Secrets of Whetstone Creek – Indian head pennies

My Dad, now 90 years old, told to me when I was about six years old, that he and his brothers played along the Whetstone Creek. There was a spot where Sam’s Creek intersected the Whetstone, where there was a deep pool for swimming. The swimming hole was made by the presence of an old mill that was once there. With the mill and millstone gone, all that remained was this pit that was filled with the passing stream.

Dad said that he had hidden a jar of Indian-head pennies in the creek bank somewhere along the Whetstone Creek.

Mother said, “Now, don’t you go near the deep hole, and you had better stay away from the creek.” Of course, my brother, Tim, and I was attracted to places where we should not go. In fact, that is exactly where we wanted to be.

We often embarked on searches along the creek trying to locate the penny jar. So far as we know it might still be there.

Exploring the Whetstone, we discovered the best places to fish. We discovered a steep embankment that was below the Rivercliff Cemetery. My Mom is buried there with her parents, and many other relatives. It is as if she is looking over the creek to see if her boys show up down there.

Anyway, there is a bend that is filled with soapstone. At the bend, there is a hollow cave in the sandstone where one might see ice cycles as late as June if there had been a hard winter. Grandpa said that was a good place to get ice in the spring if you needed it for the icebox.

I used to go to the creek to contemplate as a boy. I laid down on an old log to hear the sound of the creek rippling on the rocks. When the sun shown on the log, I closed my eyes to feel the warmth and sometimes dozed into a nap. I dreamt about the Indians who once lived here as I felt their spirits and all of the spirits from the people buried in the plateau above me.

I felt a raindrop and it awakened me like a tear shed from heaven.

Don’t worry spirits, you are alive with me. Join the gentle flow of the Whetstone where life abounds forever.

Chicken Macaroni Casserole by Aunt Mary Grace

Maureen’s aunts and uncles lived in Chicago in Glenview-Wilmette in side-by-side houses inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright in one of the nation’s first co-op communities. These all wood homes were nestled in forested lots at the end of Juniper Street. Mary Grace, her sister Jean, brother William, and, Betty, my mother-in-law were all raised in Columbus, Ohio. There seemed to be a contest of sort among these three sisters for producing exceptional family meals.

Aunt Jean was known for exotic and sophisticated cookery, whereas Aunt Mary Grace produced cozy dishes that were often casseroles. Sister Betty had an assortment of specialties including beef stroganoff. Maureen’s sister Sharon, a home economics major at The Ohio State University has a large family and managed her kitchen like a five-star restaurant. Her sister Katie, also nestled in a woods outside of Cleveland, is more of a farm-style chef.

Anyway, when we lived in Chicago Mary Grace and Jean alternated inviting us to have dinner and to sometimes stay the night at their homes in a party atmosphere.

Here is a most memorable recipe from Mary Grace that appears on a 3 x 5 index card in Maureen’s file. The hand-writing appears to be that of Sharon.

“Chicken Macaroni Casserole”

2 cups diced cooked chicken

1, 7 oz. package of macaroni (uncooked)

1 ½ lb grated cheddar cheese

2 cups (1 can) mushroom soup

2 cups milk (or i cup chicken broth)

½ green pepper diced

1 jar diced pimento

4 large boiled eggs, chopped coarse

1 cup (5 oz) water chestnuts

1 small onion, minced

1 can (4 oz) mushrooms

1 teaspoon salt & dash of pepper

Combine all ingredients into a large bowl to let it swell and refrigerate overnight.

Turn the ingredients into a large shallow casserole.

Bake at 350 degrees for 1 ¼ hours.

15 minutes before serving, sprinkle the top with cheddar cheese and let it melt or brown on top.

There you have it. Maybe I should make some lime jello with celery and carrots with a dab of mayonnaise on top?

The McKinley's: Betty, Jean, Bessie, Bill, and Mary Grace

If I could do it all over again

What would you change if you could do it all over again? I will tell you what.

I would have been a more deliberate and disciplined student in life. What went wrong with that? I think it had to do with having so much fun and not having to think about not doing that.

When you start off in life with so much goodness and abundance, and when you don’t experience deprivation and suffering, maybe a person takes the good life for granted. Some call that being “spoiled”. It is not that Mom and Dad did not suffer because they truly did. However, they worked extremely hard so that I didn’t have to experience that.

So, I laughed and had a good time, and took good life for granted. That was a start.

When it came time to hunker down to study, that was work and hard. It meant giving up having fun to be diligent about learning. It wasn’t learning that was the obstacle as I enjoyed that, it was the manner in which to go about it.

Learning requires focus and devotion. It requires sacrifice. Learning can be fun, but it is often difficult and challenging. It is a distraction from free-wheeling fun. So, that is not fun.

If I could do it all over again, I would have less fun and more learning.

If I could do it all over again, I would want to find the same love in my life. There can be no better. If I could do it all over again, I would work harder to earn her love and devotion.

If I could do it all over again, I would have become a professional at something people depend upon. I would not be an accountant or a lawyer. I might have wanted to be a medical doctor, for instance. Yet, given who I am, I would have been better at being a farmer.

Then again, if I had been a farmer, I would not have discovered the love in my life. I would be growing strawberries like my ancestors instead in some remote patch of land in some desolate place where I would have been a poor reader and terrible student.

I would probably have been a simple person, working hard, and not having much fun. I would not want to repeat that experience and so for my ancestors’ sake, I didn’t.

Henry George and Mary Beven: Growing family

(A developing story)

Born in 1761 near Talgarth, Wales, most likely closest to Glasbury, Henry George was the son of William about which we don’t know much yet. The chances are that he was a religious man and that he was a farmer. In 1786, Henry married Mary Beven (born 1759 in the same community) in the year 1786. At age 25 he was likely working on local farms, although we know that he acquired stone mason skills and he may have been apprenticing.

Two years into his marriage, Henry and Mary decided to have their first child and Henry Jr. arrived in 1789. The records show that Henry Jr. was born in Talgarth which must have been the recording seat of government. His siblings followed: Mary, 1791, Richard, 1793, William, 1797, Enoch Edward, 1799. Enoch is said to have been born in Breconshire that is a larger universe than Talgarth. The seat of government was in a state of redefinition.

In 1802, Henry and Mary George decided to take their five children to America. For what reasons? At the time, the Welsh migration to America had begun in earnest that started in the 1790s, with a trickle before that. Now, there was a crop failure in Wales. There were pressures imposed on religious freedom. There was the idea of shear opportunity lying beyond a long and difficult journey. It would take a significant investment, sacrifice, and risk to make that trip with children whose ages ranged between  3 and 13 years. The eldest three were children were between 8 and 13 years and could surely help with the work of looking after the younger children and moving meager belongings.

Upon arrival, the oldest children would become immediate assets in helping their father to perform labor of any time needed to support their existence.

Historical documentation about the Welsh immigrants indicate that a support system existed among churches and communities of Welsh people as they were intent on creating new communities in the developing pioneer country. It is likely that Henry George had a vision and plan about his direction and destination or else he would not have undertaken such a dangerous initiative.

Danger came from making the trip and defeating disease. It came from overcoming the necessities in obtaining supplies to embark as pioneers with a family. It came under the threat from Native Americans who were still fighting to hold onto their land. The threat from wild animals against their small domestic stock was persistent, and the records show that the bears and wolves won that battle in the case of the George family.

Chester PA was the beachhead in America from which settlers obtained assistance, got organized and departed with a tail guide into the lesser known. In the instance of Henry George, he knew that Welshmen had made it to a destination in Pennsylvania where colonists had already established a small community. The place was what is now called Cambria County, Pennsylvania. It is geographically similar to Wales and included farmland as well as coal and iron ore that could be mined.

Mining coal and iron ore provided jobs for those who could perform the dangerous work to remove coal and iron ore. Many Welshmen possessed the skill and knowledge to do this as it was the same type of opportunity that they had at home in the Black Hills of Brecon, for instance.

Henry George had stone mason skills. It is possible that he applied those abilities with the help of his sons to build furnaces used to smelt iron ore. It is likely that he used those abilities to help construct foundations for buildings in the developing mining towns such as Beulah where he ended up after the trek from Chester. Being a minister, it is likely that he preached at the new church.

Addressing a worst case scenario by modern perspective, he and his sons would have avoided having to work in the mines. Yet, the surrounding evidence indicates that he and the children would have likely worked in the mines.

The first of Henry George’s children to have been born in the United States was Thomas George, born 1803 in Pennsylvania. That is the same year that Ohio became a state. Elias George was born a year later in 1804 and specifically in Beulah, PA. John E. George was born three years later in 1807 in Cambria City, PA that is now Johnstown. It was not until after John E. George’s birth that Henry and Mary decided to depart for Ohio country.

Georges in Pennsylvania

In brief, my George ancestors came from Talgarth, Wales and landed in Chester PA that is located near the Philadelphia International Airport. At that time in 1802, it was a port village from where many pioneers departed to discover and settle the Northwest Territory.  Henry George and his wife, Mary Beven arrived with their eldest children on a mission to establish a Welsh community and Baptist Church somewhere in the Ohio country.

At that time, they were supported by their church community in Wales and in America. The community arranged for their departure by ox-drawn wagons and horses to hike through mountainous Pennsylvania along a trail that was once blazed and surveyed by George Washington.

They got to a place that must have appeared much like home in the Appalachian mountains. Welsh and Irish settlers discovered coal and iron ore like the deposits in their native homelands. They knew how to mine and they developed communities around that and farming.

Henry George was a minister and stone mason, and his job was to preach and to establish new communities. The best way for me to determine his path and timeline is to follow the birth of his children and their reported birth locations.

From that process, I discovered that they once lived in the town of Beulah, PA. Beulah was probably named after Beulah,  a village in southern Powys, Wales, lying on the Afon Cammarch. Beulah PA was a coal mining village that has since disappeared because the coal has been extracted. Today it is a Ghost Town.

“The Ghost Town Trail is a rail trail in Western Pennsylvania that stretches 36 miles (58 km) from Black Lick, Indiana County, to Ebensburg, Cambria County.[1] Established in 1991 on the right-of-way of the former Ebensburg and Black Lick Railroad, the trail follows the Blacklick Creek and passes through many ghost towns that were abandoned in the early 1900s with the decline of the local coal mining industry. Open year round to cycling, hiking, and cross-country skiing, the trail is designated as a National Recreation Trail by the United States Department of the Interior.[1]

The trail passes many historical sites, particularly sites of abandoned coal mines and their company towns. The ghost towns include Bracken, Armerford, Lackawanna No. 3, Wehrum, Scott Glenn, Webster, Beulah, and Claghorn.[1]”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghost_Town_Trail

Ghost Trail

Monarch Butterfly sighting 2015

On October 18, 2015 we spotted a Monarch butterfly on the Custis Trail in Arlington, Virginia as shown in the photos. The butterfly was tagged: VGA 484 and associated with Monarchwatch. These are now endangered species so Maureen assisted the butterfly to get off the path and onto a branch for safety.

The Global Society of Wildlife Migration and Seasonal Change track such sightings, and so we registered our observation with them.

When you see such species, check out the website to see if biologists want to know about it.

https://www.learner.org/jnorth/current.html

Help save the species.

Grandpa Dreams: Neighborhood Circus

Growing up in the 1950s, television was a new invention. I can remember when we didn’t have television, just the radio. The radio was tuned to a morning show that Dad and Mom listened to on WJR Detroit. The Michigan channels penetrated our airwaves in north central rural Ohio better than the stations 50 miles to the south in Columbus. Anyway, we got the weather, music, and a little news.

Living down Elm Street was friend Dicky Vail. The Vail’s had several boys and they had the first television set in the neighborhood. I used to go to their house to watch afternoon children’s shows that were broadcast from Columbus and elsewhere. Aunt Fran on WBNS began as Luci’s Toyshop. Fran Norris was the original host and she ended every program by painting a happy face on the palm of her hand and waving goodbye. If you looked at kids hands in the neighborhood in those days, there were a lot of stained happy faces on their palms.

We watched Howdy Doody, of course. That was the big show, but it happened to come on right at dinner time and I had to hurry home for that. I missed a lot of Howdy Doody until Dad decided to buy a television set.

I remember that we had to go to Marion, Ohio or someplace remote like that to find a television store. Dad wanted an RCA Victor television with a sizeable screen so that a family of four could watch comfortably. We entered the store where there was a wall of various TV sets. Dad picked one with a metal case that appeared to be sturdy. “Sturdy” was his criteria and it had to show a stable picture that was demonstrated by the salesman in the store who adjusted the antennae to make the picture reception just right.

OK, Dad forked over some sizeable amount to purchase the TV set. He had to carry it to the car and it was heavy. He put it into the trunk and drove ever so carefully home as to not damage the delicate cargo.

The next night he tried out the new TV set. It was on a table and plugged in with an antennae attached that they called “rabbit ears.” He was able to select a few channels to get some reception, but there was a lot of static. He messed with the antennae a lot to try to stabilized a bouncing picture. It didn’t work. He probably thought that television technology wasn’t very good as he now had to call the store and have a television repairman come out to see what was going wrong.

A TV repair man showed up in the evening as that was when Dad was available to meet him. He messed with the antennae and then declared that something else was wrong. He thought that maybe one of the tubes was bad probably damaged or shaken in transit.

He brought out his tube tester and proceeded to check them until he discovered the broken tube. He said that the tube would have to be replaced, and with that Dad learned that maintaining a television set was an on-going investment from the get-go. The guy replaced the tube and put the TV on a channel with a nice picture, declared victory and took off.

He would be back periodically to check the tubes.

Anyway, the story is that we discovered a new television show that was Flippo the Clown. Flippo captivated every child in north central Ohio, and their mothers too. He showed old movies and promoted drinking hot chocolate. He also promoted children conducting charitable events such as having circuses in the yard, charging admission, and sending the money to a charity.

Dicky Vail was the first kid that I knew to host a circus in his yard. He planned the event that included blowing up balloons and hanging them everywhere. He asked me if I wanted to participate, and I responded enthusiastically. I said I would come as a clown.

From that point forward, I discovered my calling in life.

Grandpa dreams: Campout in the yard

When I was a young boy of about 7 years, my Dad surprised me and asked if I wanted to sleep in the backyard in his hammock. He brought that hammock home with him from the Navy in WWII and in the summer when the weather was nice, he hung it between two sturdy trees.

Our yard was pretty big. The house faced Elm Street and Grandpa Oscar’s house was way in the back facing East North Street. An old apple orchard lay between them and some other things such as a chicken coop, a clothes line, Grandpa’s barn and Grandma’s garden. A limestone wall ran the length of the combined properties with a corn field and drive adjacent it. On the other property line was an empty lot and then another neighbor’s yard.

Being in the hammock in the shade, one could take a nap and feel pretty much away from everything until hunger came around.

Anyway, I told my Dad that I would love to sleep in the yard at night, and he arranged that with Mom. They brought out a sleeping bag and my pillow. I had my coonskin cap and a flashlight. Mom packed a piece of cheese and some crackers in case I got hungry, and she provided a thermos of water too. A boy with a flashlight lead to mischief, but I wasn’t motivated to play around because sleeping in the yard was serious business.

I was in the yard at about 8:30 at night when Mom, Dad, and brother said “Goodnight”.  I laid in the hammock and wasn’t sleepy. I looked at the stars in the sky and tried to find the moon. All was very quiet.

I could hear crickets chirping. As the sun disappeared deeply, it just got very dark out there and in those days people didn’t leave lights on. Grandpa’s lights went out and it was black in the southerly direction. My folks and brother went to bed and it was pitch black in their direction.

I was hanging with my head to the north, so to my right was Mr. Garverick’s old barn and the water tower. Mr. Garverick kept traps in his barn and it was spooky over there. Foxes lived in that direction and racoons too.

In fact, foxes could be about anywhere out there as there were lots of rabbits. Racoons would climb trees near our kitchen and we could see them at night with a flashlight. I thought about flashing the trees to see what was out there with me, but did I truly want to know?

I gave it a try and I saw something rustling in the trees. What if that thing wanted to visit the hammock? I wouldn’t like that. I put the flashlight out and began to dream about all of the animals that were probably out there with me. The woods wasn’t that far away, so deer and opossums and just about anything could be there.

I went into a dream state and thought about the “Indians” that used to live here in my backyard. I remembered the stories about wolves killing my great ancestor’s pigs not far from here. “The wolves are all gone, right,” I asked myself? That was a scary thought, but scary thoughts are what put me to sleep sometimes. I dreamt that I was outrunning a varmint as I fell into deep sleep.

Then, there was a very loud sound, something that I hear all of the time, but alone in the dark in a deep sleep the town clock chiming nine times was “alarming.” I sprang awake, counting the chimes, and realizing that this was going to happen again all night long.

I had another scary thought, “What if I need to get back into the house at night?” How would I find my way? I have my flashlight, but there is no pathway. I could take the alleyway to the street and then find my house. Right. I figured it out so I could fall asleep again.

I dreamt about using the flashlight to find my way back to the house to escape from varmints that I knew had me surrounded.

I fell asleep until the town clock began striking 10 times. How’s a fellow supposed to sleep with that clock going off all of the time? I anticipated with some excitement about counting the clock twelve times at midnight. That was something to look forward to. After that, it would only strike once, twice, and three times. I could sleep through that.

In fact, I arose for the midnight chimes and after that I went into a deep sleep again. The next thing that I remember was the warmth of the sun shining on the hammock. Mom stood at my head and asked gently, “Do you want to get up, Jimmy? Would you like some breakfast?”

I was reluctant to get out of the hammock, but after a hard night’s work defending the yard from varmints and counting the town clock, I was surely hungry.

Now, I dream about the day when I might help my grandsons campout in their yard someplace. I would suggest that they leave a string trail to their kitchen door in case they need to come in at night to escape the varmints.

Camping in the backyard