Ghosts of Summer

 It's an early autumn heatwave in Southwest Pennsylvania, though the leaves continue to fade into tints of yellow.  In the wild western marches of Raccoon Creek Park, where the Palomino Trail leaves Nichol Road, it plunges into the woods then skirts the edge of a pleasant hayfield.

 A little gravel lane known as Sipp Drive runs past a few farms and ends at the park boundary; once inside the park, the old roadbed becomes the Palomino Trail.  It's a strange juncture in the forest, near the edge of a hayfield: a pleasant place in the sunny late morning, but I imagine that it becomes eerie as nightfall encroaches.  

I recently discovered another blog that explores the Keystone State, but it differs from S&J in two significant ways: the other blogger covers a much wider territory than I do, and he is especially (though not exclusively) interested in the creepy and unexplainable.  Looking over his blog made me particularly sensitive to any eerieness that might be lurking out there in the woods...even though I came across precious little.

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Pennsylvania is apparently perceived by outsiders as a slightly spooky place.  I've recently discovered the fiction of John Gardner, a New Yorker who ended up living (and dying young) in the Northern Tier of our state.  His books were popular in the 70s and early 80s.  I first read his novel October Light, which was set in my all-time favorite state, Vermont.  He captures the essence of the place beautifully.  Then I read his novel Nickel Mountain, which is set in Upstate New York.  That place, too, he describes with perfect precision.  Currently, I'm reading Mickelsson's Ghosts, his novel set in Pennsylvania.  While I admit that he depicts the place accurately--right down to the local accent--he adds a touch of ghostliness that makes me think, "Oh, yeah, he's right about that, isn't he?"

 I did indeed return to the unmapped trail system that I discovered last week and followed the trail that runs alongside Little Service Run.  The bugs were almost unbearable, and the path disappeared in many spots.  But that's the advantage to following a creek; you can never get lost.

And it was a rewarding trek.  It led me to a place on the stream where little bronze fishes darted nervously in the sunlight-dappled water.  The sugar maple at the edge of the water is in a hurry for the fall.  By the time October arrives, it will already be fast asleep.