Snow-filled Memories

 

Snow-filled Memories

As I drove from my home just outside of the village of White, Pennsylvania to Indian Head, I began to recall the many times I’d ridden or driven the same two lane road in the snow. The twisting wooded lane is called Poplar Run. No matter the time of year, it’s always beautiful. The snow hanging heavy on the bare branches of beech, oak, and maple, made lacey patterns that glistened in the sunlight. At night they sparkled in the headlights of the car. Mountain laurel still line the banks of Poplar Run. Their dark glossy leaves in contrast with the white snow.

The most beautiful sight of all was the young pines standing on a steep slope with their feathery branches heavily laden with newly fallen snow. They seemed to spread their arms wide to gather as many of the flakes as they could hold and then wrap themselves in a thick white quilt. They’re much older now with fewer needles, but at one time, in their prime, they wore heavy dark green coats. That wondrous sight would suddenly pop into view as I made a sharp turn. It was as though a visual feast was spread out just for me. I knew it was there, but its beauty always appeared suddenly. It was the darkness of the branches gracefully sagging beneath the weight of the new-fallen snow. It was the surprise I enjoyed even as a child riding in the back seat of my parent’s Carl and Sybil Miner Beck’s car. My views were often hampered by sharing the backseat with my brother Ken and sister Kathy, but it was always enjoyable.

Other roads that my dad drove gave me a different memory. I can recall times when I had to press my face against the car window to look upward to see the bright blue sky over the top of the drifted and plowed high banks of snow.

Another snowy memory of my dad was that he hated to be late. His mantra was, “If you’re not early, you’re late.” One Sunday morning we tried three different routes to get to church during a snow storm. The roads were covered in snow and very slippery. As Dad pulled into the parking lot of the white clapboard Clinton Church of God, the music was already playing for the first hymn. Dad said, “Get back in the car kids” and he drove us home. I’m sure that God wouldn’t have minded, but Dad was a stickler for being punctual.

This year, snow has come in surges as did my recollections of snow ball battles, sled riding, and other scenes of cold wintertime beauty that remain stored in my brain.

I Have Never

I Have Never
I’ve never in my seventy-seven year of life seen so many politicians whose desire is to rewrite, reinterpret or actually destroy America’s founding document, the Constitution of the United States, but I am beginning to understand why. The Left has been infiltrating our positions of power with an aim of changing this bastion of freedom into a Socialist or Communist country. There is one main reason. Many of the principles were written into the Constitution by our forefathers were based on the Bible.
Our founders came to this new land to escape crippling bonds of tyranny. As they chose the ideals for this landmark document, they took into consideration many variables that might lead back into tyranny again. These farsighted men crested a plan that would prevent a central government from EVER wresting control from the people, safeguarding liberty and freedom for future generations. Their aim was to establish the rights of the average citizens and defending them from intrusion of government’s unrestrained power.
That’s why the Bill of Rights and a system of checks and balances were codified, written out in plain and easy to understand words. The definition of many of these words have been twisted and altered so Federal and State governments have chiseled away these basic inalienable rights. This assault is intentional.
The tenets upon which the Constitution and America’s laws were written had roots in the Bible and the Christian ideals. The United States stands like a light in a dark world and that’s why America has drawn downtrodden from nearly every country in the world. That light shines from the pages of the Bible.
As America continues to turn its back on God that light dims and “God bless America” is changing. God has begun to withhold His blessings. It will not take much longer before He begins to judge the United Stated, just as He’s destroyed other mighty nations of the past. I don’t claim to be a prophet calling out a warning like Jonah, but God caused him to preach repentance and a turning back to God to the evil empire of Nineveh Jonah’s plea caused the king’s heart to change, and the great city of Nineveh was spared.
Oh, that we could get our country to turn away from the evils of abortion and immorality and to return to a loving God. Jonah preached repentance. It’s not too late for America to turn back to Him.

Freedom of religion is one right not to be infringed upon, but with the Covid pandemic, the first thing government tried to control was the assembling together to worship. With this in view, how long before Christians in America will join the persecuted souls from other countries? 

And the Mountain Roared

 And the Mountain Roared

I often heard my wife’s mother describing a sound that she would hear. Retha May Morrison would pause at whatever she was doing; cock her head to one side, and say, “Shush, just listen to the mountain roar.” And indeed the wind in the trees did. She and Bud her husband were groundskeepers at Camp Christian near Mill Run, Pennsylvania. The camp was surrounded by thick wooded hillsides and was graced with a small stream running through it. When the wind would blow from a certain direction, the sound of the wind did give a low, guttural growl.

Camp Christian once had been a summer retreat for weary people from Pittsburgh and the surrounding communities. They would ride the train to spend a day, a weekend, or even a week in Killarny Park. The park was a place of escape where people could boat, swim, and fish with lodging and meals available for those who were able to afford it.  Many would pack a lunch and for the price of the train fare they could relax, hike, wade, or swim, away from the smoke and noise of the city.

The camp had a large two storied Millhouse. It was of white clapboard hotel-like bedrooms upstairs. Downstairs was a huge kitchen, a banquet room with multiple tables for eating, and an open, wraparound porch. At one end of the dining room was a large stone fireplace where a fire frequently burned in the cool of the evening. There was a chapel and also a few rental cabins with little more room than to provide shelter and sleeping quarters. The white clapboard shelters were snug and provided refuge from the rain and wind.

A large metal bell perched atop a stone pillar at the front of the Millhouse and summoned diners when the meals were ready to be served.

Eventually Killarny Park was purchased by a consortium of churches in Pittsburgh as a summer camp. Reserved on different weeks, the camp was available for adults, for couples, and for children. One week was set was always aside for the underprivileged kids of Pittsburgh. Although the Millhouse has now been replaced with a more modern dining hall and kitchen, children’s’ shouts of laughter still echo in the camp.

As I sat this morning, deciding on what to write I heard the mountain outside of my windows roar. I live near White, Pennsylvania and although the trees aren’t as close to my house as the trees that surrounded Camp Christian, my mountain roared. The wind was just right. The sound of the wind’s roar entered my home, as did the memory of Retha’s words entering my brain.