Abandoned Farm in Greene County

Park near the now-defunct dam on the now-defunct lake at Ryerson Station State Park, and follow the Sawdust Trail up the hill and into the woods.  The trail runs about half a mile steeply uphill and comes out where the park ends on the side of a little country lane known as McClellan Avenue.  Standing there on the side of the narrow farm road, you'll see a mysterious old farmhouse nesting among the trees at the top of the valley.  Click on this photo to get a better look.

I'd done the brief hike several times over the years, and each time I've wondered about the old house on the hill.  Is it occupied?  Is it abandoned?  Is it one of the many old houses in this area that's been purchased by the frackers or the coaldiggers and left to fester along the side of the road, a forlorn ghost of happier times before unbridled capitalism began consuming everything?  This time, instead of peering up at the old farm from the edge of the woods, I decided to emerge from the forest and stroll up the little lane to take a look.  

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, and the city was on lock down for the COVID-19 quarantine, but I'd been hearing that the parks closest to Pittsburgh were crowded.  Where to go?  Ryerson Station, of course!  It's less than an hour's drive through scenic countryside to one of the least-visited parks in our region.  During our time there, on such a beautiful spring day when everyone had cabin fever, I saw only three or four other cars.

And yes, this pleasant old homestead has been sitting empty at least ten years, I would guess.  The farmhouse presides vacantly over a green valley of dairy farms.  Its barn, and tractor shed, and garage all sit around facing the house as if waiting to be told what to do, expectant, obedient, hoping for some instruction or occupation.  What an idyllic little settlement this place once was!  Look at the deep front porch, with its stone columns, overlooking the valley.   And the kitchen porch, facing the yard and fields.  See the broad, sloping lawns, the shade trees--not too close to the house.  The hilltop isolation with its hints of monarchical grandeur, as if to say, "This is my valley.  I am the king of this hill."

Here's the view from a bit higher on the same hill.  If this were in Allegheny County, I could look up the address and see who owns it, and how much it's worth, and what it costs in taxes, and when it was last sold, and how many bedrooms the house has, and how many acres the farm is, and what kind of condition the house is in.  Here in Greene County, I'm not sure if such information is available to the public.  I feel a real sense of wistfulness when I see such a lovely old place returning to its elements.  As the years pass, little gaps between shingles will develop into full-blown leaks.  Gutters will clog.  Cracks in the foundations will get bigger.  And in time, someone's once-upon-a-time home will be no more.   It could still be a dream property for anyone willing to undertake the back-breaking task of farming--and willing to live in frack country.

Sacred Spaces, Downtown Pittsburgh

First Presbyterian Church of Pittsburgh is a majestic old building.  The church has a storied past, too.  It's the oldest religious congregation in the city, with roots going back to General John Forbes' capture of the French Fort Duquesne in 1758.  Forbes was a Scotsman, so his chaplain was naturally a Presbyterian.  The chaplain conducted services, and a small congregation grew out of it.

Click on this photo to enlarge it.  The wooden wall behind the high altar opens when the pipe organ begins to blare at the start of the Sunday service, revealing a large choir area that otherwise remains hidden.

This view is from the chancel area, looking toward the main entrance on Sixth Avenue.  The great old organ is in the loft above the door.

These are all Tiffany windows.  That's what the building is most known for.  I'm glad that they keep it open on weekdays.  I do drop in whenever I've got time to spare downtown.  You often find the odd urbanite sleeping in a pew, or resting, or praying.  It's an island of serenity amid the bustle of the city.  Stillness, solitude, silence, reverence.  Where do you find these things?  I know them best in the forest, but beautiful sacred buildings are a nice second-best.

A very old cemetery--Pittsburgh's first--stands between the Presbyterian church and the Episcopal cathedral.  This is the headstone of a certain Red Pole, a Shawnee chief who is buried among the white settlers.  

The Shawnee moved around a lot.  I believe they were originally from the area that we now know as Kentucky and Tennessee.  But by the 18th century, there were many in Western Pennsylvania.  Click on this photo to read about old Red Pole.

The oldest grave I found here belonged to one Samuel Dawson, who died in 1779.  I've heard that there are older ones.

And here they lie still, in their long-rotted tails and gowns and wigs, with a 21st century downtown swirling about their mute repose--the forebears of a now declining empire.

This is the interior of the Episcopal cathedral, which shares the churchyard with First Presbyterian.  You see how early America worked?  The Church of England and the Church of Scotland side-by-side, presiding over the dead.  It's a cathedral in name, but far less grand than many other Episcopal and Presbyterian churches in the city.  It's far humbler than its next door neighbor, too--less original, less grand, considerably smaller.