"And Time, that Gave, Doth Now His Gift Confound"

Returned today to that place in the forest that can only be reached by boat.   It's the solitude that I love.   It reminded me of something I memorized many years ago: 

Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end,

Each changing place with that which goes before.  In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Nativity, once in the main of light, crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, 

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, and Time--that gave--doth now his gift confound.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, and delves the parallels in beauty's brow,

Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, and nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.  

~William Shakespeare 

Spring at Last

 When I left for Haiti, one week ago, Southwestern Pennsylvania was still chilly and gray.  

 During my absence, a gentle ghost of spring visited the land.  

 Of course, compared to any Caribbean nation--even the unluckiest--this place is still pretty monochromatic.  

 It was a beautiful time in Haiti.  The people are wonderful; despite poverty, disease, and ecological ruin, it's a lovely country with dramatic mountains and endless beaches.  We did some sustainable humanitarian  work in the cholera-prone highlands there.  But it's good to be home to my native place of oatmeal skies.  

Scotch Hill Church

           Scotch Hill Presbyterian Church is officially 164 years old, though it seems to have been unofficially in operation for something closer to 176 years.  I've never heard a good explanation for the name, since it's not on a hill but on relatively level wooded terrain.  The building dates back to 1851.

           Some say that the mounds of earth over the graves in the cemetery were called "hills," and so the church was originally known as "Scotch Hills" in reference to the graves.  The small graveyard is worth a visit.

           I'm mostly interested in the meetinghouse architecture.  It's a unique design that you find replicated among early Protestant churches throughout Northwestern Pennsylvania.  Wolf Creek Church, Amity Church, and Mill Creek Church--all Presbyterian and all near Grove City--are identical to it.  The unusual windows are clear glass in deference to the Puritan influences that used to dominate American Presbyterianism.  But the windows are also arched in a neo-Gothic style that is reminiscent of the stained glass back in Scotland.  One side of the room was for women and girls; the other side was for men and boys.  That's why there are two front doors.  Just like a pair of modern restrooms, you had to enter the door assigned to your sex.  Once inside, there was no center aisle, but a low partition, running right down the middle of the room, separated the men's pews from the women's pews.  Families could kind of sit together in the same row, but the females and males would be separated by a low wall.  You couldn't do that nowadays because most men--especially up in the North country--only go to church if their wives drag them there and supervise their every move until the last hymn is sung.

Heron Trail, Raccoon Creek

           The Heron Trail is a short but scenic connector path.  It has some nice views as it wends up into the highlands overlooking the "Upper Pond" at Raccoon Creek Park.  Strangely, the trail was completely virgin territory to me.

            Saturday was the perfect day for a hike.  Cool and bright.  Starting off at the Mineral Springs trailhead, I was amazed to find eleven cars in the small parking lot.

           Pittsburghers must have cabin fever.  Even in high summer, I've never seen so many cars in the lot.  But truly, most of them didn't hike very far into the woods; many lingered close to the parking area.

           My love for Raccoon Creek is familial.  Like a family member, I did not choose the park; circumstances chose it for me.  I might never have had the wisdom to pick it for myself, but I'm glad it's in my life.  Once again, I was astonished to come across a whole gaggle of tents at the year-round Sioux Camping Area.

Ghosts of Finleyville

           Truly, if ever there were a haunted town, it's Finleyville, PA.  I went there in search of a well-known abandoned house that locals believe is somehow associated with George Washington.  But I chickened out when I saw how badly the property owners want to keep people away.  I never even saw the house, but the woods all around it was plastered with "No Trespassing" signs.  Alas, maybe I'm getting skittish in my middle age, but the adventurous spirit that used to drive me has softened into something a lot more cautious.  I'm actually thinking of trying to find out who owns the place and asking permission to visit it.

          All of Washington County is a little ghostly.  It's pretty, rolling farmland reminiscent of Kentucky horse country.  It's got some 18th century settlements and many very grand old farmhouses, some dating back to the late 1700s.  There are a lot of abandoned properties, and a certain air of semi-dereliction that exists right alongside all the forlorn beauty.  As in much of Southwestern Pennsylvania, the ugliness of industry exists right beside the natural beauty.  The county is known for its covered bridges, some of which have been uncovered so that all the frack-traffic can come rolling in to drill for natural gas.  They poison the water, and the air, and they send all their riches back to Texas.