Iconic Towns of the Mon Valley: Brownsville, PA

 Last winter, I published a series of posts that explored some of the best known towns in the valley of the Monongahela River.  The coverage was limited to towns along the lower river, in Allegheny County.  But there are lots of other interesting old cities upriver and further south.  Today, I had an opportunity to walk around downtown Brownsville.  It's an intriguing place that looms large in the history of this region, but I've never had the opportunity to give it the attention it deserves.  Like all the old Mon Valley towns, I found that I liked the place.  Unlike its downriver neighbors--McKeesport, Duquesne, Clairton, and Braddock--Brownsville is not separated from the river by a vast, blighted field where a steel mill once stood, or still stands.  It's a pleasant town, perched comfortably right on the banks of the great Monongahela.  It's an old town, first settled in the 1750s and 60s.  It's a poor town.  Nearly all the storefronts along the main street--pictured here--are vacant.  There are many derelict houses, and churches, and businesses.  I didn't see it, but I'm told there's even a big, abandoned hospital.

 Huddling under a bridge--like some fairy tale troll--"Fiddler's" restaurant is a local landmark, and it still does a lively business.  Brownsville reminds me very much of my hometown, Oil City, PA.  It's got the same small town feel, walkable, livable, built to a human scale.  It's got the same interesting old architecture, the same hilly terrain, steep streets, intriguing alleyways, dark windows.  There's a forlorn beauty to both towns, though Brownsville is far older...and grittier...and more abandoned.

Locals are making some attempt to spark new development in their community, like this riverside park with its enigmatic solar panels.  As much as I like the place, I'm pretty sure I won't be buying a cheap, ramshackle mansion and relocating to Brownsville.  I felt conspicuous there.  The few people roaming the cold streets were strangely obese, and they looked at me with more suspicion than I liked.  Unfortunately, I didn't get a shot of Nemacolin Castle, which has been presiding over the city since the late 1700s.  It's not much to look at, but I like anything from the 18th century.

Ohiopyle State Park and Borough

It wasn't the best day to tackle the windy summits of the Laurel Highlands at Ohiopyle State Park, but it was the only day I would be getting, so I gave it a shot.  This is the view from Baughman Rocks, looking east into the valley of the Youghiogheny River.

 I didn't know just how snowy it would be up in the mountains.  I had originally intended to hike the McCune Trail loop, but the roadways were buried, and there was nowhere to park.  Besides, the wind came screaming over those peaks at bone-chilling speed.  I ended up settling for a lower trail through the valley of Meadow Run.

 Just a solitary path through wintry mountains.  What more could a guy ask from life?  

I'm not sure why I've never hiked Ohiopyle before.  It's THE name in outdoor adventures in the Pittsburgh region, and it's only an hour and a half from home.  I guess I was saving it for a special occasion.

 The little borough of Ohiopyle is surrounded by the park.  It caters very much to the hiking-whitewater-mountainbiking crowd.  My guess is that it's largely a summer destination.

And yet, despite all the many open-air restaurants (closed for the season) and whitewater kayaking outfitters (closed for the season), there's a gritty quaintness about the place.  It's a typical mountain village with large clapboard houses along the main street, a pleasant riverside park, and at least one pretty church, Methodist.

This is the Great Allegheny Passage as it crosses the Yawk in the borough of Ohiopyle.  I'll definitely be coming back when the weather breaks.

Braddock's Grave

This is the lonely roadside grave of the once-famous General Edward Braddock, who was killed in the summer of 1755 in the earliest days of the French and Indian War.  The grave is along US Highway 40, also known as "The National Road," in the mountains just above Uniontown, PA.

The Scottish general was ambushed and turned back at the Battle of the Monongahela, at the present-day location of the equally ill-fated town bearing the man's name: Braddock, PA.  He and his decimated army retreated, but Braddock died the next day.  His body was buried here, beneath the road, for fear that Indians would find it and dismember it.  A young George Washington officiated at Braddock's interment, reading the graveside burial service from the Anglican Book of Common Prayer.   

The French and Indian War is really the formative narrative of Western Pennsylvania.  It's deep in our identity.  Long before coal, or steel, or Andrew Carnegie, there was just this lane through the trees, a place where empires clashed.  In several places, short segments of Braddock's Road can still be traced out.  Much of US 40 runs more or less parallel to the old road that Braddock and his English forces carved out of the wilderness en route to attack the French forces garrisoned at Pittsburgh.  Click on any photo to enlarge it.

Keystone State Park

I was supposed to head up north to the Allegheny National Forest to spend a few days in the Big Woods.  But Christmas tired me out so badly that I canceled my reservations at the cabin and decided to spend these between-holidays times doing some long hikes closer to home.

 Keystone State Park is named after an old, now-happily-defunct coal mining company called "Keystone."  It's one of those hiking destinations that comes to my attention every once in a while, but I never ventured there because it was just a little further afield than I like to travel for a small and undramatic state park.  Don't get me wrong.  It's a nice place, and it's got all the amenities: a lake, camping, picnicking, cabins, yurts.  In the summer, there's a beach with a concession stand and paddle boats for rent.

 The problem is that it's only got about six miles of hiking trails.  And even at that, I got the distinct impression that some of the trails meandered needlessly just to make them a little longer.  There are no overlooks or sweeping vistas--despite the fact that nearby Murrysville claims to be in the Laurel Highlands.  And yet, the lake is pleasant, and the woods is quiet, and I had the place largely to myself on this cold St. Stephen's Day.

December 26 definitely has an identity crisis, despite the fact that it has more proper names than any other day of the year I know...the Feast of Stephen, the Second Day of Christmas, Boxing Day.  I've always known December 26 as the day my wife returns whatever Christmas gift I got her.  On Northern Exposure--the greatest TV show of all time--I remember the dingbat character, Shelly Tambo, saying that something or another was "as yucky as the day after Christmas."  I have to agree that the day after Christmas is usually pretty blank.  The house is trashed, and it will take a week to absorb all the newly acquired stuff.  The Christmas decorations are beginning to look maudlin.  Lots of folks are traveling or nursing hangovers.  A winter hike is really the best way to spend it.

Heinz Memorial Chapel

Heinz Memorial Chapel is a triumph of 1930s religious architecture.

Most state-owned schools don't build chapels anymore, which is probably for the best, but Heinz Chapel sees constant use by student religious groups of all faiths.

In the lovely blue and red stained glass, there are scenes from the life of Jesus of Nazareth, of course, but also Thomas Edison, and Abraham Lincoln, and Helen Keller...and other historic figures.

It's an amazingly tall and narrow building.

Heinz Chapel is one of those great historic landmarks that I remember from earliest childhood; it reminds me of those long-ago school field trips into the city.  It's always been a symbol of all the urbanity, freedom, and anonymity that I associated with this place...where I now live...with very little of any of the above.

Circles in the Snow

 The earth is a circle. The sun is a circle. Moons, and stars, and planets, too.

 The great journey that the earth makes around the sun—at 67,000 miles per hour!—is a nearly perfect circle. We can't feel the spinning motion, but we observe it in seasons of warmth and cold, as days grow shorter or longer. Light yields to darkness; darkness yields to light.

 At the close of 2013, we’re completing yet another one of those great spherical journeys known as a year. It's strange to think that “time” is nothing more than our circle (the earth) making a circle (its orbit) around another circle (the sun). It can be dizzying, all this spinning in circles.

 I only come to the Wildflower Reserve at Raccoon Creek during deer season, because the whole big area is off limits to hunting.  Of course, there are no wildflowers to be seen at this time of year, but if you go on a weekday morning, it's worth a drive from the outer suburbs.  I had all the trails to myself except for a gorgeous red cardinal who chose not to be photographed.

Very soon, I'll be doing my annual Winter Pilgrimage to the Allegheny National Forest.  I'm already planning the treks for each day.  There's nothing in all this world quite like the wintry woods.  Toward the end of the TV series "Breaking Bad," the main character is given a one-room cabin in the winter woods of New Hampshire.  It's a hideout where he can spend his last days, dying of cancer and avoiding the police.  The place is stocked with firewood, canned food, and drinking water.  But the fool steals a car and sneaks back to New Mexico.  Talk about jettisoning a dream!  This last photo is of the winter forest from the porch of the historic-but-decrepit cabin that Cy Hungerford once owned.