered what the rest of my summer looked like, here I am on a week day.

Hot, dirty, strenuous work on the paint crew, Monday through Friday, 6:00 a.m. until 2:30 p.m. But that's what gets a girl ready to climb rocks.

Occasional Photo

My computer is more than ten years old. It has been overhauled a few times, but it overheats and runs slow. Built for obsolescence, it is a veritable dinosaur.

Therefore, over the summer, I'll be posting some photos here to preserve them for the mists of time. This is one that was taken in 2011 in Bedford County, PA. Many generations of my family are buried in the same churchyard. The stone says Johnson, but the two behind it, Lashley, are also ancestors.

Computers start from scratch and are molded by their owners. People start from ancestors and are molded by legacy. Blessed be those who went before.

First Thing on My Mind

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where we're slowing to a crawl after a very busy spring break! This week I'll be posting some pictures of the Fairie Festival as they become available, and I would ask anyone who has any to send me some. There's a few good ones on my Facebook profile, but I can't get them to download properly.

I wish I could revel in the festival, but earlier in the week I had an experience that shook me up and has stayed with me. I'll get that out of my system and then move on to cheerier topics!

Last Monday I drove out to Polish Mountain in southern Bedford County, PA. My family lived there for 14 generations, and I'm mostly related to everyone who was living in the area before 1970.

When I was growing up, I spent many a fine summer afternoon with my aunt Belle and my uncle Earl. Uncle Earl was my grandfather's oldest brother, and he doted on me fondly, as retired shop steward factory workers will do. He let me roam in his sturdy barn (but I was not allowed in the hayloft) and play in the spring near his house. Aunt Belle had a garden that was the talk of the township, and she, too, doted on me as only a gardening grandma can.

None of us noticed the view from Uncle Earl and Aunt Belle's house, really. It was just mountains. The only time it became important was when a storm was rolling in. At that time it was a splendid lookout for any kind of rough weather, since the kitchen window faced due west.

After Uncle Earl and Aunt Belle passed in the early 1980s, one of their sons insisted that the farm be sold. That's the way it works. If more than one person owns a property, it must be sold if any of the owners wants out.

None of Uncle Earl's family members wanted the place. The little house (a log cabin with an addition and tar paper siding) wasn't big by today's standards, and the well wasn't altogether reliable either. So, onto the market the property went.

One of Uncle Earl's sons called me and told me the asking price. It happened that Mr. J and I were just getting ready to move to Snobville, and we needed all of our money to buy a house there. We couldn't take on the responsibility or the expense of absentee landlording (even though one of my cousins -- reliable too -- was renting). We had to pass on Uncle Earl's property.

The property from which my great-grandfather's grandfather marched to the Civil War.

The place was bought by a single woman whose idea of upkeep was to bring in her mail. She did nothing. NOTHING, to keep up the house or the barn. Barn wood is greatly prized by artisans, especially the big beams that hold the structure together. She either didn't know this or didn't care.

Some years she didn't even mow the yard. But she was living there, mostly.

Last month she put the property on the market. Her asking price is $250,000.

It's a 70-acre plot with an absolutely breathtakingly beautiful view of three states. This lady knows that the view is the selling point.

Up pops a buyer, right off the bat. Local blood, distantly but directly related to Uncle Earl and Aunt Belle. The offer: $200,000.

The seller turned him down.

Last Monday while I was visiting my granddad's place (also now up for sale, but at least well maintained), I walked over to Uncle Earl's house. Oh, the shame! The weeping and wailing of my kin! I could hear it through the Veil, readers! Word!

The big, sturdy barn is ready to crumble. A good windstorm will finish the job. Carpenter bees have consumed even the milled beams. But worse than that is the house. A log house, no doubt a candidate for the Historical Register, left to rot and ruin, to carpenter bees and termites and mold. Windows broken. Roof useless. Knee-high grass right up to the door that won't shut. Collapsed outbuildings, trash strewn everywhere.

But oh boy, that view. What a view! A quarter million dollar view! Forget that local buyer, hold out for the lobbyist from DC who likes his hunting and wants his martinis on a redwood deck overlooking three states.

I know that one should never Work in heightened temper. But I did it anyway. What was I going to do, wait around until I could get over my ancestral home having gone to rack and ruin?

I wish no ill upon the owner/seller, but I did lob one heck of an Intention onto that property.

Well, we all know you can't turn back the clock, and I shouldn't expect a place to look the same as it did 45 years ago. But wait. Why not? When you buy a property, you should be prepared to undertake routine maintenance. Log homes are built to last, with a little appropriate care. And, as I said, the barn could have been dismantled and lovingly used for artistic purposes.

Does anyone want to purchase a beautiful view of three states? And a ... tear ... down?

Buyer, beware.

Of Morons and Mountains

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," where today we're gazing southbound at some top-quality morons at work. You go, morons! It's not my tax dollars you're wasting!

Today's Baltimore Sun had a front-page story about a group of African American legislators from Baltimore who have decided that Negro Mountain in Garrett County should be re-named. I didn't even know there was a Negro Mountain in Maryland, but I do know that there's a Warrior's Ridge. It's the next mountain over from Polish Mountain...

... emmmm ... Polish Mountain. That would be the Polish Mountain where my farm is...

The selfsame Polish Mountain that is now "under study" for a name change as well.

I kid you not, readers. A committee led by two Maryland lawmakers named Nathanial Oaks and Lisa Gladden has decided to look into dubious mountain names with the hopes of changing them to something more politically correct.

EXHIBIT A: MOUNTAIN TO BE NAMED LATER

I'll go out on a politically-incorrect limb here and say that I don't find "Negro Mountain" to be particularly offensive. But it's not my right to say. I don't live on Negro Mountain, and I'm not African American.

However, I do own property on Polish Mountain (at least for now), and I'm extremely affronted by Ms. Gladden and Mr. Oaks' sudden attention to its name.

Maryland's state anthem has pro-Confederate lyrics that are so offensive no one ever dares sing it in public. If the state's black lawmakers want a cause celebre, they could certainly begin with that song. Or they could re-name the statue dedicated to Confederate mothers in north Baltimore. Right in their own back yard.

But to suggest that the name of Polish Mountain is "under study" for a change is, to me, the finest waste of taxpayer dollars and hot air in the history of the Free State.

There's a whole scene in the Penn-Faulkner Award-winning novel, The Chaneysville Incident, that takes place on Polish Mountain. The author uses the name Polish Mountain. Just like everyone has since before any data was recorded on paper. No one really knows how the mountain got its name. It certainly didn't have to do with anyone of Polish ancestry. And it certainly wasn't a stab at Polish people. It's a beautiful mountain. Any Pole would be proud to live on it.

I have of course fired off a blistering email to Sens. Gladden and Oaks, telling them to get about some more important and relevant business. The time they spend studying Polish Mountain's name could be better spent ... oh, I dunno ... blocking development along the Chesapeake Bay? Improving the quality of Baltimore's public schools? Curbing irrational exurban development projects? Blocking the pending plans to drill for gas underneath the doggone mountains, with possible environmental devastation?

Oh, but it's so much easier to re-name the mountains! We'll just let the natural gas people in on the changes, so they can plan accordingly.

This is not the first time that I have noticed the preponderance of morons in politics. Where do we find these people?

I can't speak for Negro Mountain, but I think with Polish Mountain, my mountain, the crusading legislators may have met their match. You see, Polish Mountain begins at the Potomac River and runs due north into Pennsylvania. Yes, this name change would have to go through not one but two state legislatures. Who would have to approve sign changes, and map changes. And who would have to explain to the African American author of The Chaneysville Incident why his novel would no longer be geographically accurate.

I'm glad my mother-in-law alerted me to this pending legislation in Maryland. I have plenty of time to go home to Polish Mountain and speak to each and every one of its 376 residents. We will no doubt decide to secede from the state and the nation and form our own country. We'll name it the Democratic Republic of Polish Mountain. And we'll pick a better anthem, something meaningful like "Rocky Top."

If they re-name my mountain, I'm going to be so offended that I'll insist that they also re-name Druid Hill Park (in Baltimore). As a Druid, I STRONGLY OBJECT to having an urban park named after my religion!

Need Cheer

Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored," blue as the Wild Pacific on a rainy New Jersey day!

Since I got a full-time job, I've been pondering the possibility of buying out my family members and owning the family property on Polish Mountain outright. Just now the 76 mountainous acres are one-sixth mine.

My uncle and cousin are living there right now. My cousin had a realtor come out from Cumberland, Maryland. The gig is up, dear readers. The farm is worth almost $200,000. Why? The views. The size. The location, just a two-hour drive from all those deer-blasting Washington lobbyists.

I can't afford to buy the farm. I will never be able to afford to buy the farm. Well, let's never say never, but let's say BIG FAT PROBABLY I'll never have the dough to buy the farm.

Okay. So there are two things I could do. I could wallow in self-pity, weep and wail, or I could ask the faeries to help me devise a Plan B.

ATTENTION ALL FAERIES: ANNE NEEDS A PLAN B TO EASE THE PAIN OF LOSING HER BELOVED FAMILY FARM! FRONT AND CENTER!

Puck: Neither a borrower nor a lender be. Take the money and go on a spree! Why should I have to say anything more? You're 55 miles from the Jersey Shore!

Anne: (weeps) The Jersey Shore? That's my consolation prize? @#$@##@$!

Princess: Trees and stones, bucks and does... that place is a dump. Buy some new clothes!

Anne: Geez, no wonder the fairy tales always make faeries look flip. Come on, faeries ... I'm crazy with grief!

Puck: Crazy with grief. She needs some relief! Let's go to Wendy's. Where's the beef?

Princess: She wants a barn full of rusty old tools. With her share of the booty she could buy a few jewels!

Anne: For the very first time in my life I'm actually looking forward to an afternoon of teachers' meetings. Gosh. I think I'll go early and sit in the auditorium. Puck. Princess. Thank you ever so very much for your help ... NOT!

Host of Faeries: We want chocolate! We want chocolate!

Some days, everything that can go wrong does go wrong. Ah well, according to my handy Mayan calendar, this is the week of the Vulture.  Flap, flap. Self-pity is crap.