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.