The Ragged Edge

Here we stand at the edge of a whole new year. The ragged edge, you might call it. It seems unfair that each year begins and ends in bitter cold, in a season of dormancy and death. There are things to celebrate and anticipate in the year ahead. But I can't help but focus on the things all intelligent people dread: most notably the right wing wacko takeover of our state government. And so, this scene of desolation is for all fearmongering conservatives and for all the fool Pennsylvanians who voted them in. I would never wish a pox like unto the above on anyone's houses...but you did it to yourselves.

The Faithful Few

These time-worn sentinels still stand guard at their appointed places. Look closely and you'll see them: a row of emaciated fenceposts, long since stripped of barbed wire. A swift kick would level any one of them. But since their long idleness began, three or four decades ago, no one has bothered to kick them.

Picnic Table at the End of the World

It seems like the end of the world, though it's right here in crowded Allegheny County. Behind the abandoned farmhouse described below, there's a long-disused parking lot. Dead weeds rattle in the wind, pushing through cracks in the pavement. Old lamp posts lie in the snow like felled trees.

At the far end of this bleak expanse, there's a sharp descent into the wooded valley of Pinkerton Run. And here at the cusp of the valley, just at the edge of the old parking lot, sits this lonely picnic table. It's almost inviting.

Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like a frozen pond in the intense silence of winter. Despite a popular wave pool and a few blazed trails, Settler's Cabin Park is 1,610 acres of mostly untamed woods. It's called a "park," which conjures images of fountains and statues. But it's really more of a woodland reserve. Many unmarked trails traverse the area.

You can follow the steeply descending ridgeline down away from the picnic table, into the deep valley. At the valley floor, there's a trail that follows the brook upstream into the snowy woods toward the pond. You have to ford the run. I hadn't walked across a frozen stream in a long, long time. Made me feel younger than I am. It also made me feel daring, since the only other set of footprints were made by someone who didn't have the nerve to cross on the ice.

I can't decide what kind of sylvan creature forded the stream on this fallen log. They're cat-like paws, but my guess is a porcupine. Whatever it is, I'm kind of jealous. I often think about spending the night alone in the forest in the winter, huddling for warmth in a debris hut beneath the snow. Everything is so still, so quiet, so solitary. I always forget how beautiful the winter is until I find myself out in it.

Settler's Cabin(s)

The two cabins in the area of Settler's Cabin Park are confusing. One is called the "Walker-Ewing Log House" (below). It bears the official plaque of a historical landmark, and it's located on Noblestown Road just south of the park.

As you can see, the bottom house is still loved by somebody, and might even be inhabited. There was steam rising from the furnace vent when I stopped by. Actually, this place has three different markers, one claiming that it was constructed "circa 1785," one claiming "circa 1790," and a third asserting "circa 1795." That's what happens when you start lying about your age...or anything else for that matter; you lose track of the lies and forget what you've told people.

The smaller, simpler log cabin pictured above is actually inside the park on Pinkerton Run Road, just next door to the farmhouse posted below. The park is named for this cabin. It's called the "Walker-Ewing-Glass Log House," and nobody gives a damn about it. According to Wikipedia (truth democratized), this house "may have been built in the 1780s by a man named John Henry." Another source says that it was attacked by Indians in 1782.

How did anyone get any sleep back in those days? Every bump in the night might be a whole band of marauding murderers. Not to say that the indigenous peoples were bloodthirsty, but the attacks in the late 1700s were ruthless and gruesome. No police, no 911, not so much as a streetlamp. What would impel anyone to camp out in a place like that under the threat of being tortured and scalped, together with wife and children?

The top house, which is apparently a slightly older structure, sits boarded up and neglected, like the farmhouse next door to it. There are no historical markers, and even the sign that gives the name of the house is broken and leaning against the wall. On one exterior wall, someone has spray-painted the words, "I just wanted to say hi."

Alas, lord help the people, and the buildings, and the places that rely on Allegheny County for their upkeep and maintenance.

That neglected cabin would definitely require a flashlight if a person were to find a way inside. Just saying...

Abandoned Farmhouse

More shots of yesterday's big find at the largely wooded and undeveloped Settler's Cabin Park. I dreamed about this farmhouse last night, and must admit that the dreams were a little troubling. Click on any picture to enlarge it.





It was good to trek in the snow. All the seasons offer their wonders, but winter is the best time to be alone in the wilds. The silence. The stillness. The solitude. Plus, there are vistas in the winter that are hidden at all other times of the year.

This old house is not typical of farmhouses in this region. Most local farmhouses seem to retain a folksy version of the old Greek Revival designs that were already falling out of fashion in urban centers by 1830: two floors, five windows on the upper floor front, four chimneys placed precisely opposite each other, etc. This place, while still aiming for the symmetrical design that was so dear to the rationalists, is only one and a half stories with recessed porches and add-ons. I think this kind of house was called either a "center hall plan" or a "hall and parlor." It's creepy as hell inside. See the posting below for interior shots.

Abandoned Farmhouse

This abandoned farmhouse is on Pinkerton Run Road in Settler's Cabin Park, just opposite the old barn which now serves as the park's maintenance building.









Enter through the kitchen window on the back side of the house.

















Someone said that the most beautiful word in the English language is cellardoor. (Sounds like two words to me.) But I gotta say, the doorway into the cellar of this place is anything but beautiful. It creeps me right the hell out.

















My guess is that this place has some historical connection to the 1780s log cabin that's adjacent to it, the one for which the park is named. Strangely, the cabin is boarded up, too. It will be the topic of a future post.









This is a traditional "hall & parlor" design, I think, from the mid-1800s. Because most of the windows were boarded up, some of the rooms are too dark to enter without a flashlight.

Notice the remains of red and blue stained glass in the window above the door. I counted four fireplaces. I didn't have the balls to go up to the second floor by myself. (I really don't want to discover a decomposing body, and this would be just the place for that.) There was a page from a Pittsburgh newspaper dated 1987. I think it said The Pittsburgh News, which as far as I know is no longer in print.