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.