Tag: Pennsylvania

The Door to Somewhere

On By Jennie Lee CastrogiovanniIn personal essay8 Comments

My Aunt Emme and our two good friends—one human, one canine– and I felt a strong need to get away from so-called civilization the other day. So, we went a ramblin’ in Sullivan County, which, if you don’t know, is in the Endless Mountains of northeastern Pennsylvania. The residents there have a saying that they live in the Gem of the Endless Mountains.  They got that right.

Anyway, we were looking for some answers to a Quest. Some historically-minded citizens from Sullivan County have developed a History Quest, and you have to travel the highways and bi-ways (mostly bi-ways) of Sullivan County to find the answers to such questions as: “Find the cemetery in Bellasylva. There is a tombstone with two dogs on it. What are the dogs’ names?” So, in search of answers, we toured some cemeteries in Dushore and then made our way to Lopez and the ghost town of Ricketts and on to Jameson City, which would probably not fit anyone’s definition of a city, more like a sliver of a village, but in the old days, it was another story. Anyway, we took a break from our quest and hiked for a couple miles at Rickett’s Glen State Park and then ate lunch at a restaurant, which had this sign out front: Welcome to Rickett’s Glen Hotel, conveniently located in the middle of nowhere.

Eventually, in search of the almost mythical cemetery at Bellasylva, we made our way up to the wilds of Dutch Mountain, where the bear and the rattlesnakes roam. And that’s where we saw the really interesting sights. Trees and trees and more beautiful trees! (But unfortunately, no bears and no living snakes, but possibly a dead baby rattler?)

At one point we had a stare-down with this buck, and I am hoping that he makes it through the next few weeks.

Then we came to a house with a totem pole, of sorts, out front. The totem pole was made of many, many shoes tied together, and I’d really like to know the back-story, but it didn’t appear that anyone was home.

We came to a house with a sign out front that suggested that if we trespassed, we would be shot. We skedaddled out of there.

After a few wrong turns, we found the cemetery at Bellasylva. We found the tombstone with the dogs’ pictures. They were German Shepherds, and their names were (don’t look if you are doing the quest) Ouigie Goldie and Duke Prince.  They must have been buried with their humans because there were two humans’ names on the tombstone, as well. I forget the humans’ names, but I liked it that they thought so much of their dogs that they were all buried together.

Then we came to this door.

It was fascinating, all by itself, this beautiful red door with only the forest behind it. We stared at it for a few moments, and I snapped a pic and sent it to my Snapchat buddies. I labeled it “the door to nowhere” because that is what I had heard it was called.

My brother-in-law soon responded to the picture, “Maybe, it’s the door to somewhere.”

Of course, I thought, it is the door to somewhere. That felt like a revelation to me. It was the door to somewhere beautiful, the forest, which is probably my favorite place to be. On that day, that was my reality. I was in a beautiful place making discoveries with some wonderful people and a special dog.

I think I needed that reality check on this wicked-hard week. I’ve been living too much in my own head this week. The “what ifs?” are dragging me down. Thoughts of the future are scaring me right now.

 But then there is also this door in the woods—the door to somewhere. And somehow, that gives me hope.

Peace to all.

Daffodils

On By Jennie Lee CastrogiovanniIn nature, personal essayLeave a comment

I’m just going to say this one in pictures because what can you say about daffodils that hasn’t already been said a million times better by William Wordsworth?

If you can believe Wikipedia, William wrote the famous daffodil poem on April 15, 1802, after a walk along the bay with his sister. What could be better?

Here is the poem, if you would like to take a walk amongst the daffodils with William:

https://poets.org/poem/i-wandered-lonely-cloud

Thank you for stopping here awhile.

Went hiking

On By Jennie Lee CastrogiovanniIn nature, poetry, spiritual11 Comments 
Went hiking today 
with my dear ones, 
dogs and people, 
except for the old, old
dog, 
who rested on a cushion, 
and waited,
snoozing, 
while we trekked
up the mountain,
through the pines, 
along the named trails
that used to belong 
only 
to deer,
on this cloudy,
breezy,
chilly
March day, 

after a season
of sorrow-- 

coyote and  
wild turkey 
tracks, 

talk of the 
magic of possums,
talk of old times
and
people--

hemlocks,
maples, 
and my favorite
birches, 
trees, 
rocks,
moss, 
leaves,
did I mention trees? 

Through the snowy 
woods we 
walked, 
and paused
and talked
and walked
some more
and paused
and talked-- 

up the pipelined 
way, 
up, up
and over the 
thank-you-ma’ams -- 

gazed off 
at the splendid
Endless Mountains,
and descended 
through the meadow
feeling blessed 
by Mother/Father
Earth/God
and washed 
in the loveliness
of our company, 
of our way.

Thank you for reading this. This one is for my hiking companions.

Thoughts for an Easter morning

On By Jennie Lee CastrogiovanniIn Uncategorized5 Comments

I wrote the following essay in April, 1995 for “Meandering”, a bi-weekly column that I used to write for a farm newspaper, The Farmer’s Friend. This year Easter is late, and there are more signs of spring than usual, but here on our farm, we are just between crocuses and daffodils on nature’s calendar, and temperatures yoyo from the 30’s to 70’s so I still stand by what I wrote almost thirty years ago.

         

   There are places where Easter is celebrated amidst riotous colors, where the grass is a rich shade of green, where flowers bloom—lemony daffodils, rose-hued azaleas, tulips dripping red, orange, purple.

            Here in northeastern Pennsylvania though, you can color Easter in shades of chocolate, from the bare-boned trees and the muddy roads to murky, just-thawed ponds and skittish beige deer.

            The skies you can color changeable at this time of the year. Depending on a whim they can be variations of gray, robin’s egg blue, or lily white. Streak them with a hazy rainbow after a shower; strew them with clouds—cumulus, stratus, cirrus, nimbus. Be sure to make the clouds’ shapes interesting—form them into a goat’s head or a set of angel’s wings.

            From your palette select pastels: amber for the stubble-strewn fields, shades of pink and mauve for the far-off forests—colors that hint of things to come. Touches of apple green should spike out here and there, pale, barely-touched-with-chlorophyll green.

            In other places Easter is heralded with trumpet fanfares and 100-voice choirs echoing alleluias. In the hills and valleys of Pennsylvania the quiet colors are complemented with the muted music of geese honking overhead, with the robins singing their odes to spring, and with  the spring peepers’ joyful fanfare.  The sounds of wind and rain add to the northeastern concerto: whispering, bellowing, shrieking wind along with rain percussing—pattering, drumming, pounding a steady beat.

            Easter temperatures in other places will be in the 70s or 80s, and people might wear sun dresses and short-sleeved shirts as they bask in the sun’s early glow at sunrise services. Easter temperatures here may be in the 20s, and we might wear our winter coats and gloves as we hunt for Easter eggs in 12 inches of snow!

            There are many who prefer to flee south for Easter—to celebrate this holiday where flowers bloom, and skies are always sunny.

            For those of us who stay here, spring is still but a promise—one last snowstorm and a hopeful daffodil away. Never mind what the calendar says, the physical evidence is sometimes mighty slim. For hardy northerners, spring is still something to be hoped for, something to have faith in.

            I believe that our less-than-stellar days seem somehow appropriate at Easter-time. Faith, hope, a promise—isn’t that what Easter is about anyway?

Peace to you, and thank you for reading this!

Day one of a random week in February

On By Jennie Lee CastrogiovanniIn Uncategorized2 Comments

Damn! I have not written anything for my blog since Jan 1st. So I am going to try something different this week: I will challenge myself to a short blog entry every day this week. And double damn, it’s Monday, so I’m already a day behind. But not if we are going with the French calendar, in which the week starts on Monday, so let’s go with that.

Here’s a photo for this Valentine’s Day, a serene place nearby, a view that gave me peace last year as I headed to school with a head full of worries. I hope you receive it in the spirit that I am sending it, as a little gift on this day dedicated to love.

Thank you for reading this!

Stoney Brook Meandering

On By Jennie Lee CastrogiovanniIn Uncategorized1 Comment

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Recently my Aunt Emme and I, along with Marti, the shaggy Golden Lab, drove up Windy Valley Road along the Mehoopany Creek to Stoney Brook Trail, where we hiked through the snowy woods for a mile or two on a crisp winter day. The woods were still with only the sound of the rushing brook and a few fox tracks to disturb the snow.

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As we walked up the trail, we chatted about the creek, the woods, family, and memories. The creek was ravaged several years ago by a terrible flood that stranded people in the homes nearby and changed the channel in many places, bringing down trees that are slowly decaying along its length, making it impassible in places where hikers and hunters used to be able to ford it.  Nonetheless, it is still a place of beauty and peace, where you can go to clear your mind as you hike up a number of trails along tributaries with evocative names: Henry Lott Brook, Scouten Brook, Kasson Brook, Red Brook, White Brook.

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Later, after Marti, much to our dismay, had jumped into the frigid water for a quick bath, we made our way down a different path, through a stand of Hemlocks to the edge of the icy rushing water at The Rocks. The water cuts through stone here and forms a swimming hole below, which was very popular back in the day for all kinds of boisterous activities. But on this winter day we were the only visitors who beheld how the mountainside above shadowed the sun, and turned this glen grey-blue as the blue-grey water churned by.

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These places along the Mehoopany Creek hold some of my best childhood memories. It was here where we used to make our way up to the State Game Lands in August to pick wild huckleberries at Tamarack Swamp or Crane Swamp, only after my dad had wrapped home-made cardboard guards around our calves to protect us from rattlesnakes. This is where Aunt Emme led us on horseback rides up steep old logging roads and deer trails, through the quiet forest, and down the even steeper trails until our backsides ached and our legs were stiff.  Often there were deer sightings; once we saw bear cubs lumber out from behind a cabin. I didn’t see this myself, but my aunt tells of one ride where they had to step around two entwined rattlesnakes raised up like Cobras, either fighting or mating-it was hard to tell which. This is also where Aunt Emme  used to lead her  4-H Hiking Club as she taught her own kids and others wilderness skills: how to set a tent, how to start a campfire, how to stay on the trail, how to leave the woods better than when you entered. It was a crime we dared not commit to leave a piece of litter behind.

We made our way back to civilization, pausing so I could take a picture of Buzzard’s Roost, an overlook and picnic site for weary hikers …and buzzards.  After some home-made soup and muffins, I headed home, restored.

This essay is a tip of the hat to all of the active members of the Mehoopany Creek Watershed Association, who work tirelessly year after year to preserve this sacred place. Thank you!

L6pwvAB2ReGiTc%AWoToAQ Thanks for reading this, and peace to you.