Oh Canada
In the winter I would often tease my Canadian friends. When the winter winds would blow snow and ice in my direction and always when the cold would flow from the north, I would complain that my Canadian neighbors forgot to close the doors on their refrigerators and deep freezers. I would blame them for the frigid weather and snow. I know it’s not true, but I like to make a joke at their expense.
Lately I have shifted the blame for the smoke filled sky to them again. I know that the forest fires are the cause and there is nothing that can be done about it. I still have to tease just a bit and I ask, “Why are so many Canadians barbecuing and grilling at the same time?” Or are they just smoking the meat?
Don’t think I am heartless. I understand the seriousness of the wild fires and pray that all will be safe and that the situation will soon be under control. I went with a friend to California two years ago and the air was smoky many days depending on the direction of the wind. The haze from California and from Canada rivals each other, sometimes making fragile moments of beauty.
I really have nothing harsh to say about my neighbors to the north. Quite a few years ago it was my pleasure to accompany a young man who wanted to be a missionary in Labrador. Several of us went with him driving from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania through New England and into New Brunswick and Nova Scotia before riding the ferry into Newfoundland. Again we drove from the southern tip to northern Newfoundland to St. Anthony. Once in St. Anthony we boarded the “Northern Ranger”
The Northern Ranger had a hardened hull to travel through icy water lessening damage to the ship. The black and white ship was trimmed in red. It was 235 feet long. The ship was a working vessel with accommodations for passengers. There were rooms for tourists and a gallery of seats for people raveling from port to port. The Ranger would stop at each port to unload passengers and goods or to pick up passengers and good. Many towns didn’t have a dock and the citizens would use their boats to transport folk or goods to and from the ship.
We rode the Ranger to Nain, Labrador and back. We were at sea. It was exciting being able to see icebergs close to shore and farther out on the ocean. One iceberg was so large if the top would have been leveled off, I small plane could have landed on it.

 Traveling Man
My Father Edson Carl Beck was in the United States Army during World War II. He didn’t talk much about where he was or what he did. The few things I was able to gather were from photographs or items he brought back. He did share that he was stationed in the Philippines as a chaplain’s assistant. I always thought he didn’t see much action or wasn’t near the front lines until he showed me a piece of shrapnel from an exploding bomb that had hit him. He said that it had injured him, but said no more about it.
He did have photos, mostly of black men and women who were naked to the waist with just a loincloth or wrapped skirt. I distinctly remember several of them. One was of a man climbing out of a foxhole or bomb crater covered in mud. Another was of a man suffering from elephantiasis with a scaly enlarged leg and genitals, a disease caused by roundworms creating gross edema of the affected area. I’m not sure where these were taken, but I imagine somewhere in the South Pacific.
Before my dad passed away, he wrote a short autobiography asking me to type it up. Most things I already knew; his parents, where and when he was born, and where he went to school. I was surprised to see that he had visited Hiroshima, Japan. I knew that visit had to be after the bomb was dropped after the war had ended. He was a poor farmer’s kid and that trip couldn’t have happened before the war.
Every so often I am surprised by another fact from my dad’s past. Just the other day my daughter Amanda Yoder called to say that she met a person who worked at Seven Springs ski resort with him. As they talked he told stories of my dad and what a prankster he was. Dad drove bus for awhile after he retired from the Walworth Valve Company. The guy said Dad would wait until another bus would park behind him. He would turn on the interior lights and exaggeratedly make motions of cleaning the bus. When he completed the task he’d often wave a twenty dollar bill so the driver behind could see. The money was from his own wallet, but did it to tease the driver behind. It was December 7th and Dad asked the guy what did he know about the date? The guy said dad told him that Dad was at Pearl Harbor In 1941. He was in the mess hall when the bombs began to fall. That was a surprise to me. I get a lump in my throat just thinking about it.

Is Imprinting the Answer?
When a creature is first born, it more often than not will form an attachment to whatever it first sees. It will follow that person or animal as if it is their mother. It’s in the early stages of life that a bond is formed. It’s the time when the new born begins to learn how to walk, feed, and communicate. It’s a time when thought patterns that will rule the creature’s life are shaped. It’s a time when the instincts and habits are created. Especially if the mother rejects the newborn and a surrogate animal nurtures and cares for it. Surrogate mothers can be the same breed or an entirely different species, but that doesn’t matter to the infant being cared for. If a chick is raised by a duck, that chick will nearly drown itself trying to swim after the mother duck. Why? That chick thinks it’s a duck.
A child imprints on a human mother, learning to walk, talk, and being potty trained by the mom or caregiver. Sometimes young men cling to the feminine motherly image and do not develop manly traits. Why? Could it be an attitude of acceptance from the mother and not redirecting the male child’s choices? Mothers need to be able to nurture without encouraging a boy’s misdirected thoughts.
I do not mean to entirely blame the mothers. Often there is no male model for the boys to emulate. A single parent home is often lacking the yin and yang type relationship which both boys and girls have a need to be exposed. Two mothers or two fathers were not the design of God. Nor is the family with multiple wives of a male or multiple husbands to one wife. Although the Bible has many examples of multiple parenting, they are far from good examples. The infighting from family members, jealousy, and greed are often the results. Are these things at the core of gender confusion?
Satan’s desire is to weaken the family. He is using our Federal government to push his agenda. It started years ago when Uncle Sam discouraged fathers from being in the home paying mothers to care for out-of-wedlock children. The government became the child’s daddy providing food, shelter, and medical care. Another step was taken when the government took taxpayers money to pay for aborting future generations and shattering families. When we thought it couldn’t get worse for families, the government is now promoting gender confusion and introduction to sexual perversions into our public schools. The schools have become indoctrination centers for pedophiles, completely circumventing the parent’s rights to train up a child and removing the moral foundations that America once held dear. 

Vacation Bible School Wears Me Out
This is the third year I’ve helped cook for Mt. Zion Community Church Vacation Bible School. Before we had morning events and served a wide variety of lunches. It hustled the three of us to prepare and serve for the children, staff, and visitors. The visitors were either parents or grandparents who were cautious with their kids or the drove quite a distance and stayed instead of making two trips. It was wonderful having them and sharing stories with them. This year the Bible school will be held in the evening 6:30 pm Monday 6-28 till 6-30-2023.
There are the same three cooks who will again be preparing and serving “snacks.” The menu will have a wide variety of selections, keeping in mind the dietary restrictions for some of our young charges. Last week we created a wonderful menu of food from fresh fruit cups to s’mores. Other offerings will include an ice cream bar (sherbet for the lactose intolerant) and a few other substitutes. We know that several kids have peanut allergies, so this year there will be NO peanuts or peanut butter anywhere in the kitchen. There are kids who’ve requested finger Jell-o and I believe we will have those as nightly as well.
Someone had to go shopping for the ingredients. My friend Kathy Hawk and I stepped into the traces to pull the shopping carts. With the church credit card in hand, we drove off in the mini-van, heading to the Greensburg Sam’s Club praying for good buys and our ability to find of the ingredients that we needed After we made rounds at Sam’s buying items in bulk, we headed back to Mt. Pleasant to search for the remaining items on our list. I knew there was at least one item that Aldi’s had that was necessary for our fake s’mores. We bought several things including the sprinkles and syrups for our ice cream bar then we were off to Wal-Mart to finish our marathon shopping spree. After getting gas for the mini-van, we headed back to the church to offload our purchases filling cooler, freezer, and kitchen shelves. We left at 9 AM and got back to the church three and one half hours later. I was tired and back home I lay down for half an hour, just resting. I didn’t take a nap; I still had my lawn to mow. I knew it was to rain in the evening and tomorrow.
Y’all are welcome to come to Mt. Zion Community Church for the Camping themed Vacation Bible School program and sample our snacks.

State Plates
I was reminded of this story while talking to a friend the other day. I’m not sure whether other people think as I did or not, but when I was stationed in Florida at the Naval Hospital in Orlando, I frequently checked license plates of the cars as they passed. When I would see a Pennsylvania license plate, it made me wonder where in our state they lived. It didn’t make me homesick, but it did give me a feeling of connection with strangers who were passing by.
That is the background for the actual story. One of the times when I was on leave my parents Carl and Sybil Miner Beck drove to the Pittsburgh Airport to pick me up. I don’t remember what time I my flight landed, but I can clearly remember that darkness had fallen. I was glad to be home and happy to be settled in the backseat of their car. As we drove along the Parkway exiting the city, I can remember seeing Pennsylvania license plates, one after another. The plates were easy to see, lit by the light over the vehicles license plates. I felt a similar tingle that I felt when I saw a Pennsylvania plate driving by when I was in Florida. Each time a car would pass, I thought, “Wow, there’s another Pennsylvania license plate.” All of a sudden it dawned on me, “You dummy. No wonder there are so many Pennsylvania license plates. You ARE back in Pennsylvania.”
As I was writing this, another recollection popped into my head. When I was a kid, we didn’t have Frisbees. We were fortunate if we had a bat and a ball. We often made do with what we found as a toy. I can remember that I found a chrome plated wheel cover that had fallen off a car. The hubcap was heavy, about fourteen inches in diameter. I picked it up and began to toss it like a flying disc. It worked fine for several flights until the thin metal edges of the underside tore into the flesh of my fingers. The black dust that had collected from the brake pads rubbed off on my skin contaminated the cut.
I didn’t need stitches, but Mom’s cleaning of the wound hurt like the devil. I don’t remember what happened to the hubcap, but I do know I never used a hubcap for a Frisbee again.

Salt of the Earth
One of my relatives had a small farm where he and his wife raised a few cows and pigs. He was so selfish and tight that he squeaked when he walked. He would make a penny stretch beyond what was legal. I was told that he often wore a heavy coat when he went shopping, coming home with more than he paid for. Supposedly he didn’t purchase the salt and sugar necessary to process the hams when it came time to butcher the hogs.
Tricksters at Frick Hospital in Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania would play the old switcheroo with salt and sugar on the night shift. In the cafeteria they would unscrew the tops of the salt and sugar containers, so that when another person would to use it, most of the contents were dumped onto their meal or into their coffee. Another trick was to exchange the contents so the salt was sugar and vice-versa. It became so bad that the cafeteria employees had to collect and store the salt and sugar containers in the evening. The night shift had to deal with the consequences of having no salt or sugar.
The story that actually started me down the salt trail occurred when television advertisers used a disclaimer saying that shredded wheat was salt free. It was a time that physicians said that too much salt wasn’t good for people with high blood pressure. My dad Carl Beck thought that the shredded wheat company REMOVED the salt from their cereal. He stubbornly claimed it didn’t taste the same and would add salt to his shredded wheat before eating it for breakfast. Even though we tried to explain that salt was never in the cereal’s recipe, he was adamant about the taste and determined to add the salt for flavor.
The final link in my salty story is that I was a corpsman in the United States Navy during the Vietnam Era. Although I was never “in country,” I took care of many of the injured men when they returned to the States. My “sea duty” was Iceland. In the four years that I served, I was never on a ship. I did often go fishing on an eighteen foot fishing boat and Navy sailors are called “old salts,” so technically I could be called an old salt even though I was never at sea until I actually rode a ship from Newfoundland along the coast of Labrador much later in life.

 Visit to Flight 93 Crash Site
It was a long day yesterday, I’m glad it wasn’t raining like this morning. I left my house at 7:15 in the morning to board the bus for a trip planned by the Chestnut Ridge Historical Society. The trip was to the 93 crash site near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Even though the site of the park was close, I didn’t want to go alone. The tour isn’t something a person wants to do alone. It’s always better if you share the experience with another. I don’t mean to imply that it’s more fun to be with someone else, but the depth of the emotions that the site creates, it is better to have someone to lean on or to talk to. Shared sadness and grief always seems lighter when someone is there to help with the burden.
On our way, the bus had to slow down because a young black bear ran across the Pennsylvania, Turnpike and scurried off into the woods. As I toured the visitor and museum, I felt the tightness in my throat as I wondered among the artifacts from the crash now residing in the peaceful and serene Somerset countryside. We stopped in Johnstown for a light lunch, then into Cambria County to The Mountain Playhouse Theater on the Pasquilla Performing Arts Center on the University of Pittsburgh, Johnstown College Campus. The seats of the bus and the theater were very comfortable and I was able to enjoy the trip and the presentation of a musical titled, “Life Could Be a Dream.” The music and singers were marvelous crooning “Do-whop” songs from the fifties. The music was provided by five gentlemen to the side of the stage that accompanied the five singers and actors, four men and one lady. I couldn’t help myself from quietly singing along with their singing as the words were dredged from the swamp of my memory.
The bus driver Anthony was excellent and he ferried us back to “Oakhurst Tea Room” for a buffet on delicious food. Of course I filled my stomach. I don’t cook for myself like that at home and enjoyed every bite.
Back at home, I reclaimed the nap I so desperately needed, because I didn’t get one during the trip. There was no time or opportunity. I met several people that I knew and made a few more friends. All in all, I really enjoyed the day.

 Minor Miner Miner
This past weekend was the gathering of the Minerd-Minard-Miner-Minor Family Reunion. The family has gathered since its inception in 1913. The first Minerd family assembly was held at the Ferncliff Hotel in Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania. This year our reunion was held at Camp Christian, in Mill Run, Pennsylvania. The second reunion was held in 1914 at the same place. It was called Killarney Park at that time. The site has changed hands several times since the park was initially designed as a respite for city dwellers to ride the train from Pittsburgh and spend a day, a weekend, or even a week in the fresh air of the country away from the smoke and noise of the city.
Cabins and the Millhouse offered lodging for the visitors. The Millhouse offered meals or the travelers could bring their own victuals as picnic lunches. The park grounds offered boating, fishing, and swimming. Eventually a church group purchased the Killarney Park site and it became a church camp called Red Fern. Later another church group bought the camp and it became Camp Christian. Slowly improvements have changed the camp from what it looked like in 1914 to what it is today. The old Millhouse has been torn down, replaced by an updated place for gathering and lodging. The old chapel that had wooden shutters and rough wood flooring has been changed into a sleek updated chapel. Some of the cabins remain, but there are two buildings that now house campers who visit.
The groundskeeper’s cottage has been brought into the present by remodeling and replacing the gray Insulbrick covering, the windows, and the porch. They made the 1 and ½ story house into a full two story home. The activity building that housed the boys in the second and third story dorms were removed when bats tried to claim them and after the new dormitories were built. The swimming pool has been replaced by climbing walls.
One thing that remains the same is the rocking chairs that grace the wraparound porch of the Millhouse. The bent laurel and curved slat seats of the chairs are comfortable and contoured to support the tired visitor’s bottom and back. Relaxing in the sunshine, feeling the cool breeze, and looking at the scenery is part of the camp’s charm.

 Exposing the Naked Truth
I’m sure that many of you have gone skinny dipping at least once in your lives, especially when you get to be as old as me. I just wanted to share a few times that I can recall I’ve been swimming. It is a natural thing to be unclad. “Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither:” is found in Job 1:21. There weren’t any guilty feelings about the times I went into the water without a swimming suit. Several times I had no choice. Gym class in junior high school males were expected to attend swimming classes without a stitch of clothing. The girls were allowed to wear one-piece swim suits, but not the boys. I’m not sure the reasons, but it was the school policy.
The neighbor boys and I would occasionally swim beneath the bridge of Route 711 in the cold waters of Poplar Run. The stream flowed in the shade most of the way from its sources of melting ice, snow, and the water from several underground springs. The water was downright frigid, especially when we would dive-in before the middle of May. We always built a bonfire before entering the water. It was necessary to avoid hypothermia, chase away blue lips, and chattering teeth. Why? I believe it was a manhood thing.
Another place and another time that I’ve gone skinny dipping was in Indian Creek near Indian Head, Pennsylvania. Several of us kids would play softball in an empty field near the stream. We ‘d play ball until we were panting and sweating beneath a hot summer sun. When we’d had enough, we would hurry into the shade of a wooded belt of trees, shedding our clothes on the bank, before diving into the refreshing and revitalizing waters of the boy-made dam.
On the far side bank was a railroad track. Frequently as we enjoyed the cooling effects of the flow, a train would pass by. We would hear the rumble of the locomotive and tail of cars long before it would roll by. We would hurry to the center and deepest part of the creek. We would wave with only our heads above the surface. I’m sure the engineer knew what we were doing and would blow the whistle as the train would roll by us as we swam. I was never sure whether he could actually see our nakedness from his lofty perch in the locomotive or whether it was a good guess.
Other than the awkward feeling of being completely exposed to my peers while in swimming classes in high school, skinny dipping had an exhilarating feeling of freedom.

 WOW< Thank you all. I was super impressed to see that 2.1K readers from Singapore had checked out my blog. Thank you to all of my readers.

Fathers
    My father was never an emotional man. Showing love wasn’t easy for him. A pat on the head or a swat on the behind was his way of saying “Good job.” He did give occasional hugs, but I can’t remember a kiss. He went to work, paid for the things we needed, kept us fed, and built more onto the house when the size of our family grew. I guess he put his love into the tangible things in our lives.
He meted out justice, gave us chores to do, and taught us right from wrong. One taboo for him was never to be late. It was always, “If you’re not early, you’re late.” Growing up wasn’t always easy, but then again life isn’t always easy. If you are finding it is easy, you’re going with the flow and most of the time it’s the wrong direction. He took us to church Sunday mornings and evenings and to prayer meeting on Wednesday evenings. We worshipped God in a small congregation in the Clinton Church of God. My father’s fixation on being where you are supposed to be and “On Time” (Which actually meant early.) can be best described in the following vignette.
It was winter and very snowy. The roads were very slick and snow covered. Sunday mornings meant we WERE going to church. All of us piled into the car and we started out. I am sure it was thirty minutes early for a fifteen minute drive. There were several ways to get to church and all of them involved going uphill. Dad tried one way without success, the second way and no success, and on the third try we managed to get there. Pulling into the parking lot of the church, we opened our car door to get out and we could hear the congregation singing the first hymn. Dad called, “Kids. Get back into the car. We’re going home.”
I found out later his reasons for early was a woman at another church who would dress to kill, arriving late every Sunday and “parade” her children to the front of the church to show off her kids and herself. Another woman would bring her well dressed kids into church, but she would still have curlers in her hair and an old dress. Once she deposited her kids, she hurry home, do her hair, dress, and put on make-up and jewelry. Then she would return LATE coming into the church. Both women did this Sunday after Sunday.
Later in life, my dad was in a nursing home. He couldn’t stay at home and care for himself and we couldn’t keep two people in his home to help him walk. It was more than balance and it always took two people to help him.
His birthday was June 21st, 1923. He always bragged, “I was born on the longest day of the year.” He died September 4, 2013. I visited him twice a week and when I would leave, I would always tell him “I love you.” I wanted him to know that I knew he was saying “I love you” over all of those years.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

Choices Chances and Changes
Just thinking back over the seventy odd years of my life and recalling incidents when I made choices, good or bad that have affected me greatly. Many of those choices have been small ones, but have made a great impact for me and my family. Some choices make a large impact on others around me and some choices I make I will never know how they might change a stranger’s life.
When I am out and away from home, I always try to present a happy image. I have said in the past, “If I’m in a bad mood, I don’t leave home. Nobody wants to deal with a grumpy old man.” There are times when I am not in a good mood and have a doctor’s appointment, car repairs, or meetings, so I psyche myself up to smile and be courteous. Why? Because I can recall times in my past where I have not been polite or allowed my sarcastic humor to sour a friendship or a relationship. It’s not pleasant to reflect on those things, but perhaps those reviews of myself have caused changes and improved me; at least I hope they have.
I drove to Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania yesterday for needed blood-work to be done. Since Frick Hospital was my old stomping grounds, that’s where I usually go for x-rays and blood draws at the outpatient department. My testing required fasting, so I stop for breakfast after the phlebotomists are done with me. I used to eat at the Frick coffee shop, but since the “mother ship” has taken over, remodeled, and removed the cooks, I choose to stop at the Valley Dairy. Breakfasts there are reasonable and good. Yesterday was the second day in a row I’ve eaten there. Monday I had breakfast, I didn’t feel like cooking after staying at my son’s house critter sitting. I noticed two gentlemen having breakfast as well. I couldn’t help but overhear their conservative views and mentally agreed with what they said, although I didn’t speak to them.
They were there again yesterday after my blood draw. I ordered sausage gravy, biscuits, home fries, and a cup of tea. A serendipitous moment occurred when they left before me and paid my bill. The server had been confused that morning making extra steps for herself. I even loaned her my pen when I heard her mutter, “I don’t have a pen.”. When I tried to pay my bill, she said the two strangers had already paid it. She told me that gentlemen often did it. The coincidence of it happening on the same day I was writing about small choices changing another’s outlook was almost miraculous. Thank you gentlemen.

Eleven Day Sabbatical

My postings on this site have been a bit light. I was kidnapped by my son Andrew, his wife Renee and my grandchildren for eleven days to house sit. I was in charge of keeping things in shape watering the garden, but also caring for their critters. They own four female goats that need fed and watered twice a day as they graze keeping grass and weeds at bay in their fenced in pasture. They are a rowdy bunch, jockeying for a place at the feeding trough when I dup in their goat feed grain. They aren't milkers yet, so I didn't need to revert back to my youthful days milking cows.

Next came the feeding and watering of their two cats. Miss Pickles and I can't remember the other's name, but they needed their food bowls filled and watered twice per day. I also had to feed and water their dog Honey twice per day.

I was feeding their flock of about twenty-four chickens. It was filling their feeders and making sure their water bowls wer filled and claen. Twice a day I needed to grope under several nesting hens to check for their egg production. Uually I collected fourteen to sixteen eggs pear day. Washing the eggs to remove chicken poop and placing them into cartons came next. Once packaged, I carried them to an outside, self-serve refrigerator for sale.

The most fun was rounding up the chickens after a free-range day of foraging. Certain chickens were to be kept in certain pens; placing so many chickens in one coop and the rest in the other. Let me just say that chickens are the most scatterbrained, obstinate creatures on God's green earth the worst were three black chickens and one white one. They sometimes refused and I'd have to catch them and put them inside. The flock had to be locked down at night to keep them safe. I also had a male Mallard duck to care for. Something got into his pen and bit him on the head and neck. Nursing him for several days, he seemed almost normal, although his feathers were still ruffled.

Before I could turn-in, the six mice needed to be fed. Finally I am free from the indentured servitude and am at home.