Far West Marches of Raccoon Creek State Park

Scrubgrass Creek Valley

Oil Country

In the valley of Scrubgrass Creek, deep in the oil country of Venango County. There are three abandoned town sites in this valley, as well as the ruins of the old ironworks. The oil field is still active, and seepage is killing many hemlocks along the banks of the stream.

A Place Apart

Falling apart, to be exact.

Maybe in Summer

This old farmhouse sits in a wooded depression just off PA978. The house itself is not highly visible from the road, but anyone who rushed past the many "No Trespassing" signs to approach the place--alas--would be highly visible. This road stays busy, and there are three or four occupied homes nearby.

Most disturbingly, the signs that ward off all the would-be-trespassers (I prefer the terms "local archaeologist" or "historical re-envisioner") are identical to the signs that forbid entry on the inhabited farming complex across the road. This makes me think that it's all part of the same blamed farm. I surmise that the people who own this place simply moved aross the street when the old house started to get too hard to maintain. That means the actual owners might see you ducking off the road and down into the wooded lot.


It was probably grandpa's house. It's probably been in the family for years. Around here, you often see a stately old farmhouse returning to its elements and, in the yard nearby, a mobile home.

I've been wanting to get inside this place ever since I first noticed it in the fall. But summer will be the time to come back. By mid-June, the trees will be in full leaf, hiding the house from view. Tall weeds will make access less visible, too.

Not that there's anything spectacular about this house. It's certainly not stately. Never was. The style is all too common in Southwest Pennsylvania and Northeast Ohio. It's not especially big. As far as I can tell, there's only one chimney and the attic is a crawl-space. This was a farm of modest means.

You gotta love those old shingle-sided houses that are made to look like fake brick. I'll be coming back here when the vegetation is high.

The Ragged Edge

Here we stand at the edge of a whole new year. The ragged edge, you might call it. It seems unfair that each year begins and ends in bitter cold, in a season of dormancy and death. There are things to celebrate and anticipate in the year ahead. But I can't help but focus on the things all intelligent people dread: most notably the right wing wacko takeover of our state government. And so, this scene of desolation is for all fearmongering conservatives and for all the fool Pennsylvanians who voted them in. I would never wish a pox like unto the above on anyone's houses...but you did it to yourselves.

Abandoned Farmhouse

More shots of yesterday's big find at the largely wooded and undeveloped Settler's Cabin Park. I dreamed about this farmhouse last night, and must admit that the dreams were a little troubling. Click on any picture to enlarge it.





It was good to trek in the snow. All the seasons offer their wonders, but winter is the best time to be alone in the wilds. The silence. The stillness. The solitude. Plus, there are vistas in the winter that are hidden at all other times of the year.

This old house is not typical of farmhouses in this region. Most local farmhouses seem to retain a folksy version of the old Greek Revival designs that were already falling out of fashion in urban centers by 1830: two floors, five windows on the upper floor front, four chimneys placed precisely opposite each other, etc. This place, while still aiming for the symmetrical design that was so dear to the rationalists, is only one and a half stories with recessed porches and add-ons. I think this kind of house was called either a "center hall plan" or a "hall and parlor." It's creepy as hell inside. See the posting below for interior shots.

Abandoned Farmhouse

This abandoned farmhouse is on Pinkerton Run Road in Settler's Cabin Park, just opposite the old barn which now serves as the park's maintenance building.









Enter through the kitchen window on the back side of the house.

















Someone said that the most beautiful word in the English language is cellardoor. (Sounds like two words to me.) But I gotta say, the doorway into the cellar of this place is anything but beautiful. It creeps me right the hell out.

















My guess is that this place has some historical connection to the 1780s log cabin that's adjacent to it, the one for which the park is named. Strangely, the cabin is boarded up, too. It will be the topic of a future post.









This is a traditional "hall & parlor" design, I think, from the mid-1800s. Because most of the windows were boarded up, some of the rooms are too dark to enter without a flashlight.

Notice the remains of red and blue stained glass in the window above the door. I counted four fireplaces. I didn't have the balls to go up to the second floor by myself. (I really don't want to discover a decomposing body, and this would be just the place for that.) There was a page from a Pittsburgh newspaper dated 1987. I think it said The Pittsburgh News, which as far as I know is no longer in print.