Twelve Items or Else

The Blackbird - Part Three - Can't See the Forrest...

2009-09-25T10:35:00.005-04:00

A quick search of the local libraries yielded no results for Earle Forrest's "History of Washington County, Volume 1"; the closest volume was at Citizen's Library in Washington, PA. I resigned myself to be (temporarily) satisfied with Alfred Creigh's account from his 1871 "History of Washington County":

"SECOND EXECUTION—WM. CRAWFORD.
Thirty-nine years had almost elapsed before a similar scene was enacted on Gallows Hill. WILLIAM CRAWFORD, an aged man, was tried for the murder of his own son before the Court of Oyer and Terminer of Washington, which assembled on November 20, 1822, before the Hon. Thomas H. Baird, President Judge, and his associates, Boyd Mercer and John Hamilton, Esqs.

A true bill was found by the grand jury, to which the prisoner plead, not guilty. By direction of the court a jury was empanelled of the prisoner's own selecting, consisting of Nathan Pyle, Benjamin Linton, James Ruple, Robert Gregg, Sr., William Clark, Samuel McDowell, Ebenezer Martin, Caleb Leonard, Thomas Jones, Ephraim Estep, Russel Moore, and Ezra Dille, who, being sworn and hearing the testimony, pleadings, and the charge of the court, rendered a verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree.

November 23, 1822, Judge Baird pronounced the following sentence upon the prisoner: "That yon be taken from hence to the jail of the county of Washington, from whence you came, and from thence to the place of execution, and there be hanged by the neck until you are dead."

On the 25th November, 1822, exceptions were filed by his attorneys in arrest of judgment, but were overruled by the court, and the prisoner was executed on the 21st day of February, 1823, on Gallows Hill, south of the borough, William Baird (Deputy Prosecuting Attorney) and J. Pentecost, represented the commonwealth; and James Ross, Parker Campbell, John Kennedy, and T. M. T. McKennan, were the counsel for the prisoner; Robert Officer, Esq., being high sheriff of the county."

Not very informative, just the plain facts. Creigh notes that Crawford was "an aged man". How old?, I wondered... I made plans to visit Citizen's Library the next time my husband was in Washington for a gun show.

The trip to Washington was made in the winter last year. I took my laptop, and eagerly waited for the librarian to open the cage door to the local reference books. I went to the stacks and found Forrest - but not Volume 1. Dang! I went back to the reference librarian and asked about the missing book, and she went to her cart and picked up the copy I so desperately wanted to read and said, "You're lucky. This is being sent out to be rebound next week."

Not seeing a photocopier (and too cheap to pay for copies), I immediately started typing into the laptop the three pages of information:

Earle Forrest, History of Washington County Pennsylvania, Vol. 1, p.374, 1926
"Another murder committed in early times in Washington County, which is talked of to this day, was the shooting of Henry Crawford by his aged father, William Crawford, because his son persisted in singing and whistling "The Blackbird." This occurred at the Crawford home in what was known as the Horseshoe Bottom, in Fallowfield Township, on Tuesday, July 30, 1822.

William Crawford was a peculiar character, to say the least. He had been a British soldier during the War of 1812, and he proudly referred to himself as "old Britannia." He and his son, Henry, did not get along well together, for the latter had inherited some of his father's spirit and resented his parent's severity. "The Blackbird" was a popular patriotic American song of that day, and the son took great delight in aggravating his father by singing and whistling it.

The trouble seems to have had its origin in difficulties between Crawford and his wife, and the son naturally took the mother's side. Relations had become so strained that Henry and his mother left the old man and were living in another house nearby. Henry baited his father, and when he discovered that it angered the old man to either sing or whistle "The Blackbird," he lost no opportunity of arousing his parent's ire. The old man had frequently threatened to kill his son, but on account of the former's age, Henry did not fear him. He was afraid that he might shoot, and so he had broken his father's gun, but the old man had it repaired unknown to his son.

On July 30, William Crawford held a "frolic" of hauling manure, a custom of early times, in which a man's neighbors would all join forces and help him in a certain line of work, such as harvesting, ploughing, building a house, or in fact anything about the farm. This is still observed by farmers of the present day in harvesting and threshing.

During that morning, when Crawford invited several of the men into his house for a drink of whiskey, he told then that his son, Henry, had come to torment him and he would kill him before night of he did not go away. Some of the men went to the barn and warned Henry, but he only said that he did not think "Britannia would shoot."

That evening Henry was sitting on a log near the door singing "The Blackbird"; and just as he started the second verse he was shot and almost instantly killed by his father. As the young man fell several men rushed from the barn, and one bent over him and asked, "Henry, are you hurt?"

"I am not as bad hurt as you think I am," he replied, and died within a few minutes. He was aged twenty-eight years.

In firing the fatal shot the old man rested his rifle against the door frame and took deliberate aim. He was captured immediately, and while waiting for the arrival of Parker Scott, a justice of the peace, the old man stated that he had intended to kill this son, and would do it again if he had it to do over.

William Crawford was lodged in the county jail at Washington, and on Thursday, November 21, 1822, was put on trial for the murder of his son, before Hon. Thomas H. Baird, president judge, and Boyd Mercer and John Hamilton, associate judges. The best legal talent of that day was arrayed on opposing sides. William Baird, the prosecuting attorney, was assisted by Joseph Pentecost, while Crawford was defended by James Ross. Parker Campbell, Thomas M.T. McKennan, and John Kennedy, all of whom ranked with the best of that time.

Thirty-four jurors were called before the twelve were finally selected to decide the old man's fate. The case was hard fought, but it was finally completed and given to the jury at 3:20 o'clock November 22nd, and an agreement was reached at 4:30. The little courtroom was crowded with people as the jury filed in, and the foreman announced the verdict, "Guilty of murder in the first degree."

On the following morning Crawford was sentenced by Judge Baird "to be taken from hence to the jail of the county of Washington from whence you came, and from thence to the place of execution, and be there hanged by the neck until you are dead. And may the God of mercy speak pardon and peace to your soul."

This was followed by a long address to the prisoner by Judge Baird, but the condemned man showed little or no concern in what was said; and at the conclusion he said that he felt no remorse of conscience. Such were his feelings to the very end. A writ of error was refused by the attorney general of the state, and an appeal was taken to the Supreme Court, but this tribunal refused to interfere. This ended the last hope of William Crawford for escaping the death penalty.

The death warrant from the governor was received by the sheriff on January 21, 1823, and when it was read to the old man in his cell, Crawford exhibited very little emotion. Crawford refused to eat for several days following, and it was feared that he would starve himself to death; and this was evidently his intention, but hunger finally overcame his resolution.

The hanging of William Crawford was, in many ways, one of the most extraordinary affairs of the kind that ever took place in Pennsylvania. While in jail awaiting execution he wrote a history of his life, which was afterwards published in The Examiner. To the very last this gray-haired man, who was past seventy years if age, exhibited an indifference that was amazing. He never expressed a regret for his terrible deed, and he went to his death without once asking for spiritual consolation.

This execution, the second in Washington County, and the first for murder, took place on Gallows Hill, where Thomas Richardson had been hanged for robbery over thirty-eight years before. The case had attracted wide attention throughout Western Pennsylvania, and on Friday, February 21,1823, between 8,000 and 15,000 people gathered in Washington to witness the public hanging of this man; and it was necessary to call out a company of militia to keep back the crowd and preserve order. The hanging was in charge of Sheriff Robert Officer and his deputy, Robert McClelland.

When taken from the jail to the place of execution, Crawford's conduct was most amazing, and it is doubtful if any man ever went to his death on the gallows wither before or since who appeared to care as little. His face was full of color and his eyes were clear and untroubled. The ground was covered with snow, and e was taken through the streets of Washington on a sled, riding beside his own coffin. As he rode to the gallows, between lines of thousands of people, he leaned on the coffin, peeled and ate an apple, telling the boys who ran beside the sled not to hurry, as the hanging would not take place until he got there. He was accompanied by the sheriff, his deputy and several clergymen, while the militia marched with the sled to keep back the crowd. In the narrative if his life, which he had written in jail, he said: "I do not fear, but I can not hope. I shall die like a soldier; but I dare not die like a saint."

When the gallows was reached he exhibited a complete indifference to the divine services conducted by the ministers for the salvation of his soul. At the close he mounted the platform, and while Sheriff Officer read the death warrant sat with his back against a post. In a last attempt to get some expression of repentance from him, the Rev. Charles Wheeler, the Baptist minister, entreated him to forgive his enemies, and especially the members of his own family, but Crawford only replied: "God may forgive them, but I will have nothing to do with them. They want my life. Let them take it. I am ready to die. I am a murdered man. My death is occasioned by a set of rascally, perjured witnesses, and a weak, partial jury."
When the Rev. Mr. Wheeler urged him to pray, the condemned man told him to mind his own business.

Crawford was placed over the trap door, and the rope was tied around his neck, after which those on the gallows, with the exception of the sheriff, bid him farewell and descended to the ground. When Sheriff Officer asked him if he wished the execution delayed to the last minute allowed by the warrant, he replied that he wished it over with, as he wanted to give his friends time to take him home that night. The black cap was drawn over his eyes by the sheriff, who shook hands with him, and picking up a hatchet, cut the cord that held the trap, and plunged the soul of William Crawford into eternity.

Wow. Intriguing write-up. Where did Forrest get his information? As it so happens, a reporter from the local newspaper interviewed William Crawford before his death, got his story and printed Crawford's autobiography, Last Will and Testament, and an account of the execution. A few years ago, a resourceful reference librarian named Rama Karamcheti transcribed the newspaper account from The Reporterinto a booklet. I stumbled upon it while searching the stacks, found the lone photocopier and enough change to make a copy of the transcription. I'll make it available over the next week as a serial (within a serial).

Next: The Blackbird/The Crawford Chronicles Part I

The Blackbird - Part Two - Play it Again, Sam

2009-09-17T08:44:00.015-04:00

Sara's notes on "The Blackbird" only whetted my appetite to find the whole story behind the tune (or more accurately, the tune behind the story). Dunbar, Pennsylvania is not terribly far away, in fact there's a spur trail off of the Great Allegheny Passage that takes you to Dunbar called the Sheepskin Trail. Local history, hmmm....

I found a copy of Samuel Bayard's Hill Country Tunes on the internet and, of course, downloaded it. Sam was a collector of sorts. He collected tunes, and the focus of this book was the "Hill Country" of western Pennsylvania; his primary contributors were fiddlers and fifers from Dunbar (Fayette County) and Derry (Westmoreland County) - about 8 miles from here. I'll have more about Sam in a later installment...

If you read what he said about the Blackbird, you'll discover that he made his account from Earle Forrest's History of Washington County. Bayard's text follows below:

88. THE BLACKBIRD

This is another old Irish air, deservedly popular among western Pennsylvania fiddlers. In this region it is not played as a dance, although dance versions have been recorded elsewhere, but as a "piece" (i.e. a folk instrumental tune with no function beyond that of entertainment), or a "dead march," which is what the players of both versions given here understand it to be. Joyce notes that the air "was played everywhere by pipers and fiddlers" (Joyce 1909, p. 181); and in the course of tradition it has split into several rather sharply differentiated versions, of which our A represents the one seemingly best known. Our B version gives the air its usual American, title of "The Blackbird." It is under this name that most country musicians in western Pennsylvania known the tune.

To judge from collected and printed versions, "The Blackbird" has undergone more extensive re-creation by some of its players in America than in the old country. It would appear that old-country players generally keep the main outlines of the air intact, even though they may alter mode, tempo and rhythm. In western Pennsylvania the .editor has recovered more than one version in which variation has involved truncation, reversal of the order of parts, displacement of some phrases as to relative location or pitch, and even the introduction of new turns to replace the old, familiar ones. Such changes may be observed in our B. version. Sometimes they cause the fine qualities of a tune to evaporate. But apparently the majestic movement of this tune has not been impaired by the alterations which version B has undergone. The extent to which popular re-creation may transform a tune without producing an entirely different melody could hardly be better exemplified than by these two sets.

What has fixed the name of "The Blackbird" upon the tune in this country, and made it a frequent name in Ireland, is the fact that, although it is primarily an instrumental tune here, it is also a vocal melody there, and is often set to a song of loyalty to the Young Pretender. In 1651 the royalist ballad-printer Richard Burton issued a broadside entitled "The Ladies Lamentation. For the losse of her Land-lord," a song in two parts and eight stanzas lamenting the misfortunes and exile of Charles II. This ballad refers to Charles in the first stanza as the "Black-bird (most Royall)." In Ireland at a later period, the song-makers loyal to the house of Stuart seized on the piece with its symbolism so convenient to their necessities, and remade it — cutting it down to five stanzas, deleting all specific reference to the career of Charles II, giving prominence to the Blackbird symbol, modernizing the language, and introducing other variations. Thus remade, the song was understood to refer to Charles Edward Stuart, the famous "Prince Charlie" — and in this guise it has persisted in tradition until the present day. It was also in Ireland, apparently, that this revision of the old Caroline ballad became attached to the tune represented by our version A — a tune which Padraic Colum finds hard to associate with defeat, because of its beauty and pride. Along with this air, the song travelled to America, and the editor has recovered a fragment in Greene County. But the many .instrumental versions of the tune in Pennsylvania doubtless reflect a tradition quite independent of the actual song, although its name has impressed itself upon the melody everywhere.

"The Blackbird" has had recent local tragedy associated with it as well as "old, unhappy, far-off things." A persistent tradition in southwestern Pennsylvania asserts that in Washington County a man once shot his son for singing this tune. The shooting actually occurred; but whether this tune is the one which occasioned it is not so certain.

In 1822 a man named William Crawford was living at Horseshoe Bottom in Fallowfield Township, Washington County. He had been in the British Army during the War of 1812, and was so ardently pro-English that he proudly styled himself "Old Britannia." He did not get along well with the rest of his family, and his son Henry used to snatch at every opportunity of plaguing him. To hear "The Blackbird" being sung apparently maddened the old man, and Henry sang it in his presence continually — despite threats of murder, to which no one paid much attention.

On July 30, 1822, Crawford had a "manure-hauling frolic" at his home. Henry appeared, and disregarding warnings, commenced "The Blackbird," when his father got his gun, took deliberate aim, and shot his son, killing him almost instantly. Crawford was hanged February 21,1823. At his trial and thereafter he displayed an indifferent and contemptuous attitude toward the proceedings, and acted with what was taken for blasphemous levity and defiance.

A full account of the tragedy — from which the above abstract was. made — may be seen in Earle R. Forrest, History of Washington County Pennsylvania (Chicago: S. J. Clarke Co., 1926), I, 370, 374-:6. The source just cited accounts for the father's reaction by 'stating that "The Blackbird" was "a popular patriotic American song of that day" (p. 374). if so, it could hardly have been the Jacobite piece associated with our tune; but it is not impossible that there was a patriotic native song set to this air at one time. At any rate, tradition has definitely associated the tune with this tragedy, which is frequently mentioned when the air is played in southwestern Pennsylvania.

OK - what we have now are three distinct tunes... which one to associate to this tragedy? My leaning is to the Bunting version:

"Once in fair England my Blackbird did flourish,
He was the chief flower that in it did spring;
Prime ladies of honour his person did nourish,
Because that he was the true son of a king.
But this false fortune,
Which still is uncertain,
Has caused this long parting between him and me.
His name I'll advance
In Spain and in France,
And seek out my Blackbird wherever he be."

Maybe I'll find some more clues in Forrest...

Next: The Blackbird - Part Three - Can't See the Forrest For the
Trees

The Blackbird - Part One - Sara'ndipity

2009-09-16T09:41:00.011-04:00

I like music. I like history. Every once in a while the two converge.

Browsing through Sara Johnson's Kitchen Musician site, I noticed this little bit of history relating to the tune, "The Blackbird"...

Sara says, "I was intrigued to find "The Blackbird" had connections with an odd bit of early American history, in Western Pennsylvania. Samuel Preston Bayard collected variations of this tune from old fiddlers near Dunbar, Pennsylvania, which he included in his 1944 book Hill Country Tunes, along with the story. It was played in Pennsylvania as a "listening" piece. However, in Ireland the tune also had lyrics, written by loyalists to the house of Stuart. A 1651 ballad lamenting the exile of Charles II had referred to Charles as the "Black-bird most Royall", and the later Jacobite song retained the blackbird symbol, cutting out specific references to Charles II, and reworking the lyrics so the "Blackbird" referred to Bonnie Prince Charles. Although the song was not sung in Pennsylvania, the tunes apparently still had connotations of anti-English sentiment.

The tradition in Washington County in southwestern Pennsylvania is that in 1822, a man murdered his son for singing this tune. The murder was a real occurrence - though we can't be positive that this is the tune. A William Crawford, of Horseshoe Bottom in Fallowfield Township, Washington County, had been in the British Army during the War of 1812. He was so ardently pro-British that he called himself "Old Britannia." He did not get along well with his son Henry, who frequently taunted him by singing "The Blackbird", which threw William in a rage, and he often threatened to kill his son for singing it.In July of 1822, Crawford was having a "manure-hauling frolic" at his farm, when his son Henry appeared and began singing "The Blackbird". When his son disregarded his warnings, William fetched out his gun and shot and killed him instantly. At his trial, he acted with "what was taken for blasphemous levity and defiance." He was hanged for the murder in February of 1823."

Sara's version of the "Blackbird" posted on her website is not the version that Samuel Bayard had written down in "Hill Country Tunes", but there are many version of this tune floating around. References cited are: O'Neill's Music of Ireland, Bunting's The Ancient Music of Ireland, and The American Veteran Fifer, No. 91. Sara says that this version is from Bunting:

Thanks, Sara, for your permission to use your gif file and link to your wonderful site. Next installment: The Blackbird - Part Two - Play it Again, Sam

Home Sweet Hovel

2008-11-08T21:14:00.011-05:00

Demo Weekend... no, not "demo" as in demonstration. "Demo" as in demolition. This is the weekend I start gutting the bathroom. I'm doing a major overhaul of the bathroom structure. What I hope to accomplish is a leak-free toilet and sink -- something that it is not today -- and a draft-free and rot-free structure. I'll need to replace two floor joists and insulate the exterior wall. I don't have much of a budget and will have to perform a lot of the labor myself. I'm being helped with the reconstruct by the nice guys who came out and handled our septic woes.

As you can see, the toilet and sink/vanity are completely shot. The toilet finally bit the big one when the contractor ran the new line from the house to the septic tank (story below). I've already removed a cupboard and started tearing out the first layer of wall: wire lath and plaster. What fun! I also have to rip out what three nice but inept guys put in when they "repaired" the bathroom 10 years ago. They did such a poor job it's taken me this long to get enough courage/heart to tear it out. I just kept shaking my head and wondered where to start...

Last winter we started having septic problems. Not hard to do when the number of people in your house doubles (from 3 to 6). Trouble was, the only person who knew where the septic tank was buried died 17 years ago. This tank has never been pumped out, and it dates from the early 70's. We started digging last year and decided to call the professionals.

The first man came out to the house and couldn't find it with his probe. The second guys ran a "bug" through the clean out and came to a place where it "probably" was located. We dug (or I should say son Brian dug) and found terra cotta pipe which was immediately immersed in effluent. Son resigned from the labor force on this project, and we tried to get a contractor. No luck.

Until... our zoning officer said we should really do something about the hole in our side yard because the neighbors were complaining. Now, our zoning officer is a neighbor but we like her anyway. She made a recommendation and we called. Spring/summer is their busy season, but they'd call us when they could schedule us in. Fast forward to two weeks ago. They finally got a break and started the dig. Three days later, we had not one, but two tanks pumped out, and a new line running from the house to the septic tank. A couple of concrete rings extend the top of the tanks so that the next time, we'll be able to find them.

Well, back to the task at hand. I'm not looking for a "House Beautiful" remodel -- I just want a functioning bathroom that 6 people can share and keep clean. Utilitarian, I guess. Anyone have any suggestions?

Waaay too much to do

2008-08-09T22:02:00.002-04:00

It's 10 pm, and it's been a busy day. I've shoved things into panniers and there's no extra room. I have everything including the kitchen sink. The bike is heavy and cumbersome. I feel defeated before I get started. The front end of the bike is twitchy, the rear end of the bike is twitchy. I have a day to get used to it -- it's why I am only going 17 miles the first day. I am leaving the spare tire behind (the bike's, not mine) and the floor pump that I took last year, but I've substituted the hammered dulcimer and ice cooler - NOT an even exchange, by any means. I've switched out a tiny, digital camera for a mid-size DSLR and lens AND tripod. I have the BoB this time around, and no panniers and tent on the rear rack.

Oh, and it's supposed to rain tomorrow.

ON a bright note... I got the front derailleur adjusted. The nice man at Cycle, Sport and Ski in Greensburg gave the cable an adjustment and gave the bike a quick look-over. I'm all set to go. He even made me an extra spoke to carry. Price - just over $10.

I picked up snack food at Wal-Mart. I went there hungry and came out $75 lighter. 2/3's of the food went into the resupply box, to be divied up next weekend.

My friends, Neil B and Neil F named their tour the "Shake, Rattle and Roll" tour. I'm thinking about naming this one the "Old, Fat and Sassy" tour.

Jeff presented me with 100 brochures for Fort Ligonier to take on this tour, as well as 10 magnets in the shape of the fort's historical marker to hand out. I'll put some of the brochures in the resupply box he's bringing to Old Bedford Village.

Early start tomorrow. Gotta hit the hay.

Last Day of Work - Part Two (evening)

2008-08-08T22:06:00.002-04:00

Where was I when I was so rudely interrupted by this thing called "work"? The checklist -

Unload the car (check)

Get bike checked over. Um, Houston, we have a problem. My local shop never has time for walk-ins, and I couldn't leave it because they are closed tomorrow -- they're having an "event" on the mountain. They also don't stock spokes. Oh well. My fault for procrastinating. I called another shop and they are busy tomorrow, but will squeeze me in if I'm there when they open at 10.

Everything else fell by the wayside and now I'll just tack another list to it.

Work went smoothly, no major trauma. I flipped my name badge over to the blank side and wrote "Call Me" on one line and "Irresponsible" on the next with the China marker. I was asked to change it. I rubbed out "Irresponsible" and substituted "Ishmael". The new cashier in the lane next to mine and I did the "Time Warp". The customers were amused, as usual. Seven hours went, well, like eight (as usual). Then I was done.

I came home to find that the baby squirrel was gone. Brian and Sarah took it to a place that specializes in wildlife rescue, and the baby has a chance with one of the mother squirrels there. I hope it survives.

Things are winding down, and I'm very tired. I've got a tremendously busy day tomorrow. Goodnight.

Last Day of Work - Part One (morning)

2008-08-08T09:35:00.006-04:00

I work a 2:30-9:30pm shift this evening. It's my last one for a month. Some of my co-workers have already wished me "bon voyage", and some I won't see again until Christmas break. The inevitability of this trip won't hit home until after my shift at work tonight.

I've got one pannier packed, and the camera bag. The new camera bag I bought last night to hold the camera and the new lens I also picked up last night. The lens? An AF-S DX Zoom-Nikkor 55-200mm f/4-5.6G ED. Whatever the hell that means. What it means to me is that I can extend my reach (so to speak) and get closer to what I want to shoot without having to physically be there. In other words, I hope to get some action scenes at living history events without having to be in the ranks. The lens isn't the one I really wanted, but the one I could afford right now. Anyway, the camera bag is packed - no room at the inn.

On today's list... so far

Unload the car. (halfway there, at noon)
Get bike checked over. (on my way at one)
Wash work clothes. (in the dryer now, at noon)
Await Wayne's arrival (our UPS guy). I'm still waiting for my REI shipment, and Wayne's here by 11:30 like clockwork. (Ok, it was 11:50 am today) check.
Air out sleeping bag. I had hoped to wash it, but I'm not going anywhere near the laundromat soon.
Work on the list of stuff I need for Jeff to bring to the Bedford event.
Get "smilin" BoB out of the rafters in the shed and re-assembled.

I found my headlamp! When I went to Gander Mountain for Isopro yesterday, I saw one that I liked and Jeff almost bought it for me. I also saw a Lexan JavaPress. Coffee or light? Coffee or light? Yes, the light would keep me from careening over the guide rail in the Paw Paw tunnel, and would be helpful finding my way to the porta-john in the wee hours of the morning, but the lure of fresh-brewed coffee, that elixer of wonderfulness in the morning, proved too much. I opted for the JavaPress. Lucky me!

Speaking of luck... a customer checked out at my register Wednesday and he was wearing a T shirt with a picture of a chimney cleaner on it. I happened to ask if he was a sweep, and he said "yes". I asked him if he minded if we shook hands. Sure, he said, but he didn't think that he was particularly lucky. I asked him if he ever fell off of a roof, and the reply was, "twice". I asked him if he broke any bones. He said no - the worst he ever got was a couple of scratches. That's good enough for me.

It's 12:30 - Deuce (grandson) can't find his swimsuit, Libby called from band camp because she can't find her permission slip, Cocoa (one of the cats) dragged home a baby squirrel -- it's eyes aren't even opened and I had to wake Sarah up so she could call the local animal rescue. At least the REI order was delivered. I just may make it to work on time... barely. Oops, forgot about fixing lunch.

T minus 5 days...

2008-08-05T09:48:00.009-04:00

It's raining here in Westylvania. So much for getting into the shed and going through gear. I reconciled the checking accounts and paid this month's bills. I now have access to my personal checking account on the web. I need to go through re-enactment clothing for Bedford and set aside things I need Jeff to bring for me (no room on the BoB for the cello and fiddle). Maybe I should try to sort out minor (and I do mean minor) dilemmas...

Coffee

I'm not OK unless I have a cup (or five) of coffee in the morning. People tell me I'm like a bear with a sore ass without my morning cup of coffee. I've made coffee many ways on camping trips, and some ways were quite successful. Last year I took grounds and made cowboy coffee, using a Nalgene bottle and a piece of stocking to strain the stray grounds. I was able to make LOTS of coffee -- a liter at a time, at a minimal cost. Never mind that the coffee container I brought it in took up a lot of space, and cracked open in my pannier, leading to a royal mess. The other drawback was I couldn't use the Nalgene for anything else but brew coffee -- I never got the coffee residue out of it.

Coffee bags are much simpler, but more expensive. I tend to use two bags to a mug. My friend Dan makes a coffee concentrate that he just adds to hot water (reminds me to call Dan for the recipe). I don't think I'll use it this trip - how do I store it? Some people purchase coffee concentrate -- it's available on-line. Instant coffee? Never (unless I use a coffee bag - they contain some instant).

Tires

My friend, Neil F. recommends running a tire with tread instead of the stock tires on my Novara Randonnee. It's good advice, but I think I'm going to run out of time before I get a chance to change my tires. I leave on Sunday. Hutch at Cumberland Trail Connection said he'd take care of me when I ride through. [Neil B -- stop in on your way through and watch out for wet RR tracks; Neil F -- Hutch said to tell you "hello"]

Tents

I prefer sleeping in a hammock. You would think that with all of the trees along the Passage and C&O you could find suitable ones to tie a hammock to. You can in most places, especially if you stealth camp. Now, I'm not anti-stealthing -- I just try not to do it on these particular trails. Landowners adjacent to the Passage get pretty upset about people leaving the trail, and as a matter of fact, one has posted nasty "No Trespassing" signs on his property. I'm pretty sure camping is only in designated areas on NPS property along the C&O as well. I had a hard time finding suitable trees along the C&O. Most are old and very wide around - and there's usually too much distance between them to hang a hammock. I took a tent for Libby and myself last year, but I prefer the hammock. I guess I could use the hammock as a bivy on the ground, but I worry about it being waterproof enough. Perhaps I'll take both... and hope for the best.

Stoves

I love to cook. I've used: Trioxane, alcohol gel, Sterno, wood, propane, iso-butane -- pretty much everything. Backpackers swear by their alcohol burners, but I can leave them. I haven't been able to heat much more than water and dump it into a cozy to do freezer-bag cooking. I like the flexibility of having a real stove around. I have two: a Markill Dragon and a Primus Omni-Fuel. The Primus is the more versatile of the two - you can use canister or petroleum-based fuels. The Dragon is strictly a canister stove, but it is no-fuss and quiet - so much that you can hold a conversation without screaming to make yourself heard. The Primus, on the other hand, sound like a jet engine on take-off.

The thought of being able to use unleaded gasoline appeals to me, I don't have to worry about finding iso-butane canisters along the way. However, more shops have opened along the route that cater to camping bicyclists, so finding iso isn't such a logistical problem anymore. The verdict - take the old Markill.

10 Days and Counting

2008-07-31T15:48:00.007-04:00

I've been working on the logistics of my trip down the Great Allegheny Passage/C&O Canal. Jeff wanted an idea of where I'll be staying along the way, so I just finished a four page spreadsheet detailing overnight stops with alternates. Now I'm into some preliminary meal planning and going through the old gear lists I've acculumated over the years.

New gear --

I recently replaced my Nokia cell phone with a Palm Treo; and my digital camera with a new Nikon D60 DSLR. I just ordered a spare battery for each.

Biking shorts: three new pair to replace three pair purchased in 2004 for Lib's and my first "expedition".

"Killer cotton" T-shirts: yeah, I know... Cotton Kills. I'll take my chances. Besides, I haven't found any bike jerseys I like -- they're too short and don't do anything to flatter my "physique". Something's got to cover those bike shorts. Wicking Ts? I don't find them comfortable. I sweat like a pig in them because they feel hot to me, and they stink. I can't get the body odor out when I wash them.

Decisions, decisions --

I'm thinking about taking a small (very small) cooler with me. August is HOT, and I missed having a cooler last year (and the year before, and the year before that). I'd like to find a way to haul my dulcimer on the BoB... but I'll leave the cello home this time. One year I brought my mandolin, carried it the whole way, and actually played it while Libby fished.

I need to work on a food list, and set up a possible mail drop. I ordered a couple of Mountain House entrees from REI, they should show up on Friday. There are opportunities to get groceries and convenience stores, as well as plenty of fast food opportunities. I won't starve, but I worry about staying within my budget of $20/day. The cheaper I stay, the longer I'm away...

Vacation Request

2008-07-24T10:25:00.000-04:00

My summer plans haven’t jelled yet, and we’re already into late-July. My daughter and riding (bicycle) partner, Libby, had to take a summer school course. That forced us to cancel our trip to Fort Ticonderoga’s 250th event, and modify our plans for Fort Niagara. I was hoping to be on the Great Allegheny Passage/C&O Canal by now but as you can see, I’m not.

It’s unusual for me not to take a month or two off to re-group. I like having the summer off with Libby -- she’s a neat young lady. My strategy in the past had been to give ample notice to my employer, quit for the summer, then be rehired in the fall.

Last summer I asked my boss when I should submit my letter of resignation. She asked me why I wanted to quit. I said I really didn’t want to quit, but wanted time off to spend with my family. She said to let her know when. I thought “cool - what a great place to work”. I still think that, by the way.

My favorite time to ride the Passage is in the fall. It’s cooler and less crowded. I usually end up riding my through-trip in July. Yes, it hot and muggy - but at least it‘s usually dry (except for late-afternoon thunderstorms). I tend to avoid August because that’s when storms seem to move up the Atlantic coast from the south and dump rain for days.

This year I dropped the ball and didn’t ask for late July until it was too late. The local youth group’s trip was in late July, and three of our cashiers are part of that group. Things were up in the air anyway - summer school and all. I really need to get away. I typed up the following letter requesting a leave of absence:

There is a fine line between the inmates and staff at the asylum. I’m finding if I don’t escape, I will become one of the patients before long.

I’ve gone through my calendar and found that I could break free with your help -- and generosity. I’d like to ride from Boston, PA to Washington, DC again. I’d also (God willing) like to ride back. At a snail’s pace (old, fat and sassy speed) I’m looking at 3-½ weeks to cover around 725 miles… if my tush, the weather and my funds holds out.

I’d leave August 10th and return -- well, that’s pretty much up to you -- as early as the 25th, or as late as the 6th of September.

FYI - Here’s a rough itinerary:

August
10 - Leave Boston, PA and camp at Cedar Creek 17.5
11 - Cedar Creek to Connellsville 21.5
12 - Connellsville to Ohiopyle 17
13 - Ohiopyle to Rockwood 30
14 - Rockwood to Frostburg, MD 28
15 - Frostburg MD to Bedford, PA 45
16 - Bedford 250th 0
17 - Bedford 250th 0
18 - Bedford to Cumberland 45
19 - Cumberland to PawPaw, WV 28
20 - PawPaw, WV to Hancock, MD 32
21 - Hancock, MD to Williamsport, MD 25
22 - Williamsport to Antietam 30
23 - Antietam to White’s Ferry 35
24 - White’s Ferry to DC 35
25 - DC to Leesburg, VA 35
26 - Leesburg, VA to Harper’s Ferry, WV 30
27 - Harper’s Ferry to Big Slackwater Detour 30
28 - Big Slackwater Detour to Big Pool, MD 31
29 - Big Pool to Little Orleans 28
30 - Little Orleans to Potomac Forks 26
31 - Potomac Forks to Cumberland 22
31 - Cumberland to Frostburg 16
1 - Frostburg to Meyersdale 16
2 - Meyersdale to Confluence 31
3 - Confluence to Connellsville 28
4 - Connellsville to West Newton 25

Yes, I know that I’m taking a long time to cover the distance. I don’t like riding more than 30 miles a day, and prefer to cover only 20 or so. For some, it’s the journey; for others, the destination. In the grand scheme of life, I’m not racing to get to the finish line first.

Yesterday my boss sidled up to me and said, with a chuckle, “I think I can accommodate your request”. [and yes, I did use the word “tush”in my letter]

2008-07-15T18:13:00.000-04:00

My fellow cashier commented last night that she has been working at Giant Eagle for six years now. She laughed as she said that she “just took the position temporarily” to supplement the income from her day job. I hired on too, “temporarily” for many reasons… to escape the winter doldrums, to help pay for prescriptions (mine), to have a little extra spending money for the summer -- when I would quit and maybe be rehired in the fall. That was nearly two years ago. (Last year I only took a month off, and I didn’t have to quit the job to do it). I’ve had better jobs… and worse ones. Sometimes the better jobs were the worst ones, if you know what I mean.

I don’t subscribe to the WYSIWYG philosophy. A job is just one facet of life that is visible to others. People have many facets, although a few are “diamonds in the rough“ (some of which may or may not develop facets). Unfortunately, some of our customers see “cashier” and equate it with “uneducated, unskilled labor” and treat us as if we don‘t know anything. Take a look around the next time you’re in my store. Most of us are part-timers. A lot are students at the high school and college level, some are learning trades to take care of you at some point in your life. A few of us even have degrees. For some, this is a second job; for others our primary one. Some of us are retirees. (I, for one, have been through the rat race, and the rats won.) This job is not rocket science -- it’s more like landing on the “Free Parking” spot in Monopoly. Put your brain in “park” and ride out your turn.

Where’s this leading to? (OMG - I just entered the realm of western Pennsylvaniadom by ending my sentence in a preposition). Here’s the equation: Egotistical customer (i.e., “pompous ass“)+ overqualified overachiever=a tear in the fabric of our social structure? Um, not really…

Just be aware that not all people are as they seem. I, for one, am particularly intrigued by the “central business as social meeting-place” aspect of small-town life. Someone just may be gathering intelligence to write that tell-all expose about life in small-town USA. You may even end up as blog fodder. Be forewarned that when you act like a jerk and treat a cashier like a BLBBH (brainless little boo-boo head), expect the 6-year veteran to dish out the dirt about you after you leave the store.

Yep, I’m making a list…

Valley Forge, June 2008

2008-07-13T22:13:00.000-04:00

The weekend of June 20-22, I decided to make my escape from the insanity of home life and join Jeff, my husband for a quiet getaway. He went to the Valley Forge Gun Show, I hoped to do a little riding on the Schuylkill River Trail (http://www.gophila.com/C/Philly_Favorites/380/U/Schuylkill_River_Trail/1874.html).

Instead, I opted to play tourist and ride around the Valley Forge National Historic Park. I had just purchased a digital SLR camera (a Nikon D60) a couple of days before and had just read through the first couple of chapters in my "Nikon D40/D40x for Dummies" book. Armed with just enough knowledge to take "point and shoot" pictures, I ventured out to the park. I still haven't gotten beyond those first chapters...

The park is lovely, in fact I spent both days there. I met lots of folks having picnics, walking, cycling, doing the tourist thing like I was, and I also took lots of pictures. I should have abandoned the bike ride part of the sightseeing trip - I just took so many pictures the bike got in the way. This young lady and her mother were enticed by the wild cherries growing along the path (no silly, that's not her mother... that's her dog. Her mother is off-camera):

The employees inside the Visitor Center even had a sense of humor. One uniformed man started to give me an answer to my question "Where were the Confederate troops?" but quickly realized that I was pulling his leg and laughed. Can't wait to return with Libby.

Sanctuary

2008-07-13T12:13:00.000-04:00

I've almost finished renovating my little "sanctuary". I still need to install some trim and stain most of it, but for the most part, the room is done. (I keep vacillating between leaving it natural, staining it white, or painting it. I think this week I've decided to stain it "pickled white".) I moved some old furniture in, most of my instruments and some books and it's starting to become my own space -- even if it is a small space.

"The Wall" -- I've relocated my decoy "collection" from the living room, and made space for some of the instruments on the top shelf. My cello, Oscar, has a nice niche in the corner.

"Work Area" -- When I renovated my kitchen (aka "The Galley"), I left a small work space where I could sit and work. My computer area was there, and it wasn't a big deal when there were only three of us living here. Fast forward a couple of years -- there are now six of us... my "boomerang" son moved back home with his 6 year-old son and girlfriend in tow. We're all on different shifts, and it can get quite crowded in the kitchen. Now the only problem with my new setup is my wireless signal isn't as good. I did relocate the router, but I suspect that once we renovate the living room and move some of the bookcases, everything will be A-OK.

"The Windows" -- This room used to be a screened-in porch. In 1994, the whole thing came crashing down after a severe ice buildup on the roof collapsed it (you'll notice the living room windows behind my shelf unit) . When we "rebuilt" the shell, I decided to install windows just in case we decided to use this area as living space. The stained glass frames hanging up are old windows I salvaged from the dump 20 years ago.

"The Entrance Wall" -- the umbrella stand holds fencing swords, not umbrellas. That's how we resolve family disputes here (just kidding). The door on the right leads to a tiny bedroom (9'x10') my son helped finish. We fought about who got to install the panelling in the bedroom and along "the wall" (he won the coin toss).

Left to do - finish the trim, find art for the walls. I've got enough here - I don't need to buy some, but wall space is tiny. Perhaps frame some photos. Paint, maybe? The white is stark, but it adds light to the northern exposure. Wallpaper border? Curtains? Your suggestions welcome.

Tools I've acquired - a router, new drill, new mitre saw (old one bit the dust), and son Brian contributed a table saw. We both still have all of our digits... I'd call that successful.

New skills - I now know how to use a table saw (and do use it btw), and I've gotten much better at finishing drywall (I seem to be the only person in the household with enough patience to tackle the job). This was a first experience working with insulation... I learned to let someone else work with it (son obliged), and also my first job laying carpet and padding (the trick was to cut the carpet outside in the driveway and trim it once it was in place). I'd like to buy a table for the router and learn more about cabinet making.

Next home-improvement projects:

1. Revisit the kitchen and finish the moulding.
2. Bathroom/hall closet renovation. Gut the bathroom walls to the studs, remove floor to the joists, keeping tub enclosure intact. Insulate exterior wall and repair necessary joists. Replace toilet and sink/vanity, install new cabinets and light fixtures and fan. Modify entrance to the bathroom, install new door. Add an extra outlet or two. Finish by winter (of 2008).
3. Install an alternative heating source. We heat with fuel oil. Need I say more? I'm thinking wood stove/fireplace insert. Oh, and gut the exterior living room wall and add insulation. I can feel the wind blowing in.

VISA Commercial Gone Bad...

2008-03-13T09:41:00.000-04:00

“Customer cancelled tender”, the message read on my little digital screen. All the customer had to do was sign the screen and tap the green image with the stylus. “Ma’am, please slide your card again, sign the screen, and tap the green button on the screen”. She signs. “Beep” the register screams. “Customer cancelled tender” pops up once again. Lather, rinse, repeat. She tries a third time. “Beep”. I wait for the trap door below her to open and… Almost immediately, I’m jerked back to reality. This time I don’t need to ask her to try again.

“Now, which button do I tap?”, she inquires. A Greek chorus of waiting customers echoes back, “the GREEN one”. I ask, “Ma’am, which button are you tapping?” She replies, “The red one… it says ‘Clear’”.

The once near-empty express lane (my customer and me) is now snaking around the corner and has grown to 10 people. You could hear a collective sigh of relief as she completed her transaction and left the store. I guess this is one commercial VISA won’t be making anytime soon.

Sarge

2008-03-11T14:00:00.000-04:00

A number of years ago (fifteen and one half to be exact), my husband and I were newlyweds. We were broke. I was a divorcee with a ten year old son. My new husband had never been married, and was a struggling entrepreneur, and held down a second job working in the family business while his father was battling cancer. My son was to turn eleven and we couldn’t afford much.

It was close to Halloween, and the pet store had a litter of black kittens for sale. We all fell in love with a black kitten with a small white splotch of with fur on his chest, and the whitest, longest whiskers I had ever seen. We secretly arranged to have the kitten picked up the Saturday before Brian’s birthday.

Jeff returned home with not one, but two little kittens that day. “Mr. Whiskers” and a littermate. Jeff said that the other kitty would have been left alone, all of the kittens had found homes except that one. When they got Whiskers out of the cage, the other kitty howled so pitifully that Jeff couldn’t leave him behind. The man at the pet store gave him a “BOGO” (though I seriously suspect that Jeff might have paid him for the extra kitten).

We decided to call the other kitty “Sergeant Pepper”. He was handsome -- grey underwear, with chocolate brown/black tips. A couple of white hairs on his chest. In a certain light it looked like he had stripes. Over the years he’s acquired many other names -- “Mr. Surly” and “Mr. Pissy” (more for his attitude than his bathroom habits), but we just call him “Sarge” most of the time.

He quickly became attached to Jeff . Ever the inquisitor, Sarge is eager to issue a gruff “Meow - where ya goin?’”, “Meow - where ya’ been?”, “Meow - love me”. Even at the age of 15, he remains the alpha cat. Mr. Whiskers disappeared about ten years ago… Sarge remains, but for how much longer -- we’re not sure.

A few years ago, he developed an abscess, and it was discovered that he had FIP. He had been doing OK until recently, when he started having labored breathing. A trip to the vet confirmed the worst, and we will soon lose our Sargeant. Right now he’s resting comfortably in a clothes basket and I realized how much I’ll miss him when he’s gone…

Post Script: Sometime during the wee morning hours of March 13th, Sarge died. I just showed Jeff this blog, and once he came to the photo said, "That's the quintessential Sarge pose -- Meow, why the hell are you taking my picture".