Ralph

     Twenty-six years ago this week, my nephew Rolf died in an accident on a mountain on the opposite side of the country. In his late 20’s he had a good career in the food industry. He was on his way up the ladder. Thinking back to that time, the rush to find tickets, the funeral, the sorrow, the re-acquainting with the family that was split by the width of a nation brought back memories of his father, Ralph, my brother. 

    The emotions are still there and are still felt over a quarter century later. They are part of a bundle of feelings and thoughts which make up some of the supports that hold families together. Births, vacations, weddings and sadly, also deaths combine into a strong root from which families grow. My brother is a common factor in many of the strands which make up my support structure.

    Ralph was born twenty years and a month earlier than me. When I was a child, he was already in the Navy, exploring the world. When I was in grade school he was in Viet-Nam, on multiple tours. He spent years on aircraft carriers and on the country’s last operating battleship. He spent his days behind his cameras. He photographed the men he worked with along with planes taking off and landing on short steel runways. He also spent time on shore, taking pictures of men armed with rifles who were trying their best to stay out of the enemy’s sights. He did this with his camera and camera bags to protect him, along with his wits!

Christmas-1959

    Growing up I rarely saw him and when I did, it was only for a few days before he was called away again. When I was in fourth grade, he would send letters home and I would take them with me to school. The teacher would read them to the class, letting us hear about what was going on in our world. He told us about Viet-Nam and the people along with what he did for work. He never mentioned the dangers of war in those letters, just the good things he saw in a foreign land.

    The only mention of him being in peril was on a tape he sent home. The hotel across the street from where he was staying was bombed while he was in his room. It gave me the realization that what he was doing and where he doing it were both very dangerous. Other than that, he left the newspapers and the nightly news tell us about the cruelty and ugliness of war.

    During one of his visits, I was talking to him in the front yard. Being a young kid, not even a teen yet, my ideas of war were based mostly on movies I had seen. I asked him, the fool that I was, if he had ever seen a man get killed.

    I remember it was a very serious answer he gave me. The exact words have long since disappeared but basically he told me that war was something I would never, ever want to see. He told me how awful it was without going into any details. He never did answer my question but during that talk he helped align my thinking and directed me a bit on my path through life. He handled it in a way that satisfied my curiosity and at the same time let me know that this is something he hoped I’d never know or experience. This was the first serious adult talk we had.

My muses, Dad and Ralph-1975

    He had picked up the love of photography from my father. Dad had been a photographer since he was a young man. He had pictures dating from the 1920’s. He and his pictures inspired both Ralph and me. Ralph became a professional and I became an avid hobbyist. It was probably the combination of Ralph and my Dad that dragged me so eagerly into the field.

    Ralph took pictures out of the doors of helicopters and planes and photographed ships as they sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge while perched high on top of one of the bridge piers. He took shots of places all over the world along with lots of photos of his kids growing up. I’m pretty sure he was happy being behind a camera!

    After his tours in Viet-Nam he and his wife moved to the suburbs of Washington DC. Their family was just starting to grow. I spent about a month with them one summer. I was bored, I didn’t think there was anything to do. I started collecting pull tabs from pop and beer cans for something to occupy me. Ralph sat me down one night and suggested that I take a bus into Washington and do some sightseeing.

    This opened a whole new world to me. I visited the FBI building and came home with empty shell casings from the machine guns they shot during tours. I visited the Smithsonian Museum and saw the Wright Brothers and Lindbergh’s planes along with the Hope Diamond. I climbed the stairs inside the Washington monument, a couple times!

    To be on my own, deciding what I wanted to do was something new to me. It was another thing he showed me that helped me along as I went through life. He showed me that I have the ability to do things on my own and also, that he had trust in me.

    During that visit he took me to work one day. He showed me how he took negatives that were taken from planes flying over Viet-Nam and how he made large prints out of them. The photographs were used by Commanders to help determine battle strategies. He was introducing me to the working world.

    We watched fireworks after listening to a concert while sitting on the lawn near the Jefferson Memorial for the 4^th of July. The family visited sites around the Capital and before I knew it, my parents were coming to pick me up.

    Our paths didn’t cross enough. He moved to the far side of the country, settling in first near San Francisco and later the Seattle area. For a while they lived outside of the country. My parents and I went to visit them after I graduated from High School. I got to know his children better, now much older. We visited the City by the Bay and rode the trolleys and climbed the hills. On one trip we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and saw Redwood trees in Muir Woods. I saw many things I had never seen before. San Francisco is nothing like Pittsburgh, not by a long shot!

    Along with photography Ralph shared an interest in trains with me. Before I was even dreamed about, he and my father had built an HO train set up. They had constructed buildings to put on their layout, one of which resided in my attic for many years. Complete with ladders and stairs and coal chutes ready to fill the coal cars which ran underneath it, the coaling tower was painted to show the dirt and dust which resulted from the operation. Sitting atop a chest of drawers for several decades added even more dust on it!

    With a dim light hanging in the rafters, I would look at it and imagine how a structure like this would work. I’d spin it around and imagine climbing the ladders and stairs and wonder what would be behind the doors they led to. As a kid this model took me into another world. The location it was stored in helped, a dark attic, filled with cobwebs and mysterious boxes, unidentifiable because of the blankets covering them. It gave my imagination a bit of a kick, giving my visions of Hardy Boys and Edger Allen Poe stories a background. The imagination of children is a mighty thing which many of us lose as we grow older.

Mom and her boys-1985

    Ralph showed me a lot and most of it was without my even realizing it. I always looked forward to seeing him, he was my big brother! I adored him and looked up to him. He lived only one year into this century, that day seems as if it was only yesterday. I only wish we had been able to spend more time together.

(Taken by his daughter Erika)

    Webster’s Dictionary describes "Hero" as a man admired for his accomplishments and noble qualities. I guess that it just proves what I’ve always known;

He was my hero!

Traveling

     Snow was starting to fall outside and the weathermen were predicting a rough morning. I was content to sit near the window and enjoy the scene from inside the warmth of my house. There was a book I was reading so I wouldn’t be bored if the snow got high enough to keep me indoors. 

    Watching the snowflakes accumulate brought back memories of hiking during the winter months in the Laurel Highlands, visiting the mountains near Port Angeles Washington and driving through snow storms in West Virginia. Visiting Stonehenge on a New Years Day popped into my mind along with a visit to the Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria.  Driving through the snowy German countryside, those were the days!

               

                                                        (Not my shots)

    I haven’t been on an airplane in ages. New York City is the furthest I’ve traveled lately and it definitely whetted my appetite for another visit.

    Due to the current state of our world, the amount of traveling has decreased everywhere. Whether it is because of fears of the pandemic, travel restrictions, the dropping of the economy or just worries about the general safety of visiting foreign places, people seem to be leaving their homes less than before.

    No matter what your reason may be, the opportunities for travel are always with us. There are numerous ways to leave your house without stepping out the door!

    The internet has provided ways that you can work without leaving the house, why not travel also? Whether it is to research places you’ve always wanted to visit or by watching other people’s adventures, you can visit the world while sitting in front of your laptop or TV.

    My own personal means of traveling without leaving the house is via literature. Books have the ability to take us to places we’ve never been to. We can learn about the citizens, the economy, their language and their weather. We don’t have to learn a new language to travel across an ocean. There is no need to take a two week vacation or to spend thousands on expenses.

    Of course, there will be some things missed such as the smells, the tastes of unknown foods and the excitement of trying to figure out foreign languages. Granted there is nothing, and I repeat, NOTHING that can compare to actually going to a new locale. But, reading can come mighty close!

    A good author can describe those smells and sounds along with the excitement of new experiences. They can share joys and the insecurities of travel along with the wonder of seeing things never thought of before. Good writers can take you along on their journey and make you feel as if you are experiencing it for yourself. If you want to, they can also take you to places inaccessible to man such as to the moon or other planets or even the center of your mind! They don’t have to be just non-fiction!

    Looking at my shelves I quickly pulled out some books that have taken me on various trips. I didn’t look long or hard, I just grabbed a couple. These are a few of them.

     A long time favorite of mine is Travels With Charley by John Steinbeck. Written towards the later part of his life, the book tells about his journey across the United States in a pickup-truck along with his pet dog, Charley.  This book never fails to excite the traveler in me. How much of it is factual and how much is fiction…it really doesn’t matter.

    The Wheels of Chance by H.G. Wells tells about a man’s bicycle journey across the English countryside and the meeting of a young lady while on his trip. The book describes the scenery and also describes a time when the automobile wasn’t a constant user of the roads. Wells was a cyclist himself, perhaps drawing from his own experiences when he wrote this story. I read this book when I was an avid cyclist myself, it helped pass time on a few of those rainy Pittsburgh days.

    Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin describes for us the authors attempt to climb K2, the second highest mountain in the world. After his failure to get to the top he takes us into the villages in the lands below. His book not only explores the mountain tops of the Himalayas but also exposes us to the living conditions of the people who live with these majestic mountains in their backyard. He took me to a place I would love to visit, but I know I never will.

    Is it more than just scenery, oceans, seas and mountaintops that interest you?  Jules Verne takes us on an exciting trip in, Journey to the Center of the Earth. First published in France in 1864, one hundred and fifty eight years ago, it still tells a great story. Professor Lindenbrock believes that there are volcanic tubes which lead down to the center of the earth. He and his nephew and a guide go into an inactive volcano in Iceland and eventually return to the surface in Italy. During their adventure they discover an underground ocean and prehistoric creatures along with other dangers that threaten their journey. I read this first in grade school but I still find it an enjoyable bit of travel in my sixties!

    A completely different type of trip is told by John Waters in his book Carsick. Partially fact and partially fiction, (?) he tells about the time he hitch-hiked across the country. He carried a sign saying, “I’m not psycho!” It is a fun story that sometimes delves into his weird mind. When you’re reading it, consider who it was that wrote it. Enjoy your trip!

    To round out my little batch of books, I pulled out Walking With Spring, written by Earl V. Shaffer. In 1948, the Appalachian Trail wasn’t in the same shape that it is now. There was neglect in the marking of the trail and sections were filled with blow downs and were rerouted due to lack of manpower during the war years. Shaffer, a vet, decided to hike the trail from one end to the other. He ended up doing it twice and wrote this book shortly afterwards. He was the first documented person to walk from one end to the other in one continuous hike. If your idea of a trip is one by foot, this is a great read for you and while you’re reading it, you just might get excited about going out and doing some hiking yourself! 

    These are just a few books that I pulled out. All took me on journeys to different places. Whether they are non-fiction or just the imagination of the author, either way, they took me on a journey. The only danger consisted of staying up too late while I was reading!

    Books are literary travel agencies! Who know where you might end up when you open the cover of a book.

    I love to go to places I’ve never been to before. The best way to travel is in person but as I get older the circle of my travels has decreased. I do know that more adventures await me but for the time being, my next big adventure is right here, in-between the pages of my books!

    So, grab a book and let it snow!

Snowmageddon Chase

     For a couple days now, the forecasters have been warning the Pittsburgh area about the terrible winter storm heading our way.  This naturally sent people running to the stores and gas stations to refill everything that needed stocked. The snow didn’t start in Pittsburgh until late Sunday afternoon.

    By eleven there were a couple inches on the ground and people were wisely staying in their homes. The only vehicles seen on the highway below the house were snowplows. The walk was shoveled in preparation for additional snow that was forecast to come during the night.

    The morning was bright. Birds were working at depleting the seeds in the feeder. The walk needed another shoveling and before I could leave to go anywhere, the car needed cleared of snow and a path shoveled onto the road. After some coffee and breakfast, I went out to play in the snow. There was about 6-7 inches in my yard though in other places I went, it was deeper.

    The township where I live is very good at keeping the streets cleared after a snowfall. Thankfully the near-by communities had followed this lead. The roads I gravitated towards were the back roads. They were smaller roads which followed streams and railroad tracks, roads which tended to have less traffic on them than the larger ones. The car handled what little snow we encountered with no problems. I drove down one road that no plows had visited yet. A mile or two was enough for me but luckily, I encountered another road, just as the plow passed by!

    In Hampton Township I went to my favorite “go to” spot and pulled over and took a small walk down to the stream. I heard some loud bird calls and hoped it might be the heron, but I didn't see it. Walking along the railroad tracks heading back to the car, I couldn’t help but think that this would be a perfect time for a train to come along.

    A truck pulled in behind the car and a man got out with a camera. I said hello and asked if he was shooting “snow scenes” or “train shots”. When he replied "trains", I asked if one was coming soon. He said it would be here in a couple minutes! I started to hear the rumble of engines as we were talking. In less than a minute a train being pulled by three engines rounded the bend. What luck! He took some shots and returned to his truck and raced off after the train.

    A couple pictures later, I did the same. The train had passed the first crossing and as I took to higher roads above the tracks, I couldn’t see or hear it. I figured I’d have to chase it all the way to Mars. (Pennsylvania, not space!) Not far from Wildwood Road, I encountered it again. 

    The train had slowed down to wait for a signal that would allow them to continue on. Workers were clearing the snow and ice off of a switch further ahead. I learnt this by talking to the photographer I had met before.  He works for the RR in the publicity department and was taking some snowy rail shots of the train.

    After taking some more exposures I continued on looking for other subjects. Hunger and the need for another cup of coffee brought me back to the house. My feet had stayed dry but the bottoms of my jeans were soaked. It felt good slipping into some sweatpants and slippers. It was no big deal, sometimes you have sacrifice your comfort for your hobbies! 

    Note: As I am writing this, I hear the whistle of the train. The three engines are returning after dropping off their load. Instead of rushing out and chasing after them, I’ll simply take another sip of my coffee and watch as the lights below start to flash, the engines will be here in no time. I’ll simply stay inside where it’s nice, dry and warm. Maybe I'll read a book!

The Barlow That She Carried

     When I was but a boy, my mother would walk me to school. The two of us would walk about a mile up the hill to the local Catholic School. We took a short cut though a section of woods. I always enjoyed this part of the walk. Going into the unknown, we were off the streets and following a narrow path that in the springtime was partially covered by spreading bushes and in the winters, with ice and snow. These walks helped me appreciate the wonders that the world has to offer and I’m sure, helped nudge me towards the camping and hiking in my future.

    When I was born, we lived on a farm. It wasn’t a large place, about 20 acres or so but it filled a desire that my father had. He was always interested in nature and plants. The idea of living on your own, growing crops to help feed you, having a greenhouse and a few chickens and a couple geese to provide eggs was something both of my parents thought was important. In the end, financial matters got the better of them and we moved to a neighborhood surrounded by houses. Perhaps it was the fact that there was now a new child in the family and the idea of being closer to stores and eventually schools drew them to our new home.

    While we were living on the farm, my mother would bake bread and take it to the near-by town to sell at a small grocery store.  After the move she continued to bake bread. I remember those days fondly, watching her kneading the dough, flour coating her arms and the counter tops. Waiting as the dough slowly rose with white kitchen towels placed across it. Then came the best part, all the smells coming out of the kitchen as the loaves baked! There were always a couple small loafs made and if I was good, I’d get one for myself. Butter melting into the still hot, white crumb, oh, it was pure heaven to a young boy!

    My mother did the daily cooking but my father was the gourmet. When friends came over or family arrived for a holiday get-together, he was the one in the kitchen. These were the days when Julia Child was a big influence. There are still cookbooks in the house dedicated to the fine art of French cooking. I don’t remember any special dinners he made but I know he experimented a lot. His notes in the margins of the cookbooks tell his story. His cooking history is described by how many he fed and whether or not the recipe was worth having again. Stains of ingredients on the pages help tell the story also. 

    Cooking… this brings me back to my original story and the walk to school with my mother. In the springtime, as we were preparing for our walk, my mother would always put a paper lunch bag in her purse. Arriving at the entrance to the short-cut, if the conditions were right, she would open her purse, remove the bag and then dig a bit deeper and pull out a small Barlow pocketknife. The knife was used to cut dandelions, digging down below the fresh leaves and cutting off the roots. The dirt would be shaken off and they would be put in the bag. She looked for young plants, leaving the older and bigger plants behind, saying they were bitter. It didn’t take long until the bag was filled and she would fold over the top, put it in her purse along with the folded knife and we’d continue our walk through the woods, up the hill to the school.

    In the evening, for dinner we would be served a fresh dandelion salad with hot bacon dressing. Seriously, I really think my true appreciation of this salad was the bacon, not the fresh leaves! It was a salad that we had many times, not only tasty but economic!

    The idea that she had a knife in her purse always intrigued me. I was never allowed to hold or play with it, in fact it was never even thought of except when she was trimming the fronds of the dandelions for that nights dinner. She had other knives also, including a slender Case knife with a deer antler handle, stored in a belt sheath. When going through her belongings after she passed, I came across them and had to keep them, both are now in my collection.

    I recently was looking at my knives and wiping the dust off of them, oiling and sharpening a couple, when I picked up her Barlow knife. A bit worn but still tight, the blade shows signs of being re-sharpened many times. Holding it in my hands brought back those walks we took almost 60 years ago. The walks and the taste of her salads, but best of all, it brought back memories of times spent with Mom. 

    All this from just holding the Barlow she carried.

Watching for The Space Stations

    It was the morning of the 4^th, a little after 6 oclock, the light of dawn hadn’t arrived yet. For the most part, the neighborhood was dark and quiet. My neighbor’s porch light did intrude a bit but I could work around it. There was no moon in the sky making it appear even darker.

    I had gotten up early to watch two space stations pass over my house. Who would have imagined doing this 50 or 60 years ago? Science fiction HAS come true!

(No comment needed!)

    Finding a spot that was shielded from the obtrusive porch light next door, I familiarized myself with the stars above. The camera was set up with hopes of getting a couple shots as the stations passed bright stars. Then, all that needed to be done was to wait and enjoy the silence.

Tiangong passing towards the left (East) under Arctures

    The first to appear was the Chinese space station Tiangong, or “Heavenly Palace”. It came over the trees right at the scheduled time. Presently there are three astronauts on board this structure. Watching as it got higher in the sky, I was startled by a woman walking her dog. I pointed to the satellite and told her what it was, she simply said “cool” and continued her walk. I'm guessing she wasn't impressed.

    Nearing the end of its passage across the sky, off in a different direction the International Space Station (ISS) had appeared behind some other trees. For a brief while I could see both space stations in the sky at the same time! While it might not excite others, I found this fascinating!

    I swiveled my camera around to catch the ISS and when I looked up, I saw a bright object beside Polaris. (The North Star) As I watched, it proceeded to get brighter. I pushed the shutter on the camera and when I looked back up, the object had disappeared. 

The ISS passing over Polaris, heading towards the right (East)

    Once the ISS had completed its pass, I went inside (into the warmth!) to see if I had caught the flare. The pictures came out nicely, the ISS appearing much brighter than Tiangong since it is a bigger structure. (There are seven crewmen from different countries on the ISS presently.) Someday I'll get a picture with both of them in the same shot!

    As far as the flare goes, I can only guess to what it was. It reminded me of an Iridium Flare. Years ago, there was a fleet of satellites that were shaped in a way that caused bright flares to appear as the sunlight shined on them. If you happened to be in the proper spot at the proper time, you could see them. They were fun to point out to people at star parties.

    There had also been a meteor shower that peaked the day before. It could’ve been one of them. I failed to notice which direction it was coming from, it appeared to be coming straight towards me.  There was also a report of a possible meteor exploding over the Western Pennsylvania area on New Year’s Day…could it have been something related to that?

    Whatever it was, it made for an exciting morning! I always find it rewarding to see things in the sky, or elsewhere, that I wasn’t expecting.

    I had planned on going back inside and slipping back under the covers but this changed everything. I had to see how the pictures came out and to check a few web sites to see if any other bright satellites were in the sky at that time. I found nothing on-line, so I’m leaning towards a flare from a random satellite. There are thousands of objects floating around up there…who knows?

ISS to the left in the trees, the flare and Polaris, all in line

(6:30:42AM EST)

    A couple of satellites, a flare, a good cup of coffee and a bit of research, yup, this day was off to a great start!

Starting Out the New Year

 

New Year’s Day 2022

    Here it is, the first day of the New Year. Ann Marie and I discussed what we could do and decided to take a drive into the country. "We’ll find a place that we haven’t been to before!" The weather wasn't inviting; in fact, it was downright miserable. But, rain and fog has never stopped us before!

    I pulled the Pennsylvania Gazetteer out. Ann Marie gave me a page number, I opened it up and dropped my finger onto the page. This was where we’d go, West Middletown, a community in the southwestern part of the state. That would be our ultimate goal, now whether or not we’d get to it…the afternoon would tell.

    We purposely didn’t pay much attention to the roads on the map. I found a couple geocaches in the area and programmed them into my handheld GPS. Once we got to Washington, we would just follow the needle on the GPS and as any geocacher knows; you can’t get to a cache by going straight to it. We’d see what roads we happened across to on our way.

    Driving past Pittsburgh, clouds were hanging at the tops of the buildings. Fog hung in the valleys and above the neighborhoods we passed, our windshield wipers were on continuously.

    We ended up taking a very roundabout route to the first cache. (The first of the year!) The roads we took were definitely “back roads”! The hide was near a historical “S” shaped stone bridge. Built around 1818, it was bypassed when a near-by intersection was redone. A plain uninteresting straight bridge was constructed beside it. Now grass covers its surface instead of asphalt. While we were there, we met a neighbor walking his dog and he told us a little bit of the history of the area. The house near the end of the bridge, built in the 1880’s, was at one time a stop for stagecoaches.

    Following the GPS’s arrow again, we followed lots of small roads, some dirt and some, supposedly closed. We found two more caches, the last one a micro, about the size of a pencil eraser. It was hidden beside a covered bridge. I had to look closely to find it…in the rain.

    We were getting hungry, and needed some coffee, the day was getting darker and the rain was coming down harder. As we drove around, we were watching for anywhere that we could satisfy either of these wants! Good luck with that out in the farmlands. Heading home was in our thoughts.

    We came to an intersection and across the road was a sign pointing towards West Middletown! We had completely forgotten about the town and our goal to visit it. So, naturally, we took the turn, laughing at the coincidence. We were only a mile or two away!

    The community of West Middletown is rather small, there are only about 100 people who live here. It was founded in 1795 and a lot of the buildings were built in the early 1800’s. Later research told me that the town is perhaps one of the most well-preserved examples of a 19^th century rural commercial community in Western PA.! Believe it or not, we passed a small building on the main street with a sign out front that said Coffee. We quickly turned around to investigate.

    Going inside we discovered that the store, Poor Johnny’s, sold both coffee and unique antiques! What could be better? The store was PACKED with all sorts of “stuff”. You name it and chances are, you could find it in there somewhere. It is orderly but there was no way I could have seen everything in this small brick building. Andrea and John, the proprietors, were wonderful hosts, telling us stories and the history of the town. We were served some GREAT freshly made coffee and we spent awhile exploring the three floors of their store. In ways it reminded me of going into an “olde cabinet of curiosities”. 

    If you are ever in the area of West Middletown, on rt. 844, stop in Poor Johnny’s for some coffee, good conversation and some wild picking. Ann Marie and I both walked out with a couple purchases.

    The store was definitely the highlight of the trip. We had no idea that by pointing a finger to a spot on a map, it would lead us to this cool find! This was truly the highpoint to our journey! Finds like this are what exploring is all about!

    We took a couple more small roads, through foggy valleys and past flooded streams and eventually got back to our home grounds. We were home by 6, just in time for dinner!

    The first day of the year, even though it was wet and foggy it turned into a great day. In fact, I'd have to say, it was the best day of the year! I hope yours went as well! 

Happy New Year!