Pennsylvania

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Today, this 30th day of December, is our last in Pittsburgh. The house is sold, quiet, and for a short spell, empty. Our car is packed to the gills and ready to roll along home to Colorado. Colorado, where we were born and raised, landlocked anchor to our drifting hearts.

When we are far greyer than we are now, and reminiscing about our life, we’ll gaze at each other and say, “Do you remember that year we lived in Pennsylvania?” We’ll wonder aloud if maybe it was a wild shared dream, the two of us living in what our friends called the mansion, a century-old beauty of red brick, chock full of gleaming wood, stained glass, four fireplaces, and three stories, the top most we rarely visited, save to gaze upon and photograph the sky.

We will, always and forever, be glad for our choice, to have been courageous enough to pick up sticks and live on the other side of the continent and known yet another part of America: the undulating hills, hardwood forests, ravines and deep river valleys; the diversity, having come from the whitest city of Portland; the kind faces of generations of poverty and souls broken by back-breaking labor, giving all they had; the vast brick mansions, museums, and every last vestige of the steel age; the wretched air pollution and ridiculously high property taxes that buy virtually nothing ($7,200 on a $200,000 house!); the road trips to places we had longed to see: Pennsylvania, Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, the New York and Quebec countryside.

We will smile, conjuring the streets of Bellevue: the kids of all ages at the skate park, the fabulous library, the lights at holiday time; the pitch perfect weather and four gloriously distinct seasons; the new vocabulary and that crazy Pittsburgh accent, how we drove sahth on the parkway with a bunch of nebby jagoffs to go aht dahntahn, bought groceries at the Giant Iggle, and watched the STLRS play.

We will remember surviving and thriving during a year of massive grief and wonder: a mother with breast cancer, a cousin with a cancerous brain tumor, a soul broken enough to attempt suicide, the sorrowful loss of our beloved cats and our two grandmothers; the quiet evenings of summer, lying, jubilant and awestruck, under a sky alive and shimmering with fireflies; the hills ablaze with the dazzling colors of fall; having walked and driven, mile after mile, eager and curious, to big places and small spaces, forests and towns, and gotten lost, lost, lost.

We will be glad to have learned more of our own selves, the roots we never knew we had: how living in and amongst the rolling hills and winding roads of Appalachia drove us absolutely mad, and flat cities with grid systems make us as giddy as children with a secret; how we found a gaping hole in our collective soul, one that could only be filled with the nearness of our aging family and the dreamy-big skies, sage scrubland and open spaces, and mountains, giants snow-capped and cloaked in evergreen, of the West; how there was simply no substitute for being T H E R E.

Most of all, we will be grateful to have such marvelously generous and big-hearted Pittsburgh friends: Peggy. Mike. Kristen. Patrick. Dale. Therese. Dan. Janet (times two!). Ron. Megan. Tricia. Jonathan. Andrew. Kelly. Beth. Peter. George. Jordan. Rose. The beautiful women of the Non-Native Pittsburgher Women’s Social Meetup. The Sisters at Bethany House. The creative men and women of my Writer’s Group. The kindly businessmen and women of Bellevue. The cashiers at the Whole Foods in Wexford. To all, we give our love and sincerest thanks.

It was a great and wonderful year. Here’s to an even better 2016!

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All aboard from last weekend’s super fun adventure to the Pennsylvania Trolley Museum! A mere forty minute drive from our place, it was a welcome change from our longer distance travels. The museum is a rather impressive labor of love, with 161 volunteers and five paid staff restoring and maintaining trolleys, track, and buildings (one of them is partially solar powered!), giving tours, and running the gift shop. I love to witness cross-generational interest in just about anything, so when I discovered that our operator and conductor (who punches actual tickets!) were both young men, and the littlest traveler on our trolley was a positively giddy two-year-old, I was pretty jazzed, too.

They have a short informational film about the history of the street car, and our conductor went into other details, the majority of which we didn’t know, and I won’t spoil for anyone interested in visiting. They have trolleys from just about every era in every stage of repair. The wooden one was saved from detonation when a hurricane submerged it under water. My favorite, which also happened to be the one we rode on, was a 1940’s model that hailed from Philadelphia. It was a stunner, with fine interior and exterior paint and examples of vintage advertising, too. “Give her an electric mixer. She’ll love to use it!”

I really can’t recommend it more highly, from the charming volunteers to the pleasing rumble and squeak of a trolley rolling down the track. Oh, and if Santa is your jam, they have a special Santa Trolley coming soon!

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Happy Monday from a stop at Blackbird Distillery in Brookville on our way to the Kinzua Bridge this past Friday. It’s a blink and you might miss the turn (we did the first time by) but definitely worth the trip. What a hoot! The man in charge was utterly hilarious and highly knowledgeable about every product Blackbird makes and sells, which includes moonshine in a myriad varieties, sauces, pickles, smoked meats, cheese, and more. Everything we tried was terrific. We came home with a t-shirt for the hubster, a bottle of the Lemon Drop Corn Shine (delicious!), beef jerky, and the best jar of pickles since moving to Pennsylvania. Spicy!

When it was built in 1882, the Kinzua was the tallest railroad bridge in the world. Though it only held that title for two years, it remained in commercial service for another 77, and later became part of the state park that bears its name. In a rather unfortunate turn, much of the bridge was destroyed by a tornado during restoration work in July of 2003, the twisted remains more akin to toothpicks than steel and a heady reminder of the fierce power of nature. At 301 feet, it’s a looong way down from what is now called the skywalk. Though I do not consider myself to be afraid of heights, it took all the courage I could muster to walk across the glass viewing panels. Eek!

Oh, and should you make the trip, be sure to stop by Stroup’s Maple Syrup, just down the road apiece from the park entrance. Harvested and processed right there! If you are lucky, you’ll be greeted by Skippy the Jack Russell Terrier, who very much likes pets from strangers.

The beautiful light in and around what might be the the handsomest cabin in the woods, and the sad source of our misses. Part of the Gateway Lodge, we’d planned on staying two nights and breakfasting at their cozy restaurant. Our first disappointment arrived when we learned at check-in that the lodge and its restaurant would be closed for a private party the whole of the weekend. Well, bummer, but we’re easy going and not about to let that get us down, and the cabin has a kitchen, so we’ll buy some breakfast provisions at the cute market down the way. Problem solved. Then came the unfortunate assault when we opened the cabin door. Mildew, potent and unpleasant. We opened windows, built a fire, and sat on the porch sipping our newly purchased shine to give it time. The sad truth was that nothing we could do would get rid of the odor or our disappointment. So we got a refund (which they were very kindly about) and drove home.

Thankfully it was only a couple of hours away and during the dreamy hours of the setting sun. And then a strange apparition, the glow of row upon row of tents, hundreds, maybe even thousands of them, right off the highway, like something out of a dream. We wondered and speculated at the largeness of it. What could it be? Our answer would have to wait for an internet connection.

The Pennsic War. A large living history group, gathering annually in numbers around the 10,000 mark, entirely dedicated to the Middle Ages “as they ought to have been.” Everyone in period attire, with battles and other challenges and the earning of war points. It all sounds quite interesting and organized, the Renaissance Fair on steroids, but, sadly, an entirely private event. The only method for observing is to become a member. Wait, I found a video. Fascinating!

 Yet another dazzler at the butterfly bush! A Monarch, I think.

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VICTORII REBUILD, artist San Priest.

Made from remnants of the World Trade Center

There are few events as heartbreaking as the death of a child, even in the eyes of strangers some 246 years later.

Welcome to the final installment of our Pennsylvania road trip! The above photos are from Bethlehem, another town with a steel industry that bit the dust, the old mill doing it’s beautiful best to rust across the ages. Bethlehem was founded on Christmas Eve in 1741 by a group of Moravian Missionaries (creators of beautiful stars and ultra thin and delicious cookies). The third photo down is the building where the first water works for public use dates to 1762. The thrilling luxury of pumped water. History in combination with beautiful buildings gets me jazzy-jazzed!

Speaking of jazzy-jazzed, I love a rolling landscape. This photo is the tip of the iceberg, or perhaps I should say top of the hill, my friends. You’ll see.

Our brief foray into Pottsville included driving some 45 degree angle streets, zipping past the Yuengling Brewery (the oldest in the country) too fast to snap a photo, and lunch. What a lunch it was. Tex-Mex in an old diner, that, in front of which, back in it’s diner heyday, presidential candidate John F. Kennedy gave a speech to some 12,000 people. There’s a lovely photo right above the counter. More history! And that was the hubster’s pulled pork torta. Good to the very last, he said.

Centralia – The Town that Was. A few roads, a few houses, and a few stubborn and sentimental residents are all that remain of a once thriving town. The mine on which the majority of its citizens made their living caught fire in 1962 and has been burning ever since. If, like me, you read A Walk in the Woods, by Bill Bryson (Egads! This was in 1998?), it probably rings a bell. Though I think it is much more deserted since his visit. Learn the history in this interesting documentary.

We toured, with our expert and quite amusing guide, Joe, a coal mine! the Pioneer Tunnel is absolutely fascinating, beautiful in its own way, and terrifying, too. The second picture of the mine? Twenty minutes straight up that ladder was our escape hatch. Some people do this every day. Bless them.

Ashland

I never tire of pastoral landscapes. Never.

Millheim, happily sated after a meal at the Elk Creek Cafe, mere seconds before a storm.

It followed us all the way to State College.

A liege waffle at Sadie’s. Mmmm…

Penn State

Awww…

Dean’s Diner (about an hour east of Pittsburgh) has got to be coolest looking, ever. Their baker arrives at 3 am to make marvels of the simplest ingredients, thirty pies on weekdays, fifty on weekends. The selection is phenomenal. The taste even better.

Thank you, Pennsylvania, for a tremendous trip!

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Bartram’s Garden: the oldest Botanic Garden in the United States. Located on the western banks of the Schuylkill (skoo-kul, I kid you not), it is far from the center of town, though within sight of it, a winding path leading to the view below. It’s mostly a place for weddings and school children to learn about the wonders of the natural world. The house was completed in 1731, and the wisteria arbor, while not the original, is in the exact location where Bartram hosted his friends, the likes of Benjamin Franklin and George Washington. I like to imagine Benjamin bumping along winding country roads in a candle-lit buggy before arriving to discuss independence and the latest advancements in botany over hard cider or maybe a tankard of lager.

I loved flag lined Broad Street to Philadelphia City Hall – the building was the tallest in the world from 1894-1908 (the year my Great Aunt Mary was born).

The hubster caters to my photography whims at the Barnes Museum. What an amazing collection! Also the focus of a fascinating documentary. I thought I wrote about it ages ago but can’t seem to find a post. Drat. Anyhoo, it is proof positive that people often don’t give a rat’s ass about your wishes upon your death, in particular the wealthy heirs of your envious enemies.

Wowie zowie salad and pizza at Vetri!

Sweetie pie kitty cats at The Book Corner

Another grand old house, The Francis Cope at Awbury Arboretum.

Bridges across the Schuylkill

The Irish Memorial

The Benjamin Franklin Bridge across the Delaware River. Hullo New Jersey!

Dinner at the Lucha Cartel – the best Mexican food we’ve had since crossing the Mississippi. Muchas gracias!

What do you expect with a parrot and a monkey?

The view from our digs in Society Hill, pretty sweet.

Neighborhood murals and fantastical mosaics at Philadephia’s Magic Gardens. Art is the center of the real world…

The Beasley Building, founded 1785

For everyone who dreamt of running naked while brandishing a rubber chicken and a cleaver as a child, this is for you.

Carpenter’s Hall

Discussions about the beginnings of the United States were held here! Also the location of the first bank robbery on American soil, with nearly 140,000 stolen from a vault in the basement.

Independence Hall

John Barry – Father of the American Navy

The Dream Garden, by Maxfield Parrish

15′ X 49′, it is made from over 100,000 pieces of favrile glass. Constructed by Tiffany Studios and completed in 1916.

Where Thomas Jefferson wrote The Declaration of Independence!

Freedom is a light for which many men have died in darkness.

The Pennsylvania Hospital – America’s First

 A serious nod to Mondrian

Crazy good dinner, service, and generous pours of bourbon at the Twisted Tail. They have plaid wallpaper! This is important, though I’m still deciding why.

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Bye, bye Philly, you sure were swell!

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