Grove Run Trail, Forbes State Forest

It was a perfect fall day for a long hike, temps in the 50s and that golden autumn sun coming in at a long angle from blue skies.  

The Grove Run Trail is a beautiful four-mile loop that starts at the Grove Run Picnic Area in the smallish Linn Run State Park but quickly moves out into the larger Forbes State Forest.

 In the summer, there may not be much to see but leaves and a few pleasant little waterfalls.  But in November, there are views out over the other peaks of the Laurel Highlands.

 It was one of those strange autumnal days when it feels as if the sun is about to set at noon, and you find yourself checking your day pack to see if you brought a flashlight.  This is the Quarry Trail that leads all the way down to the area near the footbridge over the PA Turnpike.  I might need to come back here with my backpack and do an overnight.

 But the sun doesn't set.  It streams through the remaining yellow leaves like a blessing from on high.

The trail is a little steep and rocky in places.  Rocks and fallen leaves can be a treacherous combination, too.

 In the very center of this photo, you can see the distant peaks all misty and blue.

 The colors are subdued and rusty, but still lovely.  

 Of course, part of the trail follows Grove Run up to its headwaters in the high glens near the summit of the ridge.  There are more leaves clinging to their trees up in these hollows than in the windy valleys below.

You could usually do a four-mile trek in an hour and a half, but there was too much to stop and see along the way.  Also, it was slow going over the slippery rocks.

A good hike serves the same function as a good vacation: It makes you ready to be home...

Frankfort Presbyterian Church, 1790

This is Frankfort Presbyterian Church, on the edge of the village of Frankfort Springs, southern Beaver County.  From the road, it looked worthy of the October page in a wall calendar.  

A real photographer with a real camera could have taken some awesome shots of this old place, with its autumn trees and its old cemetery.  

 Fall has entered its second phase, when most of the leaves are off, and the ones that remain are largely brownish-yellow or burnt-orange--muted earth tones instead of the bold bright hues of October.  But little splashes of brighter color still cling to the top branches of the birch trees.

 The crazy hot weather has slowed autumn's passing, which is nice in a way.  But it still made my Wednesday trek sweaty and weird.  People say, "What a beautiful day!"  Beautiful?  Seventy-eight degrees in November just creeps me out.  The old term "Indian Summer" has entirely lost its meaning.

 And yet, I've got to admit that it was in fact a beautiful day.  I bushwhacked a little at Hillman before giving up and heading over to Raccoon Creek.  All in all, a forgettable trek, aside from the tick that I haven't been able to dig from my navel.  It's always unwise to bushwhack at Hillman--not to mention the fact that I forgot to wear orange, and hunters have returned to most of my hiking spots.

I knew the former parson of this old village church.  She remained at Frankfort Church for seven or eight years, then recently left to serve a bigger church in Ohio.  I used to run into her occasionally at Raccoon Creek State Park--which is very nearby--where she did the same loop trail with her dog once a week.

Of course, these old rural brick meeting houses never had steeples.  I think it's a recent addition, and the building somehow looks more natural in this photo where the add-on spire isn't showing.  This building is plain as an eggshell inside.  It dates from the 1800s, but the congregation has been here since 1790.

Alas, the sun is truly setting over America's rural houses of worship.  All the traditional institutions of old America are so quickly disappearing.  Orchestras, and museums, and playhouses, and dance troupes are all suffering the same fate as churches.  People don't have the time or patience for their subtlety anymore.  But it's worse than that.  Greed is killing off traditional culture, too.  There used to be a "Five and Dime" on the main street of many small towns, a place to buy clothes, and appliances, and toys.  There were places to work, and play, and pray, and be entertained.  Now the main streets are littered with empty storefronts, and there's a Wal-Mart twenty miles away on the outskirts of the county seat.  Big brands and corporations are spelling the end of the family-owned farm, the corner store, the village church.  These things are all fading from the scene.  That's how Trump is able to win the support of the rural poor, who ought to be the natural enemies of a New York tycoon.  Though he and others like him are the cause of their suffering, he plays on their fears.  He tells them that the only cure for their collapsing way of life is to turn back the clock. (I think the only solution to the crisis in rural America is to create incentives for small businesses and others to invest in small towns and rural communities.)  No matter what that orange-skinned narcissist says, there is not getting back to where we once were.  But I do understand the grief that makes people want to try.