April 2016

E E R F he wind

as t

E V O L N O D E K O O H ing, Saw George, Fly-Fish Water‌ e Amidea Across th and So It Began

By Don Knaus

APRIL 2016

Spe c ial Spr ing Wedding Secti on 1

Volume 11 Issue 4

14

Hooked on Love

Gobble, Gobble

By Don Knaus George, fly-fishing, saw Amidea across the water… and so it began.

By Roger Kingsley

A turkey hunting lesson to hunt by.

16

Mother Earth

By Gayle Morrow Pet sounds.

18

I Dream of Waters

By Don Knaus

By the waters of Babylon, we sat down and wept… (Psalm 137).

6 Wedding Traditions

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By Teresa Banik Capuzzo Crème Anglaise, a recipe for memories.

That Trout

By Nessmuk

From Forest Runes by George W. Sears (A.K.A. Nessmuk).

24

The Other Health Fair

By Maggie Barnes

St. James Episcopal Church brings a world of healing.

32

Love Notes

28 April Foolishness

By Melinda L. Wentzel

It’s the little things that make a marriage a romance.

By Cornelius O’Donnell And, according to our experts, the best way to cook fish.

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Back of the Mountain

By Tim McBride

Good morning, sweetheart.

Cover by Tucker Worthington; cover photo courtesy Amidea Daniel.

This page (from top): courtesy Amidea Daniel; by Elizabeth Young; by Ken Steinhoff.

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Olde Barn Centre ~ ANTIQUES ‘N SUCH ~

w w w. m o u n ta i n h o m e m ag . co m Editors & Publishers Teresa Banik Capuzzo Michael Capuzzo Associate Publisher George Bochetto, Esq. Production Director Gwen Button Advertising Director Ryan Oswald D e s i g n & P h o t o g r ap h y Tucker Worthington, Cover Design Contributing Writers Maggie Barnes, Melissa Bravo, Patricia Brown Davis, Alison Fromme, Carrie Hagen, Holly Howell, Roger Kingsley, Don Knaus, Cindy Davis Meixel, Fred Metarko, David Milano, Gayle Morrow, Cornelius O’Donnell, Brendan O’Meara, Gregg Rinkus, Linda Roller, Diane Seymour, Kathleen Thompson, Joyce M. Tice, Melinda L. Wentzel C o n t r i b u t i n g P h o t o g r ap h e r s Mia Lisa Anderson, Melissa Bravo, Bernadette ChiaramonteBrown, Bill Crowell, Bruce Dart, James Fitzpatrick, Ann Kamzelski, Jan Keck, Nigel P. Kent, Roger Kingsley, Tim McBride, Heather Mee, Ken Meyer, Bridget Reed, Suzan Richar, Tina Tolins, Sarah Wagaman, Curt Weinhold, Terry Wild

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5

The perfect catch: the Daniels in their engagement photo.

Photos courtesy of Amidea Daniel 6

Hooked on Love

George, Fly-Fishing, Saw Amidea Across the Water… and So It Began

By Don Knaus

T

he sun danced and dappled off the water, forming highlights on blonde Amidea (rhymes with Amity). The three-yearold followed her daddy along a trout stream, dragging her favorite toy from the sand box, a yellow plastic bucket.

Walt Dickey brought a brook trout to the bank, grabbed the bucket, filled it with crystal clear water, and plopped the trout into it. Amidea was fascinated. He pinched a worm out of the bait box, stuck the point of a number six hook through the mating band, and buried the prong in the worm’s tail. He handed the rod to his daughter and tossed the baited hook in just the right spot. He coached the girl with the golden hair to jerk at just the right time. Amidea did, and slapped a brookie into Walt’s face.

He laughed—and he was proud of the kid. The toddler would spend the rest of the fishing foray watching her trout in that yellow bucket. Little did she or her dad know that it was the beginning of a lifetime love.

It was “Downtown” Germania, Pennsylvania, with a population threatening to approach twentyfive. It was 1983, and young George Daniel raced out his back door to follow the older kids and his brothers.

They formed a huddle along one of those many rivulets that feed into the headwaters of Kettle Creek. This water raced right through town, past the general store, under the road, past the Lutheran church and the well-drilling garages on its way to renown as a trout stream. In the town, the water was cold, fresh, and pure. And it had been

stocked with trout that were reserved “for the kids.” After a couple of trout were landed, an older brother took pity on George, baited a hook, and handed him a rod. When the tip of the rod dipped, all the boys screamed, “Pull ’im out!” George did, and that first trout began a lifelong pursuit, an obsession, a track that would lead to a career but, more importantly, to the love of his life.

It is a love story. Amidea and George married. The gal resided in Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, and her fella grew up in Germania.

How did this boy from the middle of nowhere meet the girl from the edge of nowhere? Amidea explained, “Well, George’s family moved to Lock Haven. I first saw him in math class.

He had the most gorgeous blue eyes. I See Hooked on Love on page 9

7

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Hooked on Love continued from page 7

was instantly smitten. George didn’t know I existed. Then, one day, I was minnow fishing for trout with my dad on Baker’s Run when I looked up and saw George fly-fishing.

He was so shy he barely mumbled hello.”

Maybe her angling did it.

Maybe when George saw her fishing for trout, he mustered enough courage to talk. They started dating.

George introduced Amidea to flyfishing. As any bait dunker knows, fly-fishing can be intimidating— especially when you want to impress the boyfriend. Amidea giggled and explained, “He wanted to introduce me to fly-fishing, a sport that had become his lifeblood. We traveled to Fishing Creek, where I would fall in the love with fly-fishing. I had no idea what to expect. At that time, when I thought of flies I pictured houseflies or horseflies I’d seen while riding my horses. With patience and love, he showed me the basic cast, the dance of the fly line, the gentle presentation of a dry fly, and the connection! Wow! The moment I witnessed the trout rising to the fly, and the second I was physically connected to it was mind-blowing.

It was a beautiful eight-inch brown trout, small to many folks, but it was a game changer for me. Later that afternoon, as George was upstream, I lost my fly. Now what? I saw that the fish were rising to a small, white fly on the surface. I searched through the collection George shared with me and pulled out a fly that was about the same color and size and looked like it would float. I tied it on, took a deep breath, made a simple cast and…magic! The rest is history.” She laughed and added, “Try to explain night fishing with your boyfriend to the parents of a high school girl.”

From that day on Amidea has fished flies alongside George. They

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Not quite ‘in over their heads,’ Amidea works with Logan to not only secure a catch, but keep him upright as well.

Hooked on Love continued from page 9

fished locally in Pine Creek, Kettle Creek, Young Woman’s Creek, the Sinnemahoning, eventually venturing to storied waters like Spring Creek, Yellow Breeches, and others. Their flyfishing branched out to Washington, Michigan, Virginia, North Carolina, Arkansas, Colorado, Montana, Utah, New York, and Louisiana, as well as countries like Finland, New Zealand, and the Bahamas. They studied Outdoor Resource Management at Lock Haven University. So in love with each other and stalking trout, Amidea said, “We would travel to the Prouty during spring break and fish brook trout streams. That was our kind of fun.”

For Amidea’s twenty-second birthday, George took her to a favorite stream and proposed. They finished college and married. They had tied numerous knots in leaders when 10

fishing, but as Amidaea said, “We tied our most important knot at the Lutheran church and headed off for steelhead fishing near Cattaraugus, New York.” They feel that they were lucky to land their first apartment within 300 yards of Fishing Creek.

After college, George worked as a seasonal employee for the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission’s Stream Habitat Section. Amidea was an Americorps VISTA volunteer for the Centre County Conservation District.

Later, she landed a full-time position as Watershed Specialist at the Clinton County Conservation District. On the side, George was working on his fly-fishing skills with mentors that included legends like Joe Humphreys, Dave Rothrock, and other fly fishing greats willing to share their knowledge.

He began offering free slide show presentations to local organizations

at the same time he was studying to get certification as a Federation of Fly Fishing Casting Instructor. During this time, he entered his first fly-fishing competition, Fly Fishing Masters.

While working with watershed associations, conducting teacher workshops, conservation camps, and other programs, Amidea was hired by Trout Unlimited to work within the Kettle Creek Watershed on landowner workshops, habitat projects, and introducing the Trout In the Classroom program at Renovo Elementary.

During that time frame, George competed in the Fly Fishing Masters, and qualified for the United States Fly Fishing Team. He competed in his first World Fly Fishing Championships and garnered fifth place honors. He began working as assistant manager of TCO Fly Shop in State College and conducting professional presentations,

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Amidea has worked as the Northcentral Regional Education Specialist with the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission teaching boating and fishing programs in addition to coordinating the Trout in the Classroom (TIC) program.

The Trout in the Classroom program exposes students in grades three through twelve to cold-water conservation while raising brook trout from eggs to fingerlings in a classroom aquarium. Teachers customize the program to fit their particular curriculum needs so each program is unique. Pennsylvania’s Trout in the Classroom is an award-winning program touted by the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission, the Pennsylvania Council of Trout Unlimited, and the Pennsylvania Department of See Hooked on Love on page 13

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A family affair: George makes casting look easy with Logan strapped to his chest and Evangeline clinging at his side.

Hooked on Love continued from page 11

Education, Environment & Ecology.

Amidea plays an important role in that program and proudly spouts statistics that include TIC teaching opportunities now in 284 classrooms around the Keystone State. And Amidea is proud of the PFBC’s banner year as it celebrates its 150th Anniversary.

George worked at TCO Fly Shop, while a member of the U. S. Fly Fishing Team, and he served as coach for the U. S. Youth Fly Fishing Team. He has won two National Championships, has presented at Fly Fishing Shows, and has conducted seminars and clinics far and wide. Amidea began assisting George with fly-fishing clinics and the production of videos and photos for their programs.

Amidea also conducts beginner level fly-fishing classes through TCO Fly Shop.

Daughter Evangeline arrived in 2009. Amidea was reading an article in Fly Fisherman magazine about trophy cutthroat trout in Evangeline Lake. She raced over to George and excitedly asked, “If it’s a girl, how about naming her Evangeline?” So Evangeline it was. Logan, named for Logan Pass in Montana, arrived in 2010. George published his first book, Dynamic Nymphing, in 2011 and was promoted to the manager of TCO Fly Shop while managing to balance teaching, group presentations, international fly fishing competition, and writing a second book, Strip Set. Amidst all that activity, the See Hooked on Love on page 23 13

Roger Kingsley

Gobble, Gobble

A Turkey Hunting Lesson to Hunt By

By Roger Kingsley

T

he 12-gauge shotgun blast caught me totally by surprise.

In fact—to define it more creatively—astonishingly astounded would best describe my reaction. Less than five minutes prior to the shot, my friend Steve Petris and his son Josh and I were quietly walking out a 14

woods road that paralleled a long and narrow two-and-a-half-acre field. Our plan was to get a gobbler in front of Josh—the only tag bearer in our party.

Despite our nonchalant footsteps, I knew we were in turkey country so steaming hot that condensation will often coat a box call. How did I know

it was hot? Inside scoop! Dad had repeatedly mentioned the longbeards he’d seen in this area while traveling the nearby Township road before the season opened.

The three of us had barely lost sight of the truck when Josh stopped us. He was certain he had heard a

tom turkey. Picking up the pace, we’d only covered a couple dozen more yards when we all heard the second gobble. Instantly, Josh dashed for cover, while Steve and I backtracked a short distance, where we found a suitable tree to sit against to look, listen and attempt to coax in the “star of the show.”

With an eye on Steve, I watched as he revealed an assortment of calls and accessories from the pockets of his vest, and placed them by his side. Next, he unfastened the rawhide strip from the paddle of his Lynch box call, and expertly cast a short sequence of hen talk. The tom was speechless.

A few minutes had passed when I slowly leaned toward Steve and mentioned the suddenly silent bird.

Steve’s whispering response was accompanied by a snicker.

“Get used to it,” he said. “That’s not uncommon. I guarantee one thing, that gobbler heard my call. Now it’s a waiting game to see if we’ve enticed him.” Steve’s remark taught me something, since I was a very inexperienced turkey hunter at the time.

Settling back against the tree, I was trying to foretell what Steve or Josh might pull out of their sleeves next, when the shotgun blast broke the silence. Steve and I briefly made eye contact, and as I jumped to my feet and started toward Josh, I heard Steve say, “See what I mean?”

By the time I’d reached the smiling young hunter, the flopping had ceased from the ten-inch bearded gobbler.

A firm handshake had me expressing my extreme thrill in witnessing someone else’s sweet success.

I once read in a turkey hunting publication that good turkey hunters commonly wait with gun ready at least twenty minutes after their last calling sequence before moving on. That’s because a gobbler’s behavior or mood is so totally random that he may burn rubber coming in as vocal as can be, or, he may come in tiptoeing inch by frustrating inch with nary a peep.

Since that turkey hunting episode with Steve and Josh, I’ve witnessed both variations, so I’m a firm believer in the twenty minute cardinal rule. But, rule or no rule, I’m sure there will be many times in seasons to come when I’ll return home from hunting without ever seeing a turkey, but a turkey probably saw me...when I finally moved twenty-one minutes later.

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Mother Earth

Pet Sounds

By Gayle Morrow

A

bout this time fifty years ago (Fifty! Good Lord!), Brian Wilson, Mike Love, and the other members of The Beach Boys were putting the finishing touches on a musical masterpiece. This influential tour-de-force that gave us “Sloop John B” (my personal favorite) and “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” did not yet have a title. It did have, however, in addition to a looming release date, a panoply of somewhat a-typical, for the time, sounds mixed in; those were, according to one account of how the album was named, Brian Wilson’s favorites, his Pet Sounds.

When you live closely with animals—pets and otherwise—you come to realize their sounds, their vocalizations, mean something. If you’re out and about you might catch the snort of a startled deer, the putt-putt of a hen turkey, the whirr of a rattlesnake, the cry of a soaring red-tail.

At home the cats have their sad, I’m-so-hungry-I-can-barely-meow sounds when it’s close to feeding time,

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or when they think it should be feeding time. One of my horses makes a sort of whistling noise when he smells something he doesn’t like—a bear, for instance. If we’re riding, that’s my cue to collect the reins and be ready. If he’s in the pasture, I need to go see what’s going on and perhaps encourage the bear to leave. Dogs, of course (barking dogs were included on Pet Sounds), have a friendly oh-hooray-we-havecompany bark and a who-the-hellare-you-and-why-are-you-at-my-door vocalization that it’s best to heed, especially when you’re that person at the door. I had a dog once who would sit in the living room and look longingly out the window at the female dog who lived across the road, whining softly and giving me pleading glances.

His wishes could not have been made plainer had he spoken to me in words.

For sheer entertainment, though, nothing beats the sounds of chickens.

You don’t know what you’re missing if you’ve never heard young roosters

learning to crow. I’ve noticed the hens often “egg” each other on with a “bagawking” when one is doing her thing in the nesting box. Like a labor coach, maybe? When the flock is out in the yard and one of the roosters finds something tasty, he makes a distinctive noise that brings the hens running.

When there is trouble in the coop—say a bobcat—there is no mistaking those kinds of chicken noises and you, as the human in charge, better get out there fast! And at night, when they go to roost, the sounds they make are almost like a purr.

Brian Wilson is scheduled to perform Pet Sounds at various venues throughout 2016. I don’t know if I will be lucky enough to hear him, but I can go outside anytime I want and listen for my own pet sounds. You can, too.

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© 2007 James Fitzpatrick

I Dream of Waters

By the waters of Babylon, we sat down and wept… (Psalm 137)

By Don Knaus

W

ater mesmerizes me. I have stood too long on bridges, watching the flow below wend its way downstream. I have breathed the mist of a mountain waterfall, inhaling the splendor of the splashing falls that hid a trout. I have lazed along a dawdling deliberate creek and welcomed the spring air that signaled the sucker run. I have sat in quiet haunch, watching a beaver busily browsing a poplar branch. I have sat on boat or dock and squinted at the sunset shimmering off a lake. I have spent a lifetime, lulled by the night sounds of a running river, punctuated by the occasional croak of a frog or two. I picture in my mind the journey that water travels as it moves past my hills, joining flow on flow until it becomes a river seeking the sea.

Waters are eternal. The secret, the formula, for the mixture of hydrogen and oxygen to form droplets of clean, clear moisture was granted to our 18

Earth in the beginning. And, since the beginning, the waters have been finite.

Yet they have been infinite. Mired in the mud of floods, we can’t make less water. Scorched by the torch of baking sun in drought, we can’t make more.

And all waters are connected. Drops of dampness eagerly seek others...and others...until a flow is formed. A trickle at first, it joins dribble on drip to carve the brooks. Brooks meet and make a stream. Streams unite and rivers are born and sound their rally call to rendezvous in the sea. Oceans touched by tropic fever give up beads of sweat that ascend to heaven. Glistening globules of wet, like family at reunion, connect again and create clouds. A drop, a drizzle, a downpour, and the clouds release the wet once more upon the land. And tiny droplets seek each other once more to renew the cycle and wend their way to the sea.

That’s the way it’s been since creation. The problem is, sometimes

the rain falls in the wrong places; sometimes the showers miss the spots where water is needed; sometimes the deluge forms a flood; sometimes the moisture mingles with acidic chemicals and it alters the structure of the soil below. And that’s the way it is in our time.

Farmers have feast or famine depending on the rain, their gift from Heaven. Rainfall dictates the cutting of hay, the feeding of the flock, the supply of vegetables for market.

Fishermen bemoan the vicissitudes of the precipitation cycles, too. I’m a fisherman. Brookies are my specialty.

Brook trout are analogous to the canary in the coalmine. When they start dying off, our environment is in trouble.

We are about to enter a dry summer of a long, local drought. The brooks have fought valiantly to protect the habitat of trout, to preserve the home of insect larvae. But, in some

local waters, a number of once productive brook trout waters are nearly devoid of aquatic life.

I have mourned streams. A favorite “secret spot” is low—too low—and the water is gin clear— too clear. Not long ago, a friend and I had caught four limits of native brook trout over two days without progressing upstream more than 200 yards. Last week, at the same spot, I fished upstream for a mile and had nary a bite. Shunning boots, I walked in sneakers and never got my feet wet. And it broke my heart. There are many streams in such despair.

Too much water can injure the fragile environment of small streams. After the Agnes Flood in 1972, most small brookie streams were scoured. Big rocks were moved. Streambeds changed.

Insects, vegetation, small fish, and earthworms were washed roughly downstream creating a sterile stream, devoid of any life. It took years for some of these waters to recoup and return to good fishing.

Some have never recovered. I know of one local brook that was stocked privately with thousands of fingerling trout a year after Agnes.

And, to this day, there are no fish in that water. Conditions to create a brook trout haven, conditions that took hundreds of years, were washed away one June day in ’72.

Acid rain is another thing. I used to go to the Adirondacks with friends to catch trout. My buddies flailed flies on the famed Ausable River, but I wandered the mountains looking for brookies. On one trip, a boy and I discovered a mile-long beaver pond. We dragged a canoe over sticks and mud to fish for the brook trout it surely held. We could have caught a thousand fish that day. We received bites on every cast.

Years later I returned out of pure longing for pure waters and pure

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I Dream of Waters continued from page 19

brook trout. The stream was dead from acid rain. I drove to the top of Whiteface Mountain to enjoy the green view of an Adirondack summer. What had once been a fir and pine and hemlock forest had turned brown, killed by acid rain.

One of my favorite local brooks is absent life of any kind. I can only surmise that acid rain has diminished the stream’s habitability.

I’m a good brookie fisherman. I’m a stealthy brookie fisherman. I know brookies. If I can traverse the banks of a beautiful brook for a mile and not get a bite or even spy a small trout skittering for cover, there are no trout there. I’ve found several of my favorite “secret spots” in such a state, no doubt due to acid rain.

American Electric Power Co., accused of spreading smog and acid rain across a dozen states, agreed a year ago to pay at least $4.6 billion to cut chemical emissions in what the government called the nation’s largest environmental settlement ever, ending an eight-year legal battle over reducing acid rainproducing smokestack pollution that drifted across Northeast and Mid-Atlantic States, chewing away at mountain ranges, bays, and national landmarks. Involved in the lawsuit were Connecticut, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New Jersey, New York, Rhode Island, and Vermont.

Pennsylvania chose not to join in.

But there is hope for the future.

We continue to clean and balance our energy sources. And the best hope, of course, lies in the fact that Mother Nature is very good at fighting back.

Retired teacher, principal, coach, and life-long sportsman Don Knaus is an award-winning outdoor writer and author of Of Woods and Wild Things, a collection of short stories on hunting, fishing, and the outdoors.

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That Trout

© 2007 James Fitzpatrick

By Nessmuk

22

I’ve watched that trout for days and days, I’ve tried him with all sorts of tackle; With flies got up in various ways, Red, blue, green, gray, and silver-hackle.

I’ve tempted him with angle-dogs, And grubs, that must have been quite trying, Thrown deftly in betwixt old logs, Where, probably, he might be lying.

Sometimes I’ve had a vicious bite, And as the silk was tautly running, Have been convinced I had him quite: But ‘twasn’t him; HE was too cunning.

I’ve tried him, when the silver moon Shone on my dew-bespangled trousers, With dartfish; but he was “too soon”— Though, sooth to say, I caught some rousers, And sadly viewed the ones I caught, They loomed so small and seemed so poor, ‘Twas finding pebbles where one sought A gem of price—a Kohinoor.

I’ve often weighed him (with my eyes), As he with most prodigious flounces Rose to the surface after flies.

(He weighs four pounds and seven ounces.)

I tried him—Heaven absolve my soul— With some outlandish, heathenish gearing— A pronged machine stuck on a pole— A process that the boys call spearing.

I jabbed it at his dorsal fin Six feet beneath the crystal water— ‘Twas all too short. I tumbled in, And got half drowned—just as I’d orter.

Adieu, O trout of marvelous size, Thou piscatorial speckled wonder, Bright be the waters where you rise, And green the banks you cuddle under.

— From Forest Runes by George W. Sears (A.K.A. Nessmuk)

What a catch: threeyear-old Amidea revels in watching the activity of her first trout catch.

Hooked on Love continued from page 13

Daniels took a deep breath, mustered up some courage, and started their own business. The decision to establish their own unique guide business was a leap of faith…or, depending on one’s perspective, a leap of love. It definitely was one of the bolder moves that Amidea and George have taken. Asked about it, George shrugged and said, “We just thought the time was right to open up a guide service for fly-fishermen.” They certainly had the skills necessary for the venture. George had world-class flyfishing credentials, and Amidea was exceptionally attuned to children, women, and others from the beginner to intermediate levels.

I asked George what drew him to the sport. “I love fly fishing. Though most folks imagine trout when mentioning fly-fishing, I also love the variety of fish I can target. And I love the people I meet and the beautiful waters it leads me to.”

Why guiding? He added, “My passion is sharing this exciting sport with others through education, instruction, speaking engagements, and personal guiding. The creation of my own fly-fishing education, instruction, and guide business has long been a dream of mine. Until recently, I’ve been adverse to the risks of leaving a steady paycheck and immersing myself into the “feast or famine” mentality of owning a business. Recent life events and several new friendships have reinforced the importance of following life passions.”

Talking about his full-time guide business, George mused, “It was quite a leap of faith, and Amidea encouraged the move. Our business, Livin’ on the Fly, is the end result of our spontaneous decision. We felt it was time for me to leave my comfort zone and follow my passion. Livin’ on the Fly is an opportunity for me to See Hooked on Love on page 40

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23

Photo by Rowena Gibbons

Healthy options: Rev. Rowena Gibbons’ St. James Episcopal Church will host an alternative health fair on the church grounds.

The Other Health Fair

St. James Episcopal Church Brings a World of Healing

By Maggie Barnes

F

ragmented. Isolated. Stressed.

Over-medicated.

Reverend Rowena Gibbons has long felt that traditional medicine did not offer all that is needed to address the health conditions so prevalent among Americans. “We have never been so disconnected, as a people, from the land, the seasons, from nature, from our food source. We are more sedentary. Our families are

24

more scattered. We certainly, in the history of the world, have never been so medicated. The result is people are sick and tired of being sick and tired.”

She explored the world of alternative therapy and found her second passion. And so the pastor of St. James Episcopal Church in Mansfield went on to become a certified holistic health coach, administering to the body as well as the spirit.

A few months ago, an anonymous benefactor approached her about a specific use for their donation.

Reverend Gibbons was asked to consider creating, in the donor’s words, “an alternative health event that would give exposure to some of the local resources available to people seeking a healing, vibrant way of life.”

The unnamed person was a passionate follower of the Mansfield

Farmer’s Market, an event that had been sown and grown by the St. James congregation, which he felt was “the heartbeat of the community.

Everyone benefitted from having a way to buy wholesome, locally grown meat and produce.”

Sensing a kindred spirit in Rev. Gibbons, the individual challenged her to invent a happening that educates and celebrates healthy living.

“The idea took off like wildfire,” Rev. Gibbons said. “We tried to be selective about our vendors, and we found a treasure of local experts in various alternative modalities.”

Dubbed The Other Health Fair, the April 30 event is part education, part hands-on experience to showcase the techniques and treatments meant to compliment traditional medicine.

The campus of St. James church will host the happening.

“I am in no way saying that traditional medicine isn’t appropriate for some people. It absolutely is. If you are diabetic, by all means, take your medication and follow your doctor’s orders. But, there might be other ideas to support your overall health that will work in concert with mainstream medicine. We want to raise that awareness.”

A lot of folks are familiar with yoga and massage as healthy ideas, but The Other Health Fair seeks to educate about specific kinds of yoga meant to address health concerns and types of massage as part of chronic pain management. Acupuncture, healing touch, biofeedback, aromatherapy, herbs, music therapy, food as medicine, and other less-than-mainstream concepts will be on display.

Practitioners will answer questions and demonstrate their craft.

“Not a lot of people know about Naturopathic doctors or how they have been using herbs and homeopathy to address illness, pain, and emotional issues since the mid-1800s.” In fact, one such practitioner, Dr. Gregory

Pais, is heading to Mansfield from Colorado to deliver the day’s keynote address at 9 a.m.

The response from those asked to participate was swift and positive.

“Not one practitioner said no,” said Rev. Gibbons. Among those on board are acupuncturist Linda Spencer, herbalist Diane Fiorentino, healing touch practitioner Nancy Dart, and yoga teacher Kathleen Thompson.

The classes offered at The Other Health Fair range from understanding the positive energy of Reiki to a Native American drumming group, who will drum all day as well as provide drum healing for individuals, a class on Native American Healing, and a drum circle as part of the closing ceremony.

The day will include a lunch from local, organic food producers, prepared by the same team at St. James that creates their annual tasting dinners. For a nominal fee, fairgoers are invited to partake, but, recognizing possible concerns about food allergies, fairgoers are also welcome to bring their own meals.

The overall theme of the day is to get people thinking that there is more to their health than just the physical aspect. “Spirituality is a part of everything. Not necessarily religion, but something more intuitive is connected to our health, our emotional well-being, our mental function,” says Rev. Gibbons. “And it can be addressed through so many therapies that most people aren’t even aware of.”

All are invited to come, explore, learn, and discover a new world of options that just might lead to a new world of healing.

Maggie Barnes works in health care marketing and is a resident of Waverly, New York. She is a 2015 recipient of the Keystone Press Award for her columns in​ Mountain Home​.

25

WELCOME TO

MOUNTAIN HOME

WEDDING A

fter Katy and Bryan Kaproth-Gerecht were married at Taughannock Falls State Park, they walked down to the water’s edge for a private moment. Photographer Bridget Reed started snapping candid photos of them from afar. “This image sums up their entire wedding day,” she says. “It was filled with all of their closest friends and family and such a strong outpouring of love and kindness.

One of my favorite parts of their wedding was the ring warming ceremony. Their wedding bands were passed among all of their guests during the ceremony, and everyone had the opportunity to say a prayer and whisper loving thoughts as they held the rings. I felt truly blessed and humbled to have witnessed these two beautiful people wed, and to have been such an important part of their amazing wedding.

Beautiful moments like this make me love what I do even more.”

And we love bringing them to you, as we welcome you to another season of Mountain Home Wedding.

© Bridget Reed Photography www.bridgetreed.com

26

27

Shawn Carpenter Elizabeth Young

Wedding Traditions Crème Anglaise, a Recipe for Memories

By Teresa Banik Capuzzo

C

hris Jarreau gre w up in Louisiana and raised her family in Mississippi, with the traditions of the south all around her.

But losing her mom as a teen meant she had to learn those traditions herself.

One of her sisters gave her a copy of The Fanny Famer Cookbook. And, when Chris married, she got a copy of the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook, turned to the “Cooking for Two”

section, and took off stirring. Now a catering manager in Upstate New York (originally transplanted to Wellsboro by the energy industry), she shares one of the simplest, most elegant desserts (or dessert components), crème Anglaise, which is simply a boiled custard of four ingredients. Easy to make, and the foundation of île flottante (French for “floating island,” where the islands are crisp meringues), bread pudding

(where the custard is the silky richness that binds everything), and milk punch (where all you need is a little milk and brandy or rum), it is the perfect recipe to hand down for a wedding or to a newly wedded couple. It needs nothing more than a bowl of fruit as the perfect home dessert. Pooled on a plate under a slice of wedding cake, it raises the taste—and the presentation—bar to a whole new level.

See Family Traditions on page 30

28

匀愀瘀攀 愀 䐀愀琀攀 圀攀搀搀椀渀最 䌀攀爀攀洀漀渀礀 圀攀搀搀椀渀最 刀攀挀攀瀀琀椀漀渀猀 刀攀栀攀愀爀猀愀氀 䐀椀渀渀攀爀 䈀爀椀搀愀氀 匀栀漀眀攀爀猀 䈀愀挀栀攀氀漀爀 愀渀搀 䈀愀挀栀攀氀漀爀攀琀琀攀 倀愀爀琀椀攀猀

䴀愀欀攀 礀漀甀爀 眀攀搀搀椀渀最 漀渀攀 漀昀 愀 欀椀渀搀 愀琀 吀椀漀最愀 䐀漀眀渀猀 䌀愀猀椀渀漀 眀栀攀爀攀 眀攀 琀愀欀攀 琀椀洀攀 琀漀 挀甀猀琀漀洀椀稀攀 愀氀氀 礀漀甀爀 挀攀爀攀洀漀渀礀 愀渀搀 爀攀挀攀瀀琀椀漀渀 渀攀攀搀猀⸀ 䔀砀瀀攀爀椀攀渀挀攀 漀甀爀 挀愀琀攀爀椀渀最 昀愀挀椀氀椀琀礀 眀椀琀栀 猀瀀愀挀攀 琀漀 愀挀挀漀洀洀漀搀愀琀攀 昀爀漀洀 ㈀ 琀漀 ㌀ 最甀攀猀琀猀⸀ 䄀氀氀漀眀 漀甀爀 攀砀瀀攀爀琀 猀琀愀昀昀 琀漀 攀渀猀甀爀攀 愀 琀爀甀氀礀 洀攀洀漀爀愀戀氀攀 漀挀挀愀猀椀漀渀⸀

伀甀爀 愀渀猀眀攀爀 椀猀 愀氀眀愀礀猀 礀攀猀℀ 匀琀愀爀琀 礀漀甀爀 栀愀瀀瀀椀氀礀 攀瘀攀爀 愀昀琀攀爀 栀攀爀攀⸀ 䌀漀渀琀愀挀琀 漀甀爀 䌀愀琀攀爀椀渀最 匀愀氀攀猀 琀攀愀洀㨀 䐀愀洀椀琀愀 䌀栀愀洀戀攀爀氀愀椀渀Ⰰ 䌀愀琀攀爀椀渀最 匀愀氀攀猀 䴀愀渀愀最攀爀 ⠀㘀 㜀⤀ 㤀㜀㈀ⴀ㘀㄀㘀㐀 䌀礀渀琀栀椀愀 䰀攀漀渀愀爀搀Ⰰ 䜀爀漀甀瀀 匀愀氀攀猀 䔀瘀攀渀琀 䔀砀攀挀甀琀椀瘀攀 ⠀㘀 㜀⤀ ㌀㤀㠀ⴀ㐀㜀㔀㜀 䨀攀渀渀椀昀攀爀 圀攀氀氀猀Ⰰ 䌀愀琀攀爀椀渀最 匀愀氀攀猀 䌀漀漀爀搀椀渀愀琀漀爀 ⠀㘀 㜀⤀ 㘀㤀㤀ⴀ㜀㔀㠀㠀 刀琀⸀ ㄀㜀Ⰰ 䔀砀椀琀 㘀㈀Ⰰ 一椀挀栀漀氀猀 一夀 ㄀㌀㠀㄀㈀ 㠀㠀㠀ⴀ圀䤀一吀䤀伀䜀䄀 ⠀㠀㠀㠀ⴀ㤀㐀㘀ⴀ㠀㐀㘀㐀⤀ ∠ 眀眀眀⸀琀椀漀最愀搀漀眀渀猀⸀挀漀洀

29

Family Traditions continued from page 28

“You can not mess up this recipe,” says Chris of crème Anglaise.

“If it is thicker than you want, add a little more half and half. If you want a really, really fine custard, strain it a second time. If you don’t have a chinois cap, a fine strainer—even a tea strainer—will work just fine.”

She has two strong suggestions: “The only secret to this is to not cook it too much, and to learn to recognize when it coats the spoon.

You don’t want it just running off the spoon. When it starts to be done, there will be little hunks clinging to the spoon. But even if you overcook it, you can rescue it. I have never had to throw this away. Never scape the bottom of the pot,” she adds, “and don’t scrape it through the chinoise.”You can also modify the flavoring. “Brandy or rum extract would work, and almond extract would be marvelous.”

It is now firmly fixed in her family’s traditions. Adds Chris, “This is something I passed down to my daughter.”

Elizabeth Young

Boiled Custard (Crème Anglaise)

30

4 c. whole milk & 1 c. whipping cream (or 5 c. half and half ) 6 eggs 2 egg yolks 1 ½ c. sugar 2 tsp. vanilla Heat milk slowly—do not let it boil. Beat eggs, yolks, and sugar until lemony in color. Add slowly to milk. Cook, stirring constantly, until custards coats a spoon. It will thicken more as it cools. Add vanilla. Pour through a chinois cap while hot. It will continue to thicken as it cools in the refrigerator. If it is too thick after cooling, whisk in extra half & half until desired consistency is reached.

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31

Love Notes

It’s the Little Things That Make a Marriage a Romance

By Melinda L. Wentzel

M

y husband is a hopeless romantic (albeit an accidental one). Of course, he’s always done the stuff that hopeless romantics do. He sends me roses—just because. He writes me poetry and remembers our anniversary each November. He surprises me on my birthday, without fail, and bestows upon me sinful quantities of chocolate on Valentine’s Day—knowing full well that I’d do almost anything for a slab of milk chocolate almond bark. But, though I love him dearly for doing so, those are not the things I find especially romantic—never mind what the world at large may opine.

No doubt he’d be stunned by this news, and perhaps disappointed to think he’d been missing the mark all these years. But he hasn’t been missing the mark. He’s simply oblivious as to why I find him wholly irresistible.

Indeed, he’s clueless when it comes to recognizing what he does so completely right. Hence the accidental component 32

of the hopeless romantic equation.

That said, he unwittingly seizes the ordinary moments of life and somehow makes them special, which, to me, is deemed slightly wonderful and oh-soromantic. More specifically, he leaves endearing little notes everywhere with nary a holiday in sight. I stumble upon them throughout my day—under my pillow, in the kitchen, thoughtfully affixed to my computer screen, where I cannot help but notice—and smile. “I love you—always,” it will read, or “I’m proud of you.” Then again, some of his messages are entirely pragmatic: “I fed the dog already. Don’t feed him again,” or mildly sarcastic: “Remember to put the fish in the fridge or we’ll all die of food poisoning.”

Either way, I’m instantly charmed.

Likewise, my Romeo is liable to warm my heart by bringing me a beef and cheddar panini from Jazzman’s— an exceedingly delicious mid-day indulgence inspired entirely by that-

which-moves-good-deed-doers-toaction. What’s more, the man has texted me while perched atop the lawn mower—proclaiming his abiding love for me under the blazing sun. Or maybe it was to remind me to pick up an errant flip-flop in the lawn. I can’t remember now, but I’d like to hope it was the former.

While I was pregnant he satisfied all sorts of culinary cravings, too, whipping up a shameful quantity of raspberry milkshakes and fetching dried apricots in the dead of night.

He also tied my shoes, as the swell of my freakishly large belly thwarted my every effort to reach my knees, let alone my feet.

Further, the man has no qualms whatsoever in dealing with our brood when they are beyond the point of persnickety at mealtime, obscenely tired and cranky at the close of a trying day, impossibly giddified over this or that perfectly inane thing or even while hurling profusely into a See Love Notes on page 35

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welcome to

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Love Notes continued from page 32

big bucket—all of which I find inordinately romantic.

Strange, but true. Plus, he fixes stuff that’s broken. He ferries children hither and yon. He masterminds our every holiday feast. He cooks and shops and bears in mind what he’ll need for meals—which isn’t normal, I’m told. Not for a man. Nor is suggesting that on some lazy afternoon we should rent Doctor Zhivago—an epic love story in the truest sense. “What’s so weird about wanting to watch a movie together?” he’ll ask, puzzled by my stunned silence.

Oblivion abounds, my dear Romeo.

Lately, said oblivion has risen to a new level, giving me reason to shake my head in disbelief. Just before Valentine’s Day, following an appreciable snowfall, he got up at dark-thirty to take the dog out, which necessitated shoveling a path in the back yard so that our vertically challenged pooch might not disappear altogether in a snow drift. “How thoughtful,” I mused. Some time later, I went to the window to admire what he had done. Lo and behold, he had carved a most enormous heart there in the sparkling snow—roughly twenty feet across with an arrow piercing its center. “Whoa,” was all I could mouth, astounded by this wonderful thing he had surely done to woo me once more—as if Aphrodite herself had guided the shovel there in the grayness of dawn.

Naturally, I showered him with gratitude, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him closer to the window so we could gaze at this thing of beauty together, hand in hand. “How sweet and kind and utterly romantic of you!” I gushed.

“Romantic?” he repeated, fumbling over the word and glancing in the direction of the window.

“Yes! Romantic!” I affirmed, sure that he was merely playing dumb. “How on earth did you do such an amazing thing?!”

“What amazing thing? I shoveled a path in the snow.

For the dog.”

“No, no, no. That’s not a path. That’s a heart! A ginormous heart nestled between the pines just for me— for Valentine’s Day! That was so completely romantic of you!”

Stupidly, he looked out the window and back at me with an expression that clearly conveyed the wheel is spinning, but the hamster is dead. It was the point at which he could have and should have rescued himself. A simple nod of agreement and a half-hearted smile would have sufficed. But, no. Not for my oblivion-minded Romeo. My (accidental) hopeless romantic.

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Melinda L. Wentzel blogs locally as Planet Mom. Visit her there at www.melindawentzel.com and www.facebook.com/ NotesfromPlanetMom, too.

35

&

DRINK

© Ken Steinhoff - All Rights Reserved

FOOD

No fooling: the mighty James Beard had rules for everything, including the perfect way to cook fish.

April Foolishness

And, According to Our Experts, the Best Way to Cook Fish

By Cornelius O’Donnell

Y

ou’ll probably be reading this after April first—ye olde “April Fool’s Day.” Did someone put one over on you? It’s been a while since that’s happened to me. Not because I am warier than I was (over the years I’ve often been a victim). No, perhaps it’s because people have given up on the practice these days. We get enough Fools in our lives just by reading the

36

newspapers.

My memories of the day go back a long, long way—to when I was maybe six or seven and my justyounger brother and I exchanged the sugar for salt in the china bowl on the kitchen table. Dad liked at least two teaspoons of sugar in his morning coffee, and where we got the idea for the switcheroo I cannot remember.

This worked all too well and brother Robert and I were over the moon with the success of our stunt, despite a spray of the A&P’s best on our cereal. Mom was also amused.

Heck, she did the actual substituting.

We repeated this for a few years and Dad, who should have been a Fred McMurray-type actor, did his best to gurgle, run to the back porch, and

dispense with the fluid. By now there were two smaller sibs who were in on the stunt and loved every minute of the shtick.

Back to the “Foolishness” I don’t have to look far for examples of foolishness.

While the upcoming elections spur many examples, I’ll not go there. Rather, I’m opening a file folder that I keep in my cluttered, cozy office in my spare bedroom.

(Cartoon in the Wall Street Journal: man in easy chair.

The lady of the house is scolding, as the room is a mess.

“What you call clutter, I call archives” he says. I call that a wonderful line.) I love adding to its contents, and I thought it would be fun to point out some examples before I get to the culinary topic for April.

Here’s a good one: it’s an ad I found on the back cover of Fortune magazine from this past November.

The advertiser is Rolex, and it features an endorsement by golfer Jordan Spieth who strides, smiling broadly, toward the camera in his golfing attire. Only problem is, his wrists are bare.

I turned the page in a late December issue of Time magazine to find an ad headlined “have KINDLE will travel.” It shows a person holding a Kindle, looking out a train window. Are we reading or gawking at the view?

Although his face is turned away from us, one can tell that he is bearded. The latter almost blends into the fur around the top of his parka’s hood. Unheated train? Unheeded scenery? Unbelievable image.

Stomach Dreams I swear I read this in Bon Appetit magazine in a headnote above a cabbage recipe: “This Kimchi and Vegetable Soup makes your stomach dreams come true.”

And the writer gushed on, “Kimchi should be eaten cold in order to get all of its ‘good bacteria.’”

And while on the subject of guts and gasses, I was browsing through the Penzey’s site on line, an extensive catalog of spices and kitchen tchotchkes, and I caught sight of a fascinating product. What have we here? Why it’s a Sonic Foamer for beer, a small round thing-a-majig that resembles a round base for an Asian vase. You pour the beer into a 20-oz. glass—a heavy one—and set it atop this brewski altar and (I guess) turn the thing on.

The product’s claim to fame is that “Ultrasonic vibration excites a beer’s gases to create the perfect foam head and aromatic experience.” All I can say is slainte! (That’s the classic Irish toast.) Myself? I’ll have a dirty martini.

See April Foolishness on page 38

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37

April Foolishness continued from page 37

It Figures CBS’s Sunday Morning had a feature on collectors of salt and pepper shakers. Amazing. There is even a society of these folk. One collector had special cabinets installed (husband’s a builder) to hold thousands of the little pairs. I wonder if she has these: I note in the newsletter of the Bas Bleu Society (they publish a catalog of books and accessories) that you can have S and P figurines of Mr. Darcy (salt!) and Miss Bennett (pepper!) from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Since I use a pepper grinder I might see if they have a Lot’s Wife solo salt. What next? Perhaps a Jack the Ripper cereal-box-waxedpaper-insert-opener. (Oh how I hate wrenching apart those things and watching the Cheerios fly o’er the kitchen.)

I delve further into the file and here are a couple more pages ripped out of magazines. One had a photo of a cup and coupe-shaped saucer. I looked at the small print in the caption: “Wedgewood & Bentley ‘Riverton’ teacup, $500, and saucer, $400.” I know. I had to take a deep breath after that one, too. Want to see it? Go to www.wedgwood.com.

From another “home” magazine (I read the recipe sections) there is a two-page ad for a company named Juliska’s new dinnerware pattern called Forest Walk. What were they

thinking? Go check out the design on their Web site and see if you get the same “crown of thorns with feathers” vibe that I do.

Time for a good dinner I’d say, and here is a good choice and one that fits the theme of this issue of Mountain Home.

Fish Fillets with Spinach This recipe came out of the Corning Test Kitchen circa 1980, and the other day I saw my old friend Chef Jacques Pepin (the best cook on TV for my money) do almost the identical recipe. Yes, it is a classic—delicious and so easy. I’ve slightly updated the original here. If the skillet doesn’t have a cover, improvise with a metal baking sheet.

1 Tbsp. butter 1 Tbsp. vegetable or olive oil 2 Tbsp. minced shallots Salt (preferably sea) Freshly ground pepper 4 fish fillets (choose from sole, scrod, trout, or whitefish) ½ c. dry white wine (Finger Lakes Riesling is perfect) 1 lb. fresh spinach (or use two [10 oz.] packages frozen

whole leaf spinach, defrosted, barely cooked, and then

wrung out) Sauce: 2 Tbsp. butter 2 Tbsp. flour 2/3 c. whole milk 1/3 to ½ poaching liquid from fish Pinch of nutmeg (preferably fresh-grated) ¼ tsp. dry mustard Freshly ground pepper to taste 3 to 4 Tbsp. fresh-grated Parmesan or crumbled Feta To Serve: Lemon Slices Watercress or parsley sprigs Preheat the oven to a low setting (200-degrees). Melt the butter and heat the olive oil in a 10-inch skillet (with cover).

Add the shallots and sauté for just a minute, sprinkling with salt and pepper. Top the onion with the fish fillets and white wine, cover and poach just until the fish flakes easily. This should take two to four minutes depending on the thickness of the fish.

Meanwhile, rinse the spinach and cook it quickly in a saucepan, using only the liquid that clings to the leaves. Do not overcook; it should just be wilted. Drain the spinach (blot it dry with paper towels if it seems too wet) and arrange it on a heatproof platter. Carefully top with the fish fillets and

38

save the poaching liquid. Keep the platter warm in that low oven while making the sauce.

To make the sauce, melt the butter in a small saucepan, then add the flour and cook over low heat, stirring constantly, for 3 or 4 minutes. Gradually add the milk (I heat it just a bit in a PYREX measure in the microwave to make things go faster) as well as 1/3 cup of the reserved poaching liquid, stirring vigorously. Cook until the sauce reaches the boiling point and thickens. Add the remaining poaching liquid if it seems necessary. Season with the nutmeg, dry mustard, and pepper. If you don’t have dry mustard just add a dollop from the jar. I like the coarse stuff with the seeds. Taste and adjust the seasoning.

Spoon the sauce over the fish and sprinkle with the cheese.

Turn the oven to broil and place the fish platter several inches below the element. Broil just until the cheese is lightly brown.

Garnish with lemon slices or wedges and watercress or parsley sprigs and serve at once.

Serves 4. Easily doubled.

Fixin’ Fish—No Foolin’ If there is one thing I remember from James Beard’s cooking classes it is this. If you love fish, use this simple guide to avoid the biggest pitfall—overcooking. Jim learned it from the Canadian Fisheries people.

10-Minute Rule for Cooking Fish This rule covers conventional cooking methods: grilling, broiling, poaching, steaming, sautéing, planking, en papillotte (in a parchment wrap) and baking (at about 400-450-degrees).

For microwaving, cut the time to 5 minutes per inch—and check at 4. * Measure the fish at its thickest point; measure stuffed or rolled fish after stuffing or rolling. * Cook fish about 10 minutes per inch, carefully flipping it over halfway through. So a 1-inch fish fillet or steak should be cooked for 5 minutes per side. Don’t attempt to flip pieces less than half an inch. Test by flaking with a fork. Temperature should be 145-degrees. Fish should be firm but still moist. * Double the cooking time for still-frozen fish.

I’ll be back with more foolishness—and a recipe for a “Fool” next month.

Chef, teacher, author, and award-winning columnist Cornelius O’Donnell lives in Elmira, New York.

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REAL ESTATE

Teach a girl to fish: George and Evangeline enjoying their catch.

Hooked on Love continued from page 23

share what I have learned over the last thirty-plus years in the sport, and it is an opportunity to share the many life experiences fly-fishing has in store for anybody who presents a hook daubed with feathers and thread.”

Livin’ on the Fly offers services for anglers that range from guided trips to specialized one-on-one lessons. As George said, “Our goal is to provide fishermen with a quality fly-fishing experience tailored to their interests. The information and instruction we share is the result of a culmination of years on the water and extensive travel all over the United States and a number of foreign countries.”

Amidea and George said, almost in unison, “The more we fish, the more we realize there is always something new to learn.” George added, “This mindset has kept us hungry for knowledge and is the reason we try to continue our travels so that we can learn from industry leaders each year. As we said, ‘There’s always something new that we can learn.’ Every new experience for us means a new fly-fishing lesson for both our company and our Livin’ on the Fly clients. I have experience in managing the TCO Fly Shop in State College, so it was natural that our guide business works in cooperation with them to provide their clients—and our clients—a quality fly fishing experience.”

Amidea added, “Livin’ on the Fly has an instructive, educational guide staff and is made up fishermen and fisherwomen just like us. They are anglers who are always seeking to improve their skills and to create a world-class learning environment for their customers.”

As George said, “I’m excited to work with Andy Wagner, George Costa, my wife, Amidea, and several others on this new venture.”

So where might an angler fling flies with an excellent guide through Livin’ on the Fly? The base of operations is located in central Pennsylvania limestone country, which includes Spring Creek, Penns Creek, 40

April Showers?

Pop's has Flowers!

25 Main Street Wellsboro, PA 16901

570-723-4263 • www.popscultureshoppe.com

MUSEUM

Retired teacher, principal, coach, and life-long sportsman Don Knaus is an award-winning outdoor writer and author of Of Woods and Wild Things, a collection of short stories on hunting, fishing, and the outdoors.

SERVICE DIRECTORY

PROFESSIONAL SERVICES

Little Juniata River, Spruce Creek, and Big Fishing Creek, to name a few. Andy Wagner will be offering smallmouth float trips on the Juniata River. George occasionally casts an eye homeward toward Potter and Tioga Counties and he will be offering a select number of trout trips to his north central PA roots and a chance at wild native brookies. (You can check them out at www.livinonthefly.com.)

Amidea guides anglers as time permits. She will only be running three beginner schools at the State College TCO Fly Shop location.

Due to her work and family commitments, she will not have time to conduct additional lessons or classes. After all, she does have a full time job with the Pennsylvania Fish and Boat Commission and a couple of budding fly fishers, ages five and seven, to chase up and down the trout streams.

So that’s where Livin’ on the Fly is today. Great name, Livin’ on the Fly, a great guide business established by two anglers who fell in love while fly-fishing on a trout stream.

Perhaps a more apt name would be Lovin’ on the Fly.

SPORTING GOODS

Mountain Home

SHOPPING

Three museums featuring

Pioneers, Native Americans Victorian Era, Industry Steamboats 107 Chapel St, Penn Yan Open Tues-Fri. 9-4 July & Aug. Sat. 10 am-2 pm

www.yatespast.org (315)536-7318

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B A C K O F T H E M O U N TA I N

Good Morning, Sweetheart

By Tim McBride

T

urkeys are notoriously shy birds, but Mr. Tom, starting to follow the hens after a cold winter, is paying a little less attention to the photographer than he otherwise might. I took this shot at a local pond in Heise Run, and, soon after, the tom started to challenge the other males for the dominance of the flock. Strutting soon followed. Boys will be boys...

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Saturday, April 30, 9am 9am--5pm Free Admission On the grounds of St. James Episcopal Church, 30 E. Wellsboro St., Mansfield, PA

Keynote address at 9:00am by Dr. Gregory Pais, ND, DHANP Hands-on healing, classes, and vendors Registration begins at 8:30am, Lunch available Closing Ceremony at 4:30pm Call or email today to register for the event & to schedule your no fee appointment for hands-on healing, first come, first serve: theotherhealthfair@gmail.com

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Massage Meditation Music Therapy Naturopathic Medicine P90X® Reiki Tarot Therapeutic Journaling Yoga: Chair, Hatha, Kundalini Zumba® Note: Offerings may change

This event is sponsored in part by the YMCA, Lions Club, Special Occasions Florist, Night and Day Coffee Shop, and

St. James Episcopal Church 43

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Knowing you are backed by such a skilled and compassionate team and seeing how we improve their lives makes working here so rewarding.” ~ Tyler Wiand, Physical Therapist

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