January 2007

The Magazine of Northern Pennsylvania & Southern New York FREE

JANUARY 2007

HOME ON THE RIM Bob & Dotty Webber love life (and winter) in a log cabin without electricity or running water.

DECEMBER 2006

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page

Page

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

JANUARY 2007

VOLUME 2 ISSUE 1

Ludwig Knaus’s classic 19th Century German painting, The Forester At Home, hangs in the Webber Home on the Rim. (Story, page 8)

COLUMNS & FEATURES Mountain Chatter The Last Great Place

5 To The Mountaintop By Michael Capuzzo

A journey to a remarkable couple, and back in time along Pine Creek.

6 Mountain Home’s Newsboys…and Girls

Charlotte, Noah and Tucker, a worthy Worthington trio, hawk our magazine as Dickens urchins.

7 Back to the Future in Wellsboro

The Tioga County Court House clock tower evokes a movie and gets a facelift.

Cover Story

8 The Home on the Rim By Michael Capuzzo

Since 1961 on the mountain, Bob and Dotty Webber have lived like it’s 1861 or thereabouts.

11 The Death of a Good Dog By Molly Long-Meddaugh

A town mourns with Jerry Eberhart, who called himself “The Man Who Follows Raider.”

Nose to the Wind

14 Getting Out and Getting Dirty By David Casella

Our columnist recounts happy – and sometimes hapless – times hunting with a flintlock.

Stretch

17 Spot-Less By Ryan Thomas Dalton

What’s a sensitive guy to do when he has the dog (ahem) snipped? Welcome to the world of prosthetic canine testicles.

The Mountain Man

18 A Token for the New Year By Roy Kain

Our Mountain Man has a close call with modern weaponry – and lives to tell a thankful tale.

DECEMBER 2006

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page

19 Winter Lite By Kathleen Richardson

Our new columnist looks at the frosty months through the eyes of her three-year-old grandson – and envisions delight.

The Magazine of Northern Pennsylvania & Southern New York

Reading Nature

20 The Cool Cold of Winter By Tom Murphy

Two books on reading the patterns of winter, and hoping for the Big Chill.

“Everyone needs a Mountain Home”

Awakenings

21 The Roots of Compassion By Rev. Bob Greer

From a plague in the Egyptian city of Alexandrian in the year 261 A.D. came inspiration for the first hospital.

Mountain Home Guide

23 Good Cold Fun By Liz Berkowitz

Your guide to winter sports: what to wear, where to go, and how to get the goods to do it right.

26 Rescue at Ski Sawmill By Molly Long-Meddaugh

A family ski outing took a nightmare turn, but the heroes of the slopes turned tragedy into triumph.

Trailblazer

31 Seeking the Soul of Winter By Liz Berkowitz Recalling winters past, our columnist fears their chilly demise.

30 The Revolution’s Here By Robert Kathcart

Don’t resolve anything for the New Year. Revolt! And claim the life you intend to live.

Looking Back

34 It Began in Babylon . . . By Joyce M. Tice

Our columnist reflects on the cycles of time, and tries to quiet her itchy green thumb.

Publisher Michael Capuzzo Editor Teresa Banik Capuzzo Art Director Tucker Worthington Counsel George Bochetto, Esq. Contributing Writers Elizabeth Berkowitz, Larry Biddison, David J. Casella, Rod Cochran, Ryan Thomas Dalton, Patricia Brown Davis, Cristina Halter, Paul Heimel, Vicki Jones, Rev. Robert Greer, Roy Kain, Sharon Kaminsky, Shirlee Leete, Tricha Martin, Cindy Davis Meixel, Terry Miller, Tom Murphy, Gary Ranck, Betsy Rider, Jackie Strickland, Kathleen Thompson, Joyce M.Tice.

Photography Ann Kamzelski, Art Heiny, Christine Heiny, James Fitzpatrick Advertising Sales Manager Beverly Kline Advertising Representatives Melissa Bleggi, Susan Graver Graphic Design Andy Worthington, Jason Foley Graphics & Design Intern Kylan Sattler Administration Lori Ranck, Fran Melchionne Beagle Cosmo

Mountain Home is published monthly by Beagle Media LLC, 39 Water St., Wellsboro, Pennsylvania, 16901. To advertise, subscribe or provide story ideas or additions to the Big List, phone 570-724-3838 or email mthome@ptd.net. Each month 20,000 copies of Mountain Home are available for free at more than 500 locations in Tioga, Potter, Bradford, Lycoming, and Sullivan counties in Pennsylvania; Steuben, Chemung, and Schuyler counties in New York; and outlets in downstate Pennsylvania including Lancaster, Reading, York, Harrisburg, and suburban Philadelphia.

Get Mountain Home at home. For a one-year subscription to Mountain Home (12 issues), send $36, payable to Beagle Media LLC, to 39 Water St., Wellsboro, PA 16901.

LOOK FOR Mountain Home Real Estate Guide wherever Mountain Home magazine is found.

35 Cherished Cherubs By Patricia Brown Davis

Our writer warms with the memory of flopping into the snow to teach her granddaughter the transient art of the snow angel.

Wine & Dine

36 Name That Grape By Holly Howell

Now that the season of constant cheers is behind us, its time to curl up with a good book or two about the noble vine, the better to enjoy its fruits.

Cooking Bachelor Style

38 The Slippery Tuna By Terry Miller

Our bachelor chef takes to the open seas to land a big one . . . but ends up settling for StarKist.

Good Reads

40 New Books for the New Year By Betsy Rider

Betsy introduce pages full of people persevering and overcoming in the face of overwhelming circumstance.

Shop Around the Corner

41 Montoursville’s Country Ski & Sports By Tricha Martin

It all started with a lust for snow, and Ed O’Shea turned his weekend motto: “We went skiing, why not you?” into a thriving sporting goods chain.

Ask Gary

42 Water, Water Everywhere By Gary Ranck

What to do when water refuses to stay outside where it belongs? Let Gary explain.

Yogamama

43 Laying New Trails By Kathleen Thompson

Taking yourself off the beaten path only seems tough. Just stop often and breathe.

7:30 p.m.

Movie Mania

45 After Christmas Specials By Sharon Kaminsky

Released just in time for Oscar contention, those major motion pictures finally make it to a screen near you.

Page

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

The Last Great Place

THE CREEK, THE FORESTER, AND THE INDIAN CHIEF On a Sunday in December, I dropped down on Rt. 414 south and stepped through a door of the future, a busy companionable fellow was kindly enough to offer me a brief rest by a cool stream of the past. The route led through the

proprietor at Slate Run Tackle Shop/Wolfe’s General Store, directed me to the mountaintop.

Slate Run is the launching point of journeys – of fly fishermen who seek this fabled, secluded American stream and keep coming back, some for good. About then I noticed the Pine Creek had been quietly leading

sleeping hamlet of Blackwell, the hotel closed for a winter spell, and lifted me dizzyingly over the Pine Creek with a shale mountain on the right and the fall to eternity on the left represented by a collapsing, flimsy rail you wouldn’t want to guard anything important. The village of Cedar Run was shuttered for the cold season, but farther south in Slate run Tom Finkbiner,

me along. I suspected it was up to something.

On the mountaintop I met two of the most remarkable people I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet – Bob Webber, 72, and his wife Dotty, 84.

Their remarkable life, in a log cabin with no running water or electricity, is a gift they share with everyone who asks (see our cover story, which begins on page 8). I left the

By Michael Capuzzo

DECEMBER 2006

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page

mountain profoundly touched and somehow changed, a feeling I hope you’ll share when you read the story.

The Webbers gave me another gift, a rare glimpse into the past along Pine Creek Valley. Dotty’s greatgreat grandfather was Philip Tome, the son of the first white settler in Slate Run in 1791. They impressed on me that his classic backwoods account, Pioneer Life, or, Thirty Years a Hunter, was worth reading. I picked up a copy at the general store – an edition printed

by Ayer Company Publishers of Salem, NH from a Wellsboro library copy of the rare 1928 edition. (If you “Google” it, you can also read or print an online copy).

Ever wonder what life was like on Pine Creek in 1800 when the pioneers awakened each morning to dozens of rattlesnakes crowding their yards, hanging from their doors, hissing? When a 200-pound panther attacked a creek-side cabin where three women burned floorboards to keep it from coming down the chimney after them?

When wolves were abundant, and elk forded the creek in great numbers? Originally published in 1855, the book is the autobiography of Philip Tome.

Tome’s arrival in Slate Run was chilling – literally. “In 1791, my father purchased some land about seventy miles up the west branch of the river in the wilderness. He hired men and paid them in advance to build a house. They did not fulfill their contract, but having raised and enclosed it, left it without chimney, door, window, or floor, while the bushes ten feet high were left standing in the middle of the house.”

Tome paid $15 for a local man’s dog and all his hunting knowledge, and it paid off. “From the early part of October until the first of February I killed twenty-eight bears and a large number of deer.” Tome also captured elk alive, put them on exhibition, and sold them. The skill was passed down from his father, who first captured a live bull elk in

Page

the winter of 1800 to win a tavern bet. “This was the first grown elk that was caught alive on the waters of the Susquehannah,” Tome boasted. “It was sixteen hands high; its horns were five and a half feet long, with eleven branches.”

Tome had a hunting ethic many a modern hunter would admire, and expressed it beautifully.

“I never wantonly killed an animal, when I could gain nothing by its destruction . . .

With a true hunter it is not the destruction of life which affords the pleasure of the chase; it is the excitement attendant upon the very uncertainty of it which induces men even to leave luxurious homes and expose themselves to the hardship and perils of the wilderness. But with us, who made our homes in the wilderness, there was a stronger motive than love of excitement…

We did it in obedience to the primal law of nature; for the subsistence or defence of ourselves and those whom we were bound by the ties of nature to support and defend.

When neither of these demanded the destruction of an animal, I never felt any desire to harm it.”

Tome became the trusted friend and interpreter of the famous Seneca chief, Cornplanter, who sided with the British, leading the Six Nations against the Colonies in the Revolutionary War, then wisely, given little choice, urged his people to make peace with the victorious Colonial white man, and negotiated treaties surrendering extensive Indian lands. The book includes a remarkable visit with Cornplanter on the banks of the Allegany River.

One-eyed, withered, and shrunken, over a hundred years old, hands and feet deformed by tomahawk injuries, the great old chief said he was “like an aged hemlock, dead at the top, and whose branches alone were green.”

Late that evening I returned north on 414, from my visit with Bob and Dotty, my trip to the past with Philip Tome; quietly in the dark the Pine Creek followed me home.

GET YOUR WORTHINGTON GAZETTE (MOUNTAIN HOME) HERE! Wellsboro was filled with some and sees the newsboys: 30,000 people ooh-ing and aah-ing at the classic small town dressed ‘Here’s this morning’s New up for the Dickens of a Christmas York Sewer!’ cried one. ‘Here’s Festival; at the glittering gaslights, this morning’s New York Stabber! the concerts, the plays – including Here’s the New York Family Spy! Dickens’ A Christmas Carol – the Here’s the New York Private steaming puddings, and other Listener! Here’s the New York sidewalk delicacies. And three small Peeper! Here’s the New York voices shouted in the cold air: Plunderer! Here’s the New York “Mountain Home magazine!

Keyhole Reporter! Here’s the New Mountain Home magazine! Get your York Rowdy Journal! Here’s all the Mountain New York Home here!” papers!

So cried Here’s full the newsboys particulars Tucker of the Worthington, patriotic 8, the son locofoco of Mountain movement Home yesterday, in advertising which the designer whigs was Andy so chawed Worthington; up; and the Noah, Charlotte and Tucker Worthington last Alabama Tucker’s cousins Noah Worthington, 9, gouging case; and the interesting and Noah’s sister, the newsgirl Arkansas dooel with Bowie knives; Charlotte Worthington, 11, the and all the Political, Commercial, children of WNBT disc jockey and Fashionable News. Here they Steve Worthington. (Dads Andy are! Here they are! Here’s the and Steve are the sons, in turn, of papers, here’s the papers!’’

Mountain Home art director Amos (Tucker) Worthington). We figured . . . Here’s the Sewer’s exposure three newspapers for one rural area of the Wall Street Gang, and named Gazette was enough, but we the Sewer’s exposure of the could have called Mountain Home Washington Gang, and the Sewer’s instead, The Worthington Gazette. exclusive account of a flagrant act Tucker, Noah and Charlotte of dishonesty committed by the dressed like Dickens street urchin Secretary of State when he was newsboys and newsgirls for the eight years old; now communicated, second year in a row. This plucky at a great expense, by his own nurse. trio hawked the very first edition of Here’s the Sewer! . . . Here’s the Mountain Home, in December 2005, Sewer’s article upon the Judge that and by 2006 their Victorian-style tried him, day afore yesterday, for cries had become something of a libel, and the Sewer’s tribute to the tradition. Lots of folks lined up to independent Jury that didn’t convict get pictures with them. him, and the Sewer’s account of Up and down the Main Street what they might have expected if they went, waving copies of the they had! Here’s the Sewer, here’s December Mountain Home with the Sewer! Here’s the wide-awake Santa Claus on the cover, the Sewer; always on the look-out; the cover painted by Amos (Tucker) leading Journal of the United States, Worthington. In case you’re now in its twelfth thousand, and still wondering what authentic Dickens a-printing off. Here’s the New York newsboys were like, check out Sewer!’

Dickens’ novel, The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit, In this spirit, what should published serially 1843-4. Young Mountain Home newsboys and girls Martin lands at the port of say? Let us know and we’ll print the New York to seek his fortune in best ones.

America (where he is employed by a fraudulent company and falls ill) – Michael Capuzzo

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

It’s Back to the Future in Wellsboro Many a tourist, strolling down Main Street in Wellsboro, sees the Tioga County Court House clock tower and remarks, “It’s just like the clock in the movie Back to the Future.” Back to the Future was the 1985 science-fiction comedy hit, the first of a trilogy, starring Michael J. Fox as Marty McFly, a young man who accidentally travels into the past and jeopardizes his own future existence.

DVD, this is a comedy classic for a cold winter night.

The clock tower of the Tioga County Court House, built in 1835,

might as well have been struck by lightning. The clock always seemed to run at least six hours behind, or was it ahead? Whatever,

in December, Jim Cooper of the The Sign Shop, at the behest of the Tioga County Commissioners, refurbished the old clock, painted the Roman numerals, replaced the glass, and created custom hands.

The old clock now appears to be keeping precise time – which, on a lovely day in Wellsboro with its small-town charm, may well be 1955. – Michael Capuzzo

Foreshadowing Marty’s time travel, a woman hands him a flyer about a campaign to save the clock tower of the local courthouse, which was struck by lightning at 10:04 PM on Saturday, November 12, 1955. The courthouse clock tower and lighting play important roles in the movie plot, but if you don’t already know we’ll refrain from spoiling it – check out the

DECEMBER 2006

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page

&MRS. MR.

MOUNTAIN

Page

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

LIVING WITHOUT TECHNOLOGY – AND WITH BLISS

cookies – stories of mountains in Pennsylvania and the English Lake District, of Indians wars and tectonic shifts, of shooting deer with the Winchester Bob’s dad gave him in ’52, of shapes in the clouds and finding huge piles of rattlers, of Bob’s brief stage career in New York City, a memory that will inspire him to tip back his weathered face and sing to the night

same year Bob and his brother-inlaw built the cabin by hand in the remote mountains of northwest Lycoming County. They’ve had no children, but 46 good years together in the wilderness, wonderful years, Bob says – “we’ve had an awful lot of fun.” They found in the wilds a deep contentment and touches of the divine they see nowhere else. The drink from springs, cook

evokes mountains, his favorites; from St. Augustine’s “City of God” and John Greenleaf Whittier’s poem, “Snow-bound,” among hers.

“We have no enmity for civilization,” Bob says. “We know civilization is important for the survival of our country. We know industry is necessary for society.

We depend on civilization to a large extent – the oil in our lamps

wilds, “Suwannee…”

with wood and heat with coal, grow and hunt much of their food, refrigerate with the north wind. Their entertainment is the mountain vistas, the changing seasons, the sunsets, rainbows, visits from friends, oldfashioned story-telling evenings over green tea, walking and reading.

Their tiny, two-room log cabin is filled with hundreds of books – from Jack London and histories of mountains from the Himalayans to Scottish Highlands, to War and Peace and Psalm 104, because it

is refined. We just like to live like this.

Some people can’t understand why we do this, but our philosophy of life is simple -- we live to live.”

Indeed, the Webbers live like early 19th Century pioneers, which is fitting – Bob’s a pioneering explorer of the mountains, and Dotty’s settler roots go creek-bottom-deep.

It’s quite likely, if you could see inside the forester and his wife, you’d find his muscles to be red oak entwined with bones of the old stones of the Allegheny Plateau,

By MICHAEL CAPUZZO Night. December. The old mountain. The end of the year at the end of the wilderness, a rugged country of rock and ice, rattler and bear in the Pennsylvania Black Forest. A lonely log cabin sits at the top of the mountain, engulfed in the blackness of a moonless, starless night. The small cabin, hewn of old misshapen logs, without electricity, a telephone, or running water, sits at 2,010 feet, surrounded on three sides by a thousand-foot plunge to the Pine Creek and its tributaries. Presently the darkness sizzles and a kerosene lamp alights bringing the small round kitchen table out of the dark, and with it an old woman’s patient hand. “Longfellow is my favorite poet,” the voice purrs, 84 years old, the voice of the knarled, lovely roots of the Mountain Laurel.

Sitting in the shadows of the lamplight, white hair in a bun, blue eyes glittering, she places a small book of poetry on the table as if it is the greatest of treasures. “Have you read Excelsior?” she asks. “It’s a wonderful poem.”

“Dotty’s read so much it’s a wonder she has eyes,” comes the voice of her husband Bob Webber, 72. It’s a deep and powerful baritone, the voice of the mountain.

“But don’t say Robert Frost is one of her favorites,” he adds, as his wife’s nose crinkles in disapproval.

“Dotty will get on anyone about Robert Frost.” The small kitchen, snug and warm against the cold and dark, is a gloomy cave in flickering lamplight and blasts of heat from the woodstove lapping against the smoke-darkened pine walls.

All night the retired forester and his wife have been telling stories by the fire, over green tea and DECEMBER 2006

But now the discussion of Longfellow puts him in mind of Robert Frost, whom Bob likes OK, and now Bob says: I’m going out to clean the pasture spring; I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I sha’n’t be gone long.--You come too.

And in the corner shadows, banked by a white cat and the black stove, Dotty smiles.

Bob and Dotty Webber have lived in the cabin in the mountains west of Slate Run, without plumbing or electricity but with love of the land fixed like a poem in their hearts, since 1961. They met in the late 1950s, married in ’61 – the

MOUNTAIN HOME

Continued on page 12 Page

Page 10

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

Raiding Our Hearts To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring - it was peace. ~Milan Kundera

By MOLLY LONG-MEDDAUGH Raider laid on the tufts of green grass refusing to succumb to the yellowing of winter. Beside him sat his obedient human, Jerry Eberhart.

Shining on the pair as they reclined in the back yard, the sun, warm and brilliant, offered Jerry a momentary stay from the frigid news: Raider had to be put down.

More recognizable than “the man who follows Raider,” as Jerry refers to himself, the stealthy black Labrador retriever became a familiar sight as he navigated the streets of Wellsboro. Raider procured safety for Jerry’s every step. He knew the town well, and the town knew him equally.

Among the many characteristics that comprised his unique personality was his love for food, and people around town, aware of his zeal, were always willing to oblige his charming presence with a morsel – provided Jerry gave permission. Hearing the rhythmic click of his nails against the tile floor, the BiLo deli personnel always had a delectable treat waiting for him when he escorted Jerry to the counter for a purchase.

Many people believed that Dunkin Donuts was one of Raider’s favorite destinations, a fact Jerry proved through an experiment. One day after leaving the Red Hen, Jerry, curious to discover where his guide would go, began to walk without giving the command, “Raider, take me home.” With his usual care but with the freedom of choice, the dog safely delivered his companion to the glass entrance of the donut shop. To his epicurean delight, the proud canine received his usual fill of Munchkins, tossed playfully over the counter by the delighted employees.

DECEMBER 2006

As the Eberharts are members and regular attendees of the First Presbyterian Church, Raider found Fellowship Hall to be another spot where he could sample

to tell me that it was time to head downstairs for fellowship – and cake.”

Jerry, diagnosed with the hereditary condition retinitis

an abundance of tasty victuals.

Hunkering down on the floor

by Jerry’s feet, the lab happily inhaled particles of fallen pretzels, cakes, and cheeses. In the eulogy at Raider’s memorial service, Dr. Robert Greer, pastor of the church, fondly referred to the dog’s love of coffee hour: “Raider’s built-in alarm clock always alerted me when I became too long-winded because at 12:00, rousing from his nap under the pew, he would shake his harness

pigmentosa that causes blindness, received his guide dog nine years ago after he accidentally veered off the sidewalk and fell into the icy Charleston Creek in February of 1997. Trained by Guiding Eyes for the Blind, located in Yorktown Heights, NY, Raider was the paragon of devotion. Jerry saw him as the perfect Boy Scout: trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, and obedient.

MOUNTAIN HOME

His acts of service went beyond training and routine. A friend recalls an instance when the duo headed down the left side of Main Street towards the hospital.

But a sidewalk construction area, inactive and cordoned off by tape, obstructed their path in front of The Fifth Season. Knowing his primary responsibility, Raider circumvented the problem by walking Jerry safely around the block and through a parallel alley.

More astonishingly, on their way home, Raider completely avoided the possible hazards by crossing the street at Davis Furniture, blocks before the construction site. Never before had he guided his charge on Main Street’s opposite side, yet the dog’s decision to provide a route free from obstruction allowed Jerry, yet again, to return home safely and expeditiously.

In the fall of this year, Raider developed a fast-moving cancer that metastasized to his organs and produced tumors all over his body.

To cease his suffering, Raider was put down on November 28, 2006.

He was just shy of 11 years old – his birthday would have been December 12th. Raider is survived

by Jerry and Eleanor Eberhart, son Jerry Eberhart, Jr., daughter, Elaine Zugarek, granddaughter, Gwen Zugarek, and the Wellsboro community.

On December 10th, nearly fifty bipedal and seven fourlegged friends filed into the First Presbyterian Church for his memorial service. In a reprise of the Sunday just two weeks before, when the vet gave Jerry the fateful news, the day’s splendor saluted Raider’s glorious life. As people shared stories, the palpable sorrow of his absence undulated in the laughter that rose to meet the sunlight pouring in through the windows of the church. Raider’s life, stronger than the cold tug of death, will always shine bright in our hearts. We love him, and he loves us in return.

Page 11

while her heart would pump the cool fresh waters of the Big Slate Run, the creek the family has lived by and with for 216 years.

Bob’s a retired Pennsylvania state forester, a “Johnny Appleseed” of the state’s recreational trails, a

Pine Creek for the river drives to Williamsport.

True to their pioneering spirit, Bob and Dotty love winter. Spend some time with them and it seems narcissistic, and somewhat absurd, to say, “I hate the rain!” – as if rain

living legend of the woods credited with blazing miles and miles of the first Allegheny Plateau trails, and the original hiking and skiing trails in the Pine Creek Valley. Dotty is the former Dotty Tome, the great-great-great granddaughter of the Swiss miller Jacob Tomb, the first white settler of Slate Run in 1791. Fleeing Indian hostilities in the Harrisburg area, Tome bought seventy acres in the wilderness along the Big Pine Creek and built a mill at the confluence of the Slate Run and Pine Creek – where the Manor House Hotel now stands. Jacob’s son, Philip Tome, was a trusted interpreter for Cornplanter and Governor Blacksnake, Seneca Indian Chiefs of the Allegheny River, and in 1854 wrote the American backwoods classic, Pioneer Life or, Thirty Years a Hunter, a “narrative of one who, in all the scenes of border life was never conquered by man or animal.” Dotty’s father helped design bridges and dams for the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s, and designed the chutes that ran mountain lumber down into the

or snow should fall with one’s mood or schedule in mind. “We just love to watch nature,” Bob says, “and winter is a spectacle. We look out across thirty miles of mountains to the north and watch storms play in the hills and valleys,” Bob says.

“Then a blizzard comes in and oh, it’s just beautiful out there. The mountains just get white and it’s like

Page 12

a white wall, and at sunset you have an alpine glow, it gets pink.”

Just before the snow season begins, Bob parks their two Jeeps more than two miles down the dirt road through the woods in a state forestry encampment, so they won’t be snowed in. “Many, many a night I’ve snow-shoed from the Jeep those last two miles, a storm blasting in the dark, I can’t see my hands in front of me in the blizzard, a pack of food on my back, at last I reach reach the cabin, the winds howling, the fire’s roaring and she’s got the kettle hot for tea. You feel like you’re really experiencing life.” Bob’s voice is filled with a deep pleasure at the memory.

“What I love,” says Dotty, “is the fresh snow fallen on a road before its plowed, a snowy road between the trees, just pure white with your footsteps, now that’s beautiful.”

“It’s funny, other people see winter as an annoyance or a hardship,” he adds. “We’ve been snowed in a lot and had to pack our way through a blizzard on snowshoes or skis. We find it to be

MOUNTAIN HOME

an exciting challenge.”

By December, the cabin was snug and ship-shape for winter. Six chords of dead oak from his land that Bob had cut and split himself stood in the woodshed. All the cooking, and the kitchen heating, gets done by wood – in a small cast-iron wood stove the Webbers bought 46 years ago, when the cabin was new, from Montgomery-Ward.

The stove cost $39, Dotty recalls, “and nineteen dollars to ship.” The coal was on order: two and a half to three tons, $183 a ton delivered.

From its position anchoring the library off the kitchen, a coal stove heats the entire cabin – and that’s what it takes to get through winter.

Bob and Dotty can’t pinpoint a moment when they decided to live as if it were around 1812. It just happened naturally, out of their shared bliss. For several years they left the cabin to try the modern life in a home nearby. “Bob and Dotty had all the modern conveniences,” said Deb Finkbiner, who with her husband Tom, owns and runs Wolfe’s General Store in Slate Run. “TV, electric lights, dishwasher, telephone, shower. But they just weren’t happy. They wanted to be in the country – that was the city.”

They moved back to the small cabin.

Yet they aren’t as isolated as it appears, Bob insists. He’s not worried about getting to a doctor in time. When Dotty fell from a

DECEMBER 2006

chair while dusting and animals and huge the trophy deer snow drifts “like ocean head in the kitchen, waves” and the Northern breaking her arm, she Lights that come over rubbed in liniments Old Mountain Ridge and didn’t go to the in the cold blazing in hospital for five days seasonal greens and reds.

– because Dotty is The place and Bob work pioneer-tough, not ceaselessly together to because they couldn’t make stories. get there. “People “In the 1993 blizzard, always ask, can we we already had 27 inches bring you something,” of snow, and then a Bob laughs, “as if blizzard came on top we’re lost in the of it and I measured woods. But we own 48 inches lying on the Dotty holds a fossilized rock found on one of the trails two Jeeps.” When they ground, not in drifts. I ‘The Flagstaff of the East,’” Bob aren’t eating out of the garden, the told Dotty, I better go get some says. “It’s a town near a Grand trout stream or the woods – where more wood.” As a slight note of Canyon, set in a basin, and filled Bob hunts deer and turkey and worry creeps into Bob’s voice, you with tourists.” squirrel – they shop for groceries realize an ordinary person would But they don’t remain in town in Lock Haven, for natural foods in have considered himself in mortal for long. Endlessly the land calls Williamsport. For years Dotty did peril. “I opened the door and, my – its beauty, its bounty, its deep the laundry on the old washboard, God – a drift had piled against the attachments, what the Romans but every time she got to scrubbing, door, higher than the roof of the called the genius loci, the protective a visitor would appear with a house! I had to snowshoe over the spirit of a place. Bob will million questions. Now they use a top of it to get to the wood pile, recommend a falls in New York and Laundromat in Lock Haven. They and hand the wood back down the exclaim, “It’s exactly one hundred enjoy trips to Wellsboro to sip drift to Dotty at the door.” miles from this cabin,” so closely is coffee at the Dunkin Donuts and Bob’s green eyes gleam as he he bound to the place – to its plants people watch. “We call Wellsboro tells the story. He a sturdy, graying

l Corporate l Business Law l Job Injuries l Workers’ Compensation l Wills & Trusts l Estate Administration l Social Security/ Disability l Home Owner’s Claims

DECEMBER 2006

man, 5-10, 170 pounds of shalehard muscle who typically wears black jeans, a worn green checked flannel overshirt and oiled brown boots resoled after nine years by the Amish. A gray woolen cap pulled over his gray hair, defining the strong weathered face, gives him the look of a storybook woodsman.

His handshake his firm, the eyes direct. At first he seems a man defined by action, by his 30-30 Winchester and rattlesnake boots, yet there’s something strikingly calm and poised about him. Visitors say they are spiritually touched, if not changed, after a visit on the mountain. One reported the words came to him unbidden later: “Don’t be angry. Don’t be afraid.” Bob Webber seems neither, but entirely at ease in a way that reminds one how unusual that is. With a handshake you can sense this.

“Bob’s the real deal,” says his friend Tom Finkbiner. “He’s one of the last true outdoorsman. But it’s not just that. There’s something

Continued on page 15

l Personal Injury Claims l Auto Accidents l Criminal Defense (including DUI) l Dental, Medical Negligence l Family Law l Divorce & Custody l Residential/Commercial Real Estate Law

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page 13

“Smoky” Mountain Memories E

very year thousands of hunters, the day after Christmas, in typically some of the worst weather of the year, go into the woods with smokepoles in hand. I am one of those hunters.

Even though only a couple short weeks ago the regular season ended, the deer having been harassed nonstop for two weeks and probably still not back into anything like a routine. It is most likely either raining or we are in a deep freeze.

If the snows have come, the deer, though easier to track, will be sitting tight and making themselves scarce. Quite likely all the big racks, between the endless archery season and the regular gun season, have been picked over extensively.

Yet still we go. We carry weapons that offer any one of a myriad of possibilities for malfunction – and in rainy weather or heavy snow are just about guaranteed to not fire. Yet still something drives us to go.

It was my father’s first and only experience hunting with a flintlock that had a big impact on me. He was in mountainous country somewhere in the Sinnemahoning Valley and shot a doe on his first try. He didn’t make a clean kill, and on a mountainside so steep he was sliding downhill as he frantically tried to reload, the deer was gradually gaining distance. In his haste to reload, my father, not being the most patient of men, not to mention a very large, hard-handed man, managed to break the ramrod off in the barrel. So, assuming the heroic pose of a grizzly-charged frontiersman, he took a last desperate shot and dispatched the deer with the ramrod. That was his one and only day of flintlock hunting.

Page 14

Years later I launched my first season determined to make my own memories, which included a first morning that was nearly 20 below zero. In my excitement I hardly noticed it. It wasn’t until I surveyed a frozen, silent landscape on top of Maple Hill that I realized the only thing crazy enough to be out moving that day was . . . me. Soon after, though, my next time out, I hiked into Bloss Mountain in a snowstorm that turned everything into a fairytale snowscape. As I picked my way through the shindeep snow and met up with my brother, his Cheshire cat smile said all without words, “Isn’t this great?”

And so it was. The after-Christmas weather hasn’t always provided a dream world. For the black powder hunter it can be more of a nightmare. With the unpredictable winter weather patterns the last decade or so, more often than not it might be raining, or “icing,” and there have been those times you could go out in your t-shirt and sneakers.

It is interesting that one era has become the representation of muzzle-loading weapons in regard to hunting in Pennsylvania, as the “flintlock” ignition system is but one in a long string of modifications and innovations.

Flintlock weapons dominated the field of weaponry from roughly 1612 to 1850, when they were replaced by the more efficient “caplock” or percussion rifle.

Ironically it is the percussion rifle that has been legendary as the mountain man’s gun, as the .50 Hawkin rifle was lionized in the

Hollywood epic Jeremiah Johnson. But for hunting purposes, except for a one-week, doe-only season in October, our main season after Christmas is limited to flintlock ignition.

The process of loading your smokepole, or “coalburner” – so named for how your hands look after a few rounds – requires practice and attention to detail to become proficient.

A measured charge of powder down the barrel first (most likely premeasured in hunting situations) followed by a patch and ball or prelubed conical bullet, is all tamped snug with the ramrod. (Recent changes in bullet regulations, allowing the use of conical bullets, have made for more accuracy. Prior to this, only patched round balls were legal to hunt with.) Next the frizzen is flipped open and a small charge of finer grained powder is placed in the flash pan. Cock the hammer with flint in place and you are ready to fire. This assumes several things: that you have dry fired your flint to make sure there is a spark, that rain or moisture hasn’t contaminated your powder or flashpan/frizzen, and that your priming charge is small enough to eliminate hang time. Now if you actually have a deer in your sights you are going to want him optimally within 50-75 yards and be ready to “hold” your shot until after the cloud of smoke clears to see what has transpired.

Now this bleak picture I have

MOUNTAIN HOME

painted for you is really a combination of worst-case scenarios. Like any shooting sport, an investment of time long before you walk into the woods is required. Learning about charge weights, bullet weights, wet powder, flint types, and all the maintenance, cleaning, and troubleshooting are all a part of the game.

What is so appealing to me is this very process. It requires a lot of practice to become proficient with a flintlock. This is a sport that is essentially cheap compared to many shooting activities. It requires that you slow down and pay attention. It isn’t the rapid fire banging of semiautomatic rifles or the constant pull and shoot of skeet; it is one careful shot at a time. It is learning to fine tune a process that has the potential for much error and little success.

Whether seriously practicing or just target shooting, it is quite relaxing and affordable.

I’d like to think that in some way we are preserving a part of our heritage. With the buckskins and powder flasks and smokepoles we are keeping alive a skill that carried frontiersmen and their families through many decades. The subsistence hunters were a special breed. If you haven’t read Roy Kain’s “Honoring and Using the Whitetail Deer” in the December issue of Mountain Home, it is worth a look.

The weather might not always be perfect, nor my success as good as my father’s, but every year my teenage daughter Bethany and I look forward to that after Christmas season, when we can once again go into the woods and get dirty fingers.

You can contact David Casella at nosetothewind@mountainhomemag.com.

DECEMBER 2006

Continued from page 13 remarkable about him, and you sense it more the more you get to know him.”

In 1998, in honor of Webber’s decades of work blazing trails, the DCNR named a 1.7-mile trail Webber had dug and cut himself in the mountains above Slate Run the “Bob Webber Trail.” In 2002, when Webber was 66 years old, the Bureau of Forestry named Webber the 2001 Volunteer of the Year.

“An unexpected trailside meeting with Bob Webber,” the citation said, “might find him in a shower of wood chips as he chops away at a fallen oak with his machete, clearing brush down over some remote vista where only rattlers dare go, or quietly eating lunch in a shady hollow. If you ask, he’ll tell you the name of a wildflower, or the history of the world, and it will be accurate.”

v

In modern America, long after the sacred 19th Century scribbling of Henry David Thoreau, our urban media culture has inundated us with a different, darker story – the strangeness of the solitary woodsman. The Unibomber lived in the woods. There are stories of a Tioga County hermit who emerged from his cabin once a year. Remote cabins house revenuers, bootleggers, back-to-nature cultists, men with “Beware Bad Dog” signs on trees, red eyes and shotguns leveled at the lawman or the taxman.

That’s not Bob and Dotty.

“WELCOME,” says a sign over the door of their cabin, adorned with a smiling cat face. There’s a pretty flower-box under the small, six-pane front window, and a well-thumbed blue notebook and pencil in a small wooden housing on the doorjamb – so you can leave a note if they’re out. The Webbers get lots of visitors – old friends from Slate Run or Reading, where Bob grew up; a young married couple that wanted to learn intimately their lifestyle DECEMBER 2006

and wisdoms; a donut-baker from Wellsboro who enjoys the wilds; a senior aid to the governor who wants to cross-country ski with the legend of Penn’s Woods, the man who cut the trails.

“We enjoy visitors,” Bob says.

“I’d love to see more people enjoy the outdoors, see firsthand the beauty of the mountains, the plant and animal life, for the great exercise and the spiritual lift Nature provides.”

To get there, you follow 414 south, snaking along the river into the Pine Creek Valley, through the tiny villages of Blackwell and Cedar Run to Slate Run, where the premier trout stream known as the Slate Run empties into the Pine Creek, the pumping heart of the southern Pine Creek valley. At the junction of the two waterways sits the Manor House Hotel – on the spot where Dotty’s ancestor built his mill in the late 18th Century. Just across the Pine Creek stands Wolfe’s General Store, with gasoline pumps, a deli, an Orvis dealership, and the U.S. Post Office, Slate Run. Thousand-foot peaks encircle the small valley of the Slate Run, looming in shadows; hereabouts they talk about Bob Webber like a figure who descends from the clouded peaks like Rip Van Winkle – which, in fact, he does, once a week or so, to fetch his mail.

Standing on the back porch of the general store, Finkbiner points to a mountain rising five football fields high three miles as the crow flies west of Slate Run – that’s Bob’s mountain, he says. That’s where Bob descends in winter every week, packing 1,500 feet down the steep, icy east face of the mountain on switch-backing trails, down through a hemlock forest. Then he walks down onto Naval Run Road, crosses the bridge at Pine Creek and into the village – cutting short the ten-mile drive to three miles, as the crow and the forester fly.

“Everyone is excited when Bob appears,” Finkbiner says. “Bob

shows up here looking like he walked out of a 1930s L.L. Bean catalogue – high, lace-up knee boots, wool pants and tight knit cap, flannel wool coat over other layers, an old knapsack that doesn’t say Cabellas on it.” While Webber picks up his mail and messages, some

athlete.”

Finkbiner points to the top of Bob’s mountain. “See that pine tree taller than anything else?” It appears tiny in the distance. “Once I asked Bob about that tree. He told me he’d shot a deer under that tree in 1954 when he got out of the

groceries, makes a phone call or two, he and Finkbiner, friends since the mid-70s when Finkbiner bought the general store, swap jokes and discuss the events of the day. “Bob will tell me he had to break through the ice on the trail at the point of the mountain, cutting and blasting big cakes and sheets of frozen ice careening over the side.”

The friends used to ski together, but Finkbiner says, “I’m 63 and I couldn’t keep up with him. “Bob’s great to ski with,” Finkbiner says with self-deprecating sarcasm.

“I show up in the latest light, versatile cross country skis, the latest bindings and boots. Bob’s in these long, thick wooden skis with binding rope loops and high rubber green boots with socks rolled up over the top and – whoosh! – he’s gone. You see him at the trail head when you leave and you don’t see him again until the first break area just finishing his thermos of green tea and saying, ‘Well, ready to get going again!’ For him to do what he does at his age . . . ” Finkbiner shakes his head. “He’s a remarkable

army. I said, are you sure it’s THAT tree. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I’ll be walking under that tree when I go home.

I’ll wave an orange flag at you in half an hour.’” In the heavy dusk, Finkbiner raised his binoculars and saw it – a speck of orange flying at the top of the mountain.

To get up Bob’s mountain without hiking it, you climb the narrow Slate Run Road past the hotel. The trout stream that gives the village and the road its name gurgles along in a ravine following you on the right, the ravine deepening as you climb without guardrails. In four miles the road turns to dirt and the Slate Run departs abruptly north for Tioga County and still you climb south higher into shadows so deep you can’t read the odometer at midday. But soon you can see everywhere through the woods the big lightening sky and your pulse quickens – though you’ve never been here, you can feel it – just as salt air foretells the sea, the light is calling you to the top of a

MOUNTAIN HOME

Continued on page 16 Page 15

Continued from page 15 mountain.

At the top the mountain flattens, like the crown on a rounded head, and a narrow road divides a dense forest. You pass walls of young trees broken by glimpses of distant mountains, an abandoned hunting camp, a stand of old pine, until, miles down, you reach a yellow steel-bar gate. There is no sign of habitation save an old steel tube mailbox that houses a small rock – a paperweight for messages. There are no messages under the rock this afternoon. Beyond the gate a rutted dirt path, impassable but for trucks and jeeps, disappears into the woods. “If the gate’s unlocked,” Finkbiner says, “he’s home.” The heavy gate swings open under your hand, and in moments your pickup is rattling into the forest, slowly descending for two miles, until the pine and oak close in and the way tunnels ahead like something out of the Hobbit if not the ancestral heart, and suddenly the road opens into a dell of grass and larger trees and speckled light. There sits a log cabin, very old, with a sagging green roof and smoke curling from the chimney.

Beyond it, massed trees and underbrush filter the opaque silver water-reflected light of the canyon – the 1,000-foot drop-off on three sides. A small brown wooden sign has carved letters: The Webber’s Home On The Rim. A swept flagstone path leads to the door. Bob Webber is already out the door, and he greets you at your truck. He takes you on a tour of the dell. The canyon country is not an “outdoor climate” by modern definition, but for the Webbers so much of life is outside. Twenty steps east of the cabin stands the wooden outhouse, with a sign, “This Is The Door You’re Looking For – Hurry!” On the north side of a large red oak rests a pyramid of ashes Bob stacks all winter, and spreads to fill

Page 16

in the low places in spring. Nearby is a pile of rusted railroad spikes, plowshares, parts of old stoves – artifacts Bob unearthed from old logging camps in the mountains – relics stacked carefully, like outdoor sculpture.

A quarter mile hike through the woods is the water supply – a spring. You want a glass of water, you walk into the kitchen, or ask your spouse to bring one while she’s up. Bob snowshoes through a blizzard to reach the spring, poles on each shoulder balancing four one-gallon bottles.

A small shed outbuilding houses the “refrigerator” – a small old gas refrigerator that no longer “works,” except for the twin blocks of ice on the bottom. Two ice blocks from the general store, $1.75 apiece, keep the refrigerator going all winter – keep the milk cold, the eggs

fresh, the butter hard. To the south lies the winter garden, settling in for a long wait for new potatoes, tomatoes, string beans, saffron – Bob and Dotty grow and harvest their own saffron, a fine golden touch to a home-baked potatovegetable-squirrel thick-crusted pie.

“You want to see ‘The View?’”

Bob says. It’s a sacred place.

Finkbiner is awed by it – he calls it “Bob’s Altar.” Bob calls it simply The View. He leads down a gently sloping path to the north, away from the cabin, a path of grass and moss studded with flat and buried rocks. Next to a young red oak is an eight-foot-long bench hewn of rough oak with ax marks, sitting in the notches of three oak trunks. It’s all dead oak Bob harvested from his land, and it’s a fine place to sit. But he’s standing, pointing. “The View” is a cascade of mountains rolling

some thirty miles to the far horizon – from Lycoming County across the entire breadth of Tioga County in a glance.

You can see the Pine Creek Valley cutting north through the mountains like a path for giants, and a tiny speck of buildings in the bosom of the hills. “Right in front of us is Old Mountain Ridge, more than 2,000 feet. And behind it, the Algerine Wild Area, 2,070 feet to the top of it. That big mountain over on the right is Cal Hilborn Mountain, 2,060 feet. He was a pioneer who lived at the base of that mountain and farmed. Farther right are the Twin Mountains, 2,200 feet, the highest mountains on Big Pine Creek in Lycoming County.”

Bob grows excited as he tours his world. “That’s Cedar Run down there,” he said. “At night, you can see a few lights on in the dark valley. And see that perfectly formed peak – that’s Gillespie Peak at Blackwell, often said to be the most unusual peak in Pennsylvania. The midstate trail crosses over the top of that. As far as you can see, that’s Bloss Mountain, with 15 going across the top – and over there are the high peaks of the Letonia area in the northern county . . . I’ve been on every mountain you can see. I’ve carved trails across the top of them.”

“Look!” Bob cries. In the foreground of The View, just past a thick fringe of Mountain Laurel and a lone tall pine, the gorge plummets a thousand feet, then rises to the massive flank of Old Mountain Ridge, 2,000 feet high. As we stand looking at it, a beam of sunlight through the clouds inscribes a shape across the dark bare-treed hulk of the mountain, and Bob grows excited. “Dotty and I spend hours looking at the shapes in the light, the clouds, the mist,” he says. “People think we’re crazy, but we just love it. I’ve seen a dinosaur, just perfect, we see bulldogs and we see old men with white hair lying in state, all perfect, but not for long.”

The View has already changed

Continued on page 21 MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

Manly Dogs and Things That Go Clunk In the Night If the holidays brought me one new thing this year, it was a dog.

I’ve received video games and sweaters as gifts, even candy canes and fruitcake, but never a dog. In fact, it wasn’t even my intention to get a dog this Christmas, but I’m a softie and I couldn’t let Moses be put to sleep. So, I adopted him.

Everybody gets himself or herself a gift and Mo was my Christmas present to me. Death-row Mo, I call him. Thing is, I adopted Moses two weeks before Christmas, which automatically added one more recipient to my Christmas gift list.

You gotta get the dog something.

A Bone? Too typical. A ball? Well, Moses isn’t a puppy. He’s seven.

And lazier than me. I didn’t think

DECEMBER 2006

he’d even touch a doggy ball. So, if not a ball, what then? Balls. Plural.

It didn’t hit me until I was researching whether or not I should neuter Moses. I mean, he’s seven.

He’s an only dog and an indoor dog.

And he’s not hyper. So, why neuter him? I was perusing the net – cybersurfing, they called it in the early 90s – when the grandest of grand ideas came to me in the form of a popup window: “Do you want to neuter your dog like a responsible pet owner?”

Yes. “But you don’t want your stud to lose his masculinity around the fire hydrant?”

Yes! Yes! “Then get a pair!”

What?

“Of prosthetic dog testicles!”

Neuticals, if you will.

No, no, I too thought that this was a joke at first. It’s not, I assure you. And why would it be a joke? In a country obsessed with cosmetic surgery, why don’t we start cosmetically enhancing our canine friends? I asked my brother Tom for his advice. Tom is not only a dog owner, but also a collector of trivial knowledge.

“Prosthetic dog testicles,” he said, “Yeah, it’s the newest thing ever in dog shows. They cheat all the time in dog shows. Fake testicles, tattoos that darken the skin in areas of the fur where judges may be extra critical.”

MOUNTAIN HOME

Now, you may think this is all moderately to extremely ridiculous, but there are some scientists who would disagree with you, namely, The Ig Nobel Prize committee.

The Ig Nobel Prize is like the real Nobel Prize, except it’s presented at Harvard University by Annals of Improbable Research Magazine and celebrates, says MSNBC, “the humorous, creative and odd side of science” As I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, prosthetic dog testicles, invented by Gregg Miller (and tested on his poor, poor Rottweiler, Max), brought home the honor this year.

I was convinced. (I’m an easy sell.)

Now, the holidays are all-but-over and I’m pleased to report a positive outcome: Moses and I couldn’t be happier. Gregg Miller has two new satisfied customers. And I have my new dog and he has his newfound dignity. Man and his best friend.

Ryan Thomas Dalton is “Stretch,” the WNBT DJ, and a graffitipoet at www. myspace.com/emceehype. You can email him at stretch@mountainhomemag.com.

Page 17

The Token

The Native Americans, or as we mountainmen know them, the Indians, placed a volume of credence on “totems,” those personal charms and “lucky mementos” they collected along life’s highway. In a decorated “medicine” bag hanging from the neck, there could be found a bear claw, a strangely colored pebble, or a spent lead ball initially intent on planting itself in the body of the individual now in possession of this insignia of near death. That burning lead grape may have seared the cheek or arm of its intended victim and slammed into the sapling behind its painted enemy, later to be dug out and reverently placed in a decorated medicine bag. This was considered big medicine; that ball now was a totem, a token of what could have been . . . but wasn’t.

That rabbit-foot you see on key chains, the silver dollar your grandfather gave you, that heads-up penny you found on the steps of the church where you were married: these seemingly insignificant keepsakes are totems. We all have tokens of remembrance. I certainly know I have. That’s what this first offering of the new year is about: a token of a recent acquisition by yours truly.

Being a 21st-century mountainman has its pitfalls; modern firearms and prevailing methods of readiness for the hunt are two. At Dancing Ferns, my secluded cabin in the woods, the prevailing environment is primitive and void of modern amenities. It was designed that way. Nevertheless, having friends and associates that are neither mountainmen nor primitive, I am obliged to

Page 18

By Roy Kain accommodate these pilgrims at various times of the year. Just a while ago, a friend of several years showed up at Dancing Ferns with the intent of hunting deer with me on opening day. He is not a mountainman, never wants to be a mountainman, and never will be a mountainman. In a fancy molded-fiberglass gun case, his 30/06 rifle, with hi-tech telescopic sights and full-grain leather sling, awaited daylight and the ever-popular practice of “zeroing-in.” The Saturday and Sunday before opening day is typically when all the guns of autumn can be heard repeatedly echoing throughout the mountains; zeroingin these hi-tech, hi-powered “deer rifles” must surely require a degree of engineering skill involving minute adjustments to telescopic sights that allow the shooter to count the blinks of a deer’s eye. Being an eighteenthcentury mountainman and hunting with my traditional powder-burning flintlock, I cannot relate to shooting more than three rounds to get “on center.” Nevertheless, my visiting pilgrim-friend, with his 30/06 and 180-grain mushrooming bullets, needed to do some sighting-in before Monday morning.

On the hillside behind my cabin, dangling from a hemlock limb, is a four-inch square of half-inch thick steel, the preferred target material for muzzleloading guns at twentyfive yards. Since the muzzle-velocity of the blackpowder gun is less than the conventional gun and its ammo, when the lead ball hits the 4x4 steel plate it merely flattens, making a slight depression in the plate while depositing a ring of lead in the depression. With the speed of modern ammunition and the mind-bending velocity of

today’s firearms, at twenty-five yards my friend’s rifle was perforating the halfinch steel time and time again . . . then came his fifteenth shot.

Ten feet behind the sharpshooter, and in the cabin, I stood watching the action from an open window, a small window not a foot-and-a-half square.

Fourteen times I watched that steel plate jump and dance on that tree limb; I was awe-inspired at the damage inflicted on that half-inch steel. The bullets were near dead center on the target when Skip announced, “one more to make sure.” He slid one more long brass cartridge into the chamber, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger . . .

Still standing at the window, amazed at the power I was witnessing, the rifle made its vicious bark and my head was jerked back as if struck by a ball-peen hammer. My first conscious thought was I’d been stung by a hornet. It was winter: no hornets. A suicidal chickadee? Shattered glass? My hand instinctively went to my forehead and I felt the warm wetness on my fingers; blood was streaming down the bridge of my nose when I looked in the mirror on the wall. The pain was nothing a seasoned mountainman couldn’t handle; nevertheless it smarted some, and I had acquired yet another scar. A hastily built bandage stopped the bleeding, and Skip’s anxiety, as I sat bewildered on a stool.

Upon investigation outside below the window, we found a gob of freshmushroomed lead. Blood and a few strands of hair stained the lead; the reality of what had happened was another hit on the head.

I’ve heard of ricochet-romances – a comic strip cowboy called Rick O’Shay – and I know about ricochet bullets. I’ve never

MOUNTAIN HOME

experienced a ricochet-romance. I have read that comic strip, and now I’ve experienced the rebound of a ricochet bullet. It is now a totem of what could have been . . . a token that came much too close for comfort. See ya by the fire next time.

The wound required no medical care and has healed nicely; The Mountainman is fine and continues life as usual from Dancing Ferns. You can contact Roy at mountainman@mountainhomemag.com.

Someone will walk up into the hills and make sure he gets the message.

DECEMBER 2006

Embracing Winter

Meeting the Season Like a Child: With Wonder and a Magnifying Glass

By KATHLEEN RICHARDSON Here comes Santa Claus . . . Here comes Santa Claus . . . Right down Santa Claus Lane . . .

Wait a minute. Santa has been and gone. ‘Tis no longer the season to be jolly. All we’re left with is cold, ice, snow, and so few hours of sunlight. There doesn’t seem to be anything to distract us from that fact, and your inclination may parallel mine. This is the time of year I’m tempted to pour a cup of tea, stack up the DVDs, crawl under a blanket, and hibernate until April or May. It’s a good thing I’ve got a grandson. Mid-way between three and four years of age, he’s full of energy and enthusiasm for life, and that’s just what’s needed to get me moving. Sure, he likes a good movie as much as I do, but he’d rather be up and about kicking a ball, playing a computer game, washing dishes, or simply walking down the street.

I’ve decided that this winter I’m going to let him teach me to embrace winter with the arms of a child. For those of you who

DECEMBER 2006

don’t have a child, I suppose you could borrow one. Actually, simply observing children will teach you what you want to know, and there are children everywhere you go – in a store, at church, or in the children’s section of a library.

On second thought, stores may not be the best place to observe children.

They tend to get tired and cranky and even throw tantrums.

Which leads me to tell you: I’m jealous. Kids know when they’ve reached their breaking point and aren’t shy about showing it.

Once you’ve reached your winter breaking point, I suppose you could scream and kick with the abandon of a child. On the other hand, you could plan ahead for those dark and dreary days. Nothing complicated.

Just a few kid-inspired ideas along with some simple, inexpensive

tools to move through these winter months with ease.

I’ll tell you my ideas and you can add your own. For instance, I bought my grandson a magnifying glass for Christmas. I liked the price and the quality so much that I got myself one. It’s been great for reading faded dates on the back of old photos and taking a closer look at a botched stitch on the baby blanket I’m knitting. Grandson likes to examine our fingerprints and dirty fingernails.

A free bus loops from Market Street to the Corning Museum of Glass parking lot and back. It crosses the Chemung River both ways. This short ride unleashes a flood of kid questions. Mental exercise is good for all ages, so I see his questions as sometimes annoying but always stimulating.

MOUNTAIN HOME

Frosting Christmas cookies together was such fun that I’m planning this as something we can do all winter. And when I want to take the easy way out, I’ll buy unfrosted cookies.

You may be tempted to sleep the winter away. Short breaks and naps are actually better than long ones.

The longer you stay in your chair in your comfort zone, the more difficult it will be to get yourself moving again. The less you move, the more sluggish and helpless you’ll feel. Get up and get moving.

Take a walk and take a kid along.

Oh, and remember to make a snow angel at least once.

Kathleen Richardson is a Life Coach in Corning, N.Y. She is penning a book on creating a life resume (as of December 8, she completed an 80,000-word goal she set for herself). Check her website, http:// www.onyourwaytothetop.com, for details on her January-February WOMEN CROSSING THE GAP series, for women ready to move from where-they-are to where-they-want-to-be. You can contact her at kathleenr@mountainhomemag.com.

Page 19

Cherishing the Cold of Winter

A Review of Winter: An Ecological Handbook, by James C. Halfpenny and Roy Douglas Ozanne (Boulder, CO: Johnson, 1989); and Guide to Nature in Winter, by Donald W. Stokes (Boston: Little, Brown, 1976.) [Out of Print.]

We have a new puppy, so I have been spending more time outside listening to the nuthatches beeping up and down the tree trunks and the foxes barking in the dark while I stand in the moonlight waiting for nature inside a small dog to

take its course. On the one hand, the mildness of the weather for most of November made the time outside more comfortable, but I am bothered by the memory of something Bill McKibben said while he was here: “Winter is what makes this area what it is.” Our winter is changing and that means this place will change.

Page 20

If we are lucky, January is cold and snowy. Writing about a book that would help us appreciate winter seemed like a good idea for this month’s review, and Donald Stokes’ Guide to Nature in Winter seemed like an obvious choice. What other book shows what weeds look like after they are dead? It identifies trees without leaves, discusses winter bird behavior, and explains insect galls on the stems of those dead weeds.

But I discovered the book, first published thirty years ago, is out of print, and the publisher has no intention of reissuing it. Why is such a useful book no longer available? Alas, the world changes and not always the way we wish it to. Used copies are still available online.

So I had to find another book.

What I found is very different from Stokes, but perhaps even more suited to the current state of winter: Winter: an Ecological Handbook,

by James Halfpenny and Roy Ozanne. The book is full of science; however, the audience is “the educated layperson,” someone who is curious about winter. Although some of the book is quite technical, equations and all that, it is easy to skip those parts. But Halfpenny and Ozanne are so good at explaining the basic principles involved in winter that you may eventually want to understand what is happening at a deeper level.

For example, they explain how snow flake crystals are formed when water vapor freezes around a particle and then draws water molecules from surrounding water droplets.

The snow crystal takes different

forms depending on the combined effect of the temperature and the amount of vapor. They explain five different systems for classifying the resulting snow, some appropriate to when snow is falling, some to when it is on the ground. When the water droplets themselves freeze, they become hail (with a hard center)

MOUNTAIN HOME

or sleet (with a soft center). I don’t understand it all yet, but already I have much more to look for next

time the snow falls.

This book was written before the scientific consensus on the presence of global warming, but it gives us the tools to understand global warming’s implications. In describing how the cold and the snow affect the plants and animals, they show how the length and depth of the snow cover and the coldness of January determine where spruces grow. On the map, winter enough for the spruces dips down into north-central Pennsylvania. When the climate warms, it is clear this area will be hit the hardest since we are the southern-most point for many winter species. Our winters will change and so will the plants and animals that live here. We should embrace the hard days of winter, and notice and enjoy them because they will not last.

Tom Murphy teaches nature writing at Mansfield University. You can contact him at readingnature@mountainhomemag.com.

DECEMBER 2006

Compassion’s Source “Be Compassionate as your Father is compassionate.” (Luke 6:36) In the Egyptian city of Alexandria in the year 261 AD, a plague hit the area that affected every family and household. A great fear gripped the people. To protect themselves from infection, people cast into the streets the bodies of the dead and of those dying. This of course added to the pestilence’s stench and contagious infection.

At this time, Christians were undergoing harsh persecution. To avoid arrest they were forced into hiding and holding their meetings in secret. St. Dionysius, the bishop of Alexandria, records the wonderful thing that these Christians did for their community at that time.

They, and they alone, emerged from their homes to attend to the dead and the dying. At great risk to themselves – both from infection and from possible arrest – they nursed the sick, washed the bodies of the dead, and saw to their burial.

Many of these Christian caregivers

Continued from page 16 the history of the small valley.

Finkbiner and his wife were moving to Montana, they’d purchased 20 acres with a stream, told all their friends and neighbors, it was a lifelong dream. Then early one spring, the roads hard and wet and the last of the snow just gone, the general store owner had to deliver an emergency message to the Webbers. He rattled up and down the ten miles of mountain roads and reached the log cabin at dusk.

“Bob was just coming up the path from his altar,” Finkbiner recalls, “and he said, all excited, come look at this. The sun was setting and the mountains were glorious – it was incredible. And Bob said, I can’t believe you’re leaving this – this is as pretty as anything out west. And in that moment I realized he was right.

We’d spent all our time working in the store, and we’d forgotten what it was really like. We decided to stay.”

It’s an unseasonably warm day in mid-December, temperature in the 40s, but after two hours DECEMBER 2006

died. Their service entailed the laying down of their lives for their neighbors and even for their enemies.

This is the way of Christ.

This is the positive force of healing and health that Jesus has unleashed in the world through the church for the benefit of all.

These Christians of Alexandria had within them the capacity of Jesus’ healing power. They dared, even at great cost to themselves, to make Jesus’ work their work. They embodied compassion.

The wonderful thing the Christians of Alexandria did was repeated many times over by Christians in other communities.

In the long run perhaps nothing had more of a tendering impact on the enemies of the cross than these courageous and selfless acts

of mercy. The world had never seen such compassionate behavior before.

Jesus commanded His followers to be compassionate. The Bible reports that He Himself was a model of compassion – touching and healing the contagiously infirmed.

In 394 AD, a remarkable woman of wealth, St. Fabiola, opened in Rome a charitable institution to care for the sick and poor. She established a sisterhood to work with her and care for the needy that came to her hospital for help. Historians credit Fabiola with establishing the first hospital.

The word compassion means “to suffer with.” Compassion compels us to go where there is pain, brokenness, and anguish. I believe that Christian compassion is a sympathetic awareness of another person’s distress with the desire to help alleviate that distress in some

outside your fingers are getting cold and your whole body feels raw under a light coat. Bob’s wearing two flannel shirts and seems not to notice the cold. Bob has been narrating the story of the land.

And you realize all of a sudden that dusk is coming and you still haven’t been invited inside. You still haven’t met his wife, and Bob has never mentioned her.

In the 19th Century, Americans never invited a guest into the formal parlor – the intimate hub of the house, the heart of family photos, mementoes, heirlooms, where the story and meaning of the clan was told – unless they were close or trusted friends. They entertained newcomers in an outer, informal parlor. As it was with the Victorians, so it was with this man of the mountain. The land and the view were part of Bob’s home – his outer parlor. As dusk brought a new chill, he said, “You can come inside now.”

You turn back toward the house and there, halfway up the path, is an old woman standing there, as

if he’d summoned her wordlessly.

She is a small woman but has immense presence, as if you have been brought into her company for an important reason you’ve yet to understand. Dotty has a remarkable face – her skin so smooth, eyes so winter-sky blue. The eyes twinkle with impossible merriment, and her skin is soft as a baby’s skin as she takes her hand in yours, the handshake man-strong. “You didn’t wear a hat,” she chides. “Better come inside.” Says Bob, smiling: “Every man she sees without a hat she scolds.”

The front door leads right into the kitchen, the heart of the cabin.

It’s a small, cozy, embracing room, 10 by 12, a small round table in the center with small chairs, gloomy, almost dark, with the coming dusk, and incredibly warm – the cast-iron wood stove in a corner is blazing, and it’s not a computer-controlled 68 degrees in the kitchen at dusk.

It’s 85 degrees or more, and after the chill of the mountain it feels wonderful. Somehow wonderful, too, to be inside, safe and together

MOUNTAIN HOME

way.

But it’s our human nature to avoid pain and to consider those who suffer as unattractive. Scholars have noted that compassion is just not natural with humans. Our instinctive response, like the people of Alexandria, is to emotionally detach ourselves from those in need. It’s self-preservation.

Christianity changed that.

Today we have institutionalized compassion. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t suffer with those who are in pain, distress, or anguish.

And as Christians we are still driven to relieve peoples’ suffering.

I believe that is what makes us Christian. Fortunately, because of our great Christian heritage, we have much more to work with than did the Christians of the 3rd and 4th centuries.

When faced with difficult challenges, the early Christians of Alexandria seized the moment for God’s sake. May the same be said of us today.

Rev. Greer is the pastor at First Presbyterian Church in Wellsboro.

You can email him at awakenings@ mountainhomemag.com with people as night approaches.

Strange, too, and oddly inspiring, to be sitting at 4 in the afternoon in a deep gloom. It’s a trip in time, back before electricity. A gray light filters through the small kitchen window, but it’s so dark in the kitchen you can only see Bob’s shape, not his face, sitting across the kitchen table.

Dotty sits in the corner between her stove and cat, and moves with smooth economy, like a shadow – hoisting the big kettle to pour green tea; slipping another log into the stove; disappearing into the dark library with a flashlight to fetch another precious volume of poetry ...

As your eyes adjust to the dark, wood-smoky air, the walls of the room feel close, familiar as a shoe – the small bookshelves cluttered with adventure stories, histories, poetry, and bric-a-brac; the hookedrug scene of a sleigh on fresh snow, made by Bob’s late mother and darkened by years of wood fires; the six cats sprawling in baskets

Continued on page 44 Page 21

Come and enjoy the best snowmobile riding in Pennsylvania. The PA Grand Canyon Snowmobile Club is located 12 miles west of the town of Wellsboro. We have direct access to hundreds of miles of trails. Maps and local information are available at our clubhouse.

Our mission is to promote the positive aspects of the sport of snowmobiling. By providing well maintained and groomed trails, our club is inviting all snowmobile enthusiasts to come and check us out.

By becoming a member you will meet others who share your love for snowmobiling.

You will be supporting snowmobiling in the community and the state.

Page 22

v Access to over 200 miles of groomed trails.

v We own and operate two groomers.

v Make your family a part of our family!

v Trail rides v Hot Dog runs v Annual Upper Pine Creek

If you would like to join the PA Grand Canyon Snowmobile Club please check your preference: Regular q $10.00 Business Membership q $25.00 Total Amount:__________________ Name:________________________________________ Address:_ _____________________________________ _________________________ State:_____ Zip:_______ Phone:______________________________ email:_______________________________ Signature _____________________________________________ Date__________________________________________ Submit to:

Trout Tournament

v Annual Club Family picnic For snow and trail conditions visit our web site at www.pagrandcanyonsnowmobileclub.com E-mail: snoguy@chilitech.com

MOUNTAIN HOME

PA Grand Canyon Snowmobile Club 4814 Route 6 Wellsboro, PA 1690 Reproductions of this form will be accepted.

DECEMBER 2006

LET IT SNOW! The Weather Outside is Frightful?

It’s Playtime!

SNOWSHOEING This old travel tradition has become mainstream for winter walking and hiking. If you can walk you can snowshoe. Today’s models are light and narrow, making them much easier to walk in than the old bear

By ELIZABETH BERKOWITZ Oh my god! It really snowed!

Fluffy, white powder covering the land, with deep drifts and glistening hilltops! Oh boy, I’m so excited! I could snowshoe up that old pipe line and take in the view of the valley or slip into my cross country skis and go gliding across the fields into those dark hemlocks along the stream, or we could drive over to Hills Creek State Park and do some ice fishing and probably have a few snowball fights too! So much snow, so much to do but where do I begin? I don’t actually have snowshoes or skis. Hmmm. I wonder if there’s any place nearby I could rent or buy some…

So, it snowed and you can’t wait to get outside and play in it but don’t have the right equipment or clothing or even know where to go to do all these fun winter sports?

Read on to find out what you need to know about having fun in the snow!

Spending time in the outdoors, whether it’s a solo hike or with friends and family, can be fun as long as you’re warm and dry. Wet clothes, cold fingers and toes can ruin a day trip by cutting it short or can just make you uncomfortable.

If you plan on spending the day outdoors and you will be participating in some form of recreation here’re a few pointers on DECEMBER 2006

switching to a mitten where all your digits can help insulate each other.

Last but not least be careful in bad weather, make smart decisions, and go out and have fun!

how to dress.

First, try not to wear anything with cotton in it.

Cotton acts like a sponge and soaks up water and sweat and holds it against your body, making you cold and damp.

Wear thin, wicking fabrics made of synthetics, silk, or wool next to your skin. Second, make sure you dress in layers so you can take clothing off or put it back on to help regulate your body temperature and keep from over-heating or shivering. A fleece top or wool sweater over that thinner layer of long underwear is perfect. Third, wear an outer shell that is windproof. If the weather is going to be really wet then look for something waterproof but 90% of the time a wind shirt or pants is all you need as these fabrics allow your body to breath easier, keeping you drier on the inside. Wear wool or synthetic socks to keep feet dry and toasty and if you have a real problem with cold hands try

claw styles everyone sees on the cover of their L.L. Bean catalog.

Most styles allow you to wear any kind of shoe, including hiking boots and waterproof trail runners.

You’ll need about 5 to 7 inches of snow to make this winter hobby worthwhile. Poles are often used by snowshoers to help with balance, but it is not necessary. Clinics and demos are offered yearly at Wild Asaph Outfitters in Wellsboro and

by DCNR at Winter Fest in Hills Creek. The local Asaph Trail Club offers snowshoe hikes by moonlight and can be reached by contacting Liz at Wild Asaph Outfitters.

Equipment: Snowshoe rentals are available in Wellsboro at Wild Asaph Outfitters for $10 a day and

MOUNTAIN HOME

poles are included. They offer two different styles as well as womenspecific models. Should you rent a pair, have a blast, and want to buy a pair, Wild Asaph will subtract your rental price from the purchase price of a new pair of snowshoes. They also carry gaiters to keep snow out of your boots. Call 570-724-5155 for more information or check out their rentals on the web at wildasaphoutfitters.com.

Where: Most places you would go for a hike are suitable for snowshoeing. Local recommendations are the Pine Creek Rail Trail. This trail is groomed by the state and offers easy walking on flat, even ground.

Goodall and Sand Roads in the Asaph are also nice and offer more ups and downs with side trails if you really want to get into the woods.

CROSS COUNTRY SKIING One of the better-known winter sports is also one of the easiest and most rewarding.

Beginners may feel slightly unstable, but you’ll find it easy to set your own pace on flat fields and trails.

If you’re comfortable on skis, Page 23

Sliding into History in Eagles Mere

By MOLLIE ELIOT

The Eagles Mere toboggan slide is a Sullivan County, Pa., winter tradition dating back to the early 1900s. This mountaintop Victorianera resort, built around Eagles Mere Lake, offered plenty of sledding opportunities from its earliest days.

But Capt. E.S. Chase masterminded the town’s first official ice toboggan slide. Chase wanted a safe, sturdy toboggan slide for his grandchildren and the community to enjoy. In 1904 he designed one, built of blocks of ice harvested from the lake. The slide is still constructed today from his original plans.

Once ice on the lake has reached the right depth, teams of fire company volunteers work together to build the slide. Blocks are cut

Page 24

with ice saws, gaffed by hand down a channel cut in the ice to a holding area where they are hefted with antique ice tongs onto a mechanized ‘elevator’ and loaded onto pickup trucks. The blocks are transported about a half-mile away to Lake Avenue where the slide extends downhill, spilling onto the frozen

lake. Toboggans can achieve speeds of up to 45 mph.

I rode the slide one sub-zero January day. I was in the front, and the acceleration made my eyes tear and froze my eyelids open. The sled didn’t stop until we were more than halfway across the lake (about 1200 feet). It felt more like 60 mph than 45. It was great, but once was enough for me! My kids, however, jumped right back on once we got back to the top.

Conditions must be cold enough to freeze lake ice thick enough to cut blocks.

For information on when/if the slide will be constructed and operating hours if it is built call 570-525-3244.

TAKE TWO FOR CABIN FEVER . . .

Corning Exhibition: Hunting and Wildlife in the American West We hear remarkable things from hunters about the hunting exhibit at the Rockwell Museum of Western Art, 111 Cedar Street in Corning, NY. This month is your last chance to check out Fields & Streams: Hunting and Wildlife in the American West. Drawing on the collections of the museum and the Genesee Country Village and Museum, the exhibition reveals the lifestyle of hunting in frontier days, when hunting was survival, not recreation. The story is told from the perspective of Indians, settlers, hunters…even the animals. The exhibit runs through January 21. Call 607-937-5386 or check the website, http://www. rockwellmuseum.org. Adults $6.50, seniors $5.50, under 17 free.

Williamsport Classics: The Big Band Era and . . . Cinderella Two old-time entertainments are a good bet to brighten a dreary winter day this January in Williamsport at the Community Arts Center.

If the phrase, “the songs we love so well” means anything to you, you’ll enjoy the Jimmy Dorsey Orchestra and the Pied Pipers.

On Saturday, January 13 at 7:30 p.m., they play America’s Hits on Parade, songs from the Big Band Era, “the most thrilling era of music that captured our hearts . . . ” On Tuesday, January 30 at 7:30 p.m., the renowned State Ballet

MOUNTAIN HOME

Theatre of Russia brings an elegant performance of the children’s classic Cinderella, featuring “beautiful music and spectacular dance.” The 2,000-seat theatre downtown at 220 West Fourth St. is beautifully restored to its 1928 magnificence. 570-326-2424.

Tickets $20 to $35.

Discount Finger Lakes Wines . . .

But Don’t Count ‘Em Out The Finger Lakes wineries generally slumber during January, but there’s a shining exception. The Cayuga Wine Trail offers its “Bargain Bash,” January 12-31, a weeklong sales event that, unlike the trail’s other events, doesn’t require a ticket. Fans of the trail on the mailing list get coupons each year that can be redeemed during the event. Everyone else just shows up to take advantage of a “trailwide spring cleaning garage sale” in which participating wineries clean out their inventory and drop prices on wine, wine glasses, clothes, and other items.

Meanwhile, it’s not too early to plan for the Cayuga Trails’ Chocolate & Wine warm-up event for Valentine’s Day, February 10-11. It’s a romantic weekend-long combination of luscious chocolate dishes with complementary wines. Or the Mardi Gras on the Cayuga Wine Trail, Feb. 24 & 25, featuring a string of Mardi Gras beads, a wine glass, prizes, plus a wine and food sample at each of the wineries. Check out the web site, www.cayugawinetrail.com. Keuka DECEMBER 2006

Lake offers “Be Mine with Wine I” on February 10 & 11, and “Be Mine with Wine II” February 17 & 18 (each winery offers a recipe paired with a different wine). Each event is $20 per person in advance, $25 at the door.

A Dramatic Season

By Larry Biddison With December’s mild temperatures and festive gatherings a pleasant With December’s mild temperatures and festive gatherings a pleasant memory, I’m looking forward to the special joys of “deep” winter – maybe even a Whittier-esque snowbound one. For one thing, I don’t have a desire to travel when there’s so much art, music, and theatre to participate in right here in my home town. And so, without having to plow, ski, or slide too far, I’ll begin the year by resuming an activity that was one of my delights as a university prof: encouraging creative writing. I really hope others in the community who enjoy reading aloud (or listening to others read) will accept my invitation to experience the excitement of original plays-in-progress. Read on!

Playwriting Clinic: The first of two playwriting clinics will be held at 7 p.m. on Monday, January 8, 2007, at the Deane Center, 104 Main Street, Wellsboro. The clinics provide an opportunity for authors to hear their play(s) read aloud and critiqued in advance of the March 1 deadline of HamiltonGibson’s “Taste of Tioga” Playwriting Contest. Multiple copies of scripts-in-progress will be required. Members of the public are encouraged to participate. A second clinic will be held on Wednesday, DECEMBER 2006

February 7. Contact Larry Biddison, Contest Coordinator, at 570-7244586 or biddison@epix.net.

Disney’s Aladdin Jr.: Begin 2007 with another Hamilton-Gibson treat performed in Steadman Theatre on the Mansfield University campus on January 12 and 13 at 7:30 p.m.

Enjoy all the fun and music of the beloved classic movie on stage with singing and dancing by over 60 area children grades 3-9. The Steadman stage is transformed into Agrabah, City of Enchantment, where every beggar has a story and every camel has a tail. Aladdin Jr. follows in the tradition begun in 1988, when Disney first adapted this centuriesold tale from The Arabian Nights.

Admission by FlexPass or $6-$12 at door. (2007 Flex Passes – Students $24, Seniors $49, Adults $59 – are good for six admissions and make great gifts!) Sponsored by Wellsboro Imaging, Inc. Information at 570724-2079 or hamgib@epix.net or www.hamiltongibson.org.

I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change: Contemporary relationships are explored in the hilarious, long-running OffBroadway musical revue. Mature audiences will enjoy this ribald play at the Arcadia Theater in Wellsboro on February 9, 10, 11, 16, 17, 18 (7:30 on Fridays and Saturdays; 2:30 on Sundays). Four actors play a variety of parts: first dates, blind dates, missed dates, rejected dates— and married life: brides and grooms, honeymooners, young parents, old parents, rocky-roaders, mid-life crisis-ers, empty-nesters. Bring a date! Sponsored by Dr. Richard J. Strauch. Information at 570-7242079 or hamgib@epix.net or www. hamiltongibson.org.

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page 25

Patrolling the Heart of the Mountain

By MOLLY LONG-MEDDAUGH

The Shearer’s trip began as a typical family outing. After the family of eight – Steve, Cindy, Christiana, Chelsea, Alexis, Madison, Dexter, and Blair – met at the Montoursville High School where Steve teaches math, they

course down a narrow tributary of Lower Pete’s Run. Almost immediately off the main course, Steve saw a small form crumbled near a tree, and his heart froze.

It was his son lying face down in the snow. When Steve rolled him over, blood came out of the boy’s nose and mouth. While

The Shearer family on the day of the accident.

folded into their van and drove the forty-five minutes to Morris, Pa., where Ski Sawmill is located. Before hitting the slopes, Cindy corralled the group together for a family picture.

As usual, Blair, seven years old, fidgeted impatiently as his mom took yet another family portrait. Blair was the family’s wild colt, and her incessant posing transformed the metallic winter air into a bit holding him back. Given his rambunctious, fearless nature, his mom had only that afternoon remarked to her father-in-law, a doctor, “If you get a phone call, it’s probably because Blair is hurt.”

So it was no surprise to Steve Shearer that, on the last run of the day, he’d lost sight of his son. It had been a thrill for the father when Blair had asked him to ski with him.

Feeling the pressure to impress his youngest boy, Steve had lost a ski – a rarity for the expert skier. Now, tracking back on one ski, he saw that Blair had taken a capricious turn snow-boarding from the high, dense base of man-made snow to

Page 26

snowboarding down the trail, Blair had hit a tree. He had broken his skull in two places, which let air into his brain. He’d fractured his sinus cavity. He fractured all four walls of his left orbital socket.

Not certain if he was breathing, Steve cradled Blair’s seemingly lifeless body. The boy’s face was stained with blood, and a golf ballsized lump protruded from the left side of his forehead. Instinct told him to carry his child to the main slope, but that was not an easy task.

With the ski area’s snowmaking capabilities, the main slope rose approximately fifteen feet above the fresh powder on the floor of the woods. At first, Steve tried to climb up the trail but quickly realized that he was better off cutting through the trees.

Stunned, Steve feared his son was dead. Terrified, he raced back to Cindy on one ski, and cried, “Blair’s hurt!” Cindy rushed with her husband to their son’s side, and

NATIONAL SAFETY COUNCIL INJURY FACTS

ACCIDENTS/ 1000 PARTICIPANTS

ACTIVITY Skiing/Snowboarding Swimming Tennis Ice Skating Snowmobiling Basketball Football Baseball

2 2 2 4 4 13 18 20

NUMBER OF DEATHS PER YEAR Skiing/snowboarding: Being struck by lightning: Bath tub falls: Car Accidents:

34 89 300 42,000

(from the textbook Outdoor Emergency Care, Fourth Edition) MOUNTAIN HOME

together they placed his limp body on the firm granular snow and cautiously removed his ski helmet.

As the helmet came off, it slid down fifteen feet and veered into the woods. The couple knew a despair they’d never experienced. Cindy attempted to unbuckle her son’s snowboard when a gurgling sound drew her attention to his face. As the blood began to spurt from his mouth in a wheezy gasp, she feared that this was his last breath. a Many skiers and snowboarders are unaware of the guardianship of the Ski Patrol; most snow sport participants enjoy their activities without incident. Nevertheless, every member of the National Ski Patrol (NSP) comes to the mountain prepared to handle any situation.

For the past three years, Sam Iusi has served as the Ski School Director for Ski Sawmill, and in his dedication to helping others, he decided to become a ski patroller as well. He completed the 130-hour Outdoor Emergency Care course, an intensive training program that prepares ski patrollers and outdoor rescuers for wilderness emergencies, and is now a certified member of the NSP. To maintain certification, yearly refresher courses are required.

A large percentage of patrollers nationwide are volunteers who contribute their time and money – they pay for their own courses, uniforms, and first aid equipment – to provide “service and safety,” the NSP’s creed, to the outdoor recreational community. Though little-known, ski patrollers provide heavy-duty support to skiers and mountain bikers across the country.

The training is certified by everyone from OSHA to surgeons to the American Pediatric Association.

On the night of Friday, January 27, 2006, Sam was out on the mountain, surveying the ski conditions while keeping an attentive eye on the Ski Sawmill DECEMBER 2006

patrons. The air was calm and the fresh snow glistened in the trail lights illuminating the slopes. At 8:15 p.m. a call came across his radio: “There’s a child down on the intermediate trail.” He immediately responded to the call, and within a

sure if Blair would live. As she made her way to the patrol building, she prayed and cried to the night, to God, “Please don’t let him die!” * Working together to save the young boy, the ski patrollers moved Blair inside and gently placed him on

Sam Iusi pointing to the Life Flight pin Blair recieved - and gave to him.

maximum of two minutes, he, along with patrollers Justin Campbell and Kurtis Kelly, arrived on the scene.

As he studied Blair’s battered, misshapen face, Sam assessed the damage, and it was grave. “It was immediately apparent that there was extensive head trauma, deformities to the orbital socket of his left eye, and because he was in and out of consciousness, we radioed for a helicopter.” Sam called for further ski patrol, sleds, and equipment.

Next, they stabilized Blair’s head and neck in preparation for the descent down the mountain.

Because Blair was so small, Sam climbed into a safety toboggan and securely held him between his legs.

Rather than wasting any critical time on the mountain, they moved the sled by snowmobile and drove to the Ski Patrol building.

After the ski patrol moved Blair, Steve skied down to the lodge to talk with and comfort his other children, and Cindy skied to the patrol building. With six active children, trips to the emergency room for stitches or a broken arm were part of life, but this scenario was beyond extreme. She was not DECEMBER 2006

cerebral fluid and gray matter.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden porch and announced the arrival of the ambulance personnel: Steve and Rob Kreger are EMTs for the Morris Ambulance squad.

While they prepared Blair for transportation, Mike Williammee set up the helicopter’s landing zone on the small airstrip across from the resort’s entrance. The Life Flight helicopter set down. Like relay racers passing the baton to the next team member, the Kregers successfully delivered the boy into the hands of the flight nurse and a medic aboard Life Flight. Within eight minutes, Blair arrived at Geisinger Medical Center, where a team of specialized physicians vigorously worked to save his life.

Blair’s injuries were extensive: the two skull fractures, one to the left temple and one behind his ear; the fractures to the four walls of his left orbital socket; sinus cavity fractures; and, the most severe, bruises in his brain.

an orange examination table. Mike a Knefley, Jr., the resort’s general The team that rescued Blair bonded manager and a member of the ski with him, and rooted for him during patrol, joined the group with the news that the ambulance and Life Fight were both en route. The team made certain that Blair’s airway was clear and free from compromise and they controlled the bleeding from his multiple abrasions. But blood continued to seep from his mouth and nose.

When Cindy entered the brightly lit patrol building, she thought that Blair had stopped breathing. Although his chest appeared still, Mike assured her that he was moving air. Recognizing the disbelief in her eyes, Blair in the hospital. he guided her closer to the table so that she could see for his recovery. He was in the hospital herself. She noticed that one of the for a week, followed by the near patrollers kept looking in Blair’s impossible for Blair – a six-month ears and nose, and hesitantly, she period of restricted activity. No asked him, “What are you looking skiing. No swimming. He couldn’t for?” Fear clotted in her throat and even jump out of the van. commingled with the acrid taste Sam, the ski patroller, made Blair of bile as she heard the response: MOUNTAIN HOME

promise to return to Sawmill when he had healed so Sam could see that perfect young face replacing the tragic sight that haunted him. Sam got his wish six weeks later.

Miraculously, Blair made a full, rapid recovery. This winter, he is eagerly awaiting the family’s first ski outing of the season. The accident doesn’t seem to have deterred him. After he was cleared by doctors, he played football in the fall. Being Blair, he’s even talking about being an Olympic snowboarder.

For the Shearers, returning to Ski Sawmill is like visiting family. One of the glories found in a small resort like Ski Sawmill is that every patron is an individual, not a nameless face in the helix strands of skiers and snowboarders traversing the slopes. Throughout the year, Sam and Mike have kept in contact with the Shearer family and have created a lasting friendship.

Accidents are bound to happen, but preparedness is paramount for a successful outcome. Wearing a ski helmet was one of the ingredients that saved Blair’s life, but the extensive training, dedication, and teamwork of the ski patrol during

the critical hour of injury was the quintessential component that facilitated his healthy healing Look to the hills and know where your help comes from; people, devoted to helping others, are the heart of this mountain.

Page 27

head to old, hilly roads or wooded trails for a more exciting experience.

There should be about 3 or 4 inches of snow to ski and packed conditions can be as good as deep powder.

Many of today’s cross country skis are shorter as well as wider and are sized by weight instead of height, making the skis easier to control.

Equipment: packages of skis, boots/bindings and poles can be rented from Country Ski and Sports of Wellsboro or Williamsport.

Prices are $12.50/day weekdays and $15/day on weekends. All equipment is rented on a first come first served basis, so make sure you get there early when the white stuff starts to fall. They also offer full ski packages for purchase, and clothing and accessories. Call 570-724-3858 for more information, or visit them on the web at countryskiandsports. com.

Where: The Pine Creek Rail trail is one of the best places for crosscountry skiing in Tioga County.

This trail is groomed regularly by the state, and due to the steep sides of the canyon the snow stays longer and may offer skiing days after other snow cover is melted.

Other local spots are Sand Run Falls outside of Arnot and most old roads and trails in the Asaph area.

Both the Susquehannock Forest of Potter County and the Tiadaghton forests of Lycoming County offer over 30 miles of trail for skiing.

Page 28

The Black Forest has quite a selection of skiing trails. If you’re looking for fantastic views and flat terrain try the Ruth Will Trail off of Route 44. Should you forget your map, just stop in Wolfe’s General Store in Slate Run for a trail map of the area.

SNOWMOBILING Tioga country offers 158 miles of roads and trails throughout the Tioga State Forest for snowmobilers. The season opens the day after deer season (providing there is snow…) and you must have your vehicle licensed and insured, and wear a helmet while riding. License and registration are provided

by DCNR and can be purchased at their office in Wellsboro or from a local sled dealer.

The local snowmobile club is located on Route 6 just west of Ansonia. For more info on the club and their events check out their website at pagrandcanyonsnowmobileclub. com.

Equipment: There are quite a few local places to buy sleds or equipment and clothing to go with them. Canyon Motorsports (814435-2878), AJ’s Outdoor Power (570-662-1700), Lake Country Motorsports (570-662-2255), and Larry’s Sports Center (814-4356548) all offer new sleds as well as all the equipment and clothing you need to ride.

Where: When it snows, the road to Colton Point State Park is closed to traffic and opens to snowmobilers. This area includes parking with plenty of space for trailers. From the parking area riders can access miles of trail throughout

the state forest as well as back roads with little or no vehicular traffic.

A favorite of the locals is parking at the Burning Barrel Inn (the old Twin Pine Tavern) along Route 6 in Ansonia and riding the west rim of the canyon south to Slate Run for an evening meal at the Hotel Manor.

Potter County offers over 200 miles of snowmobile trails, all of which are located on Susquehannock State Forest land. These trails can be found on the North Central Snowmobile Trails Map, available at the district office.

ICE SKATING With the large number of lakes and ponds in the area you can easily find a spot close to home for this winter sport.

Dress warmly with wool sweaters and long underwear to keep you padded from the falls as well as cozy on the ice. This winter hobby is a bit more challenging, so be prepared to deal with all the bumps and bruises. Ice needs to be at least 5 inches thick for safety, and if it is snowy you’ll need to bring a couple of shovels and hard workers to clear the ice off first. This can sometime be more rewarding than the skating as it may trigger a good old fashioned snow ball fight!

Equipment: You’ll need skates that fit well. This means they should be very snug and stiff in the ankle.

You may need to buy a size lower than the size you wear in a street shoe. Hockey and figure skates are common styles, but hockey skates are often easier to wear due to the ankle being stiff with plastic thus offering more support for beginners. Check out your local sporting goods shops for info on

MOUNTAIN HOME

where to buy skates.

Where: If you want to skate on state park lakes/ponds you should first check with the park to see if they allow skating and ask how thick the ice is and if it’s safe to skate on. There are many beaver ponds on state land that work well for ice skating as well as privately owned ponds. Always check with land owners before heading out onto their ice. Not comfortable on real ice? Check out Corning’s First Arena for family skating, even when it’s not freezing outside.

More information can be found at firstarena.com.

ICE FISHING For those of you who like being outside when it’s cold but don’t care to move around as much. The recommended thickness for solid ice is at least 4 inches.

Ice is often thinner and weaker around the edges the water or logs and weeds. Use an auger to drill into the ice and check it’s thickness. A license is required. You can check with the DCNR office in Wellsboro for rules and regulations. Any sport that relies on frozen ice can be dangerous so please take a fellow fisherman along and wear a PFD (personal floatation device) in case the ice should crack.

Equipment: This winter pastime requires patience and clothing for cold temperatures. It’s hard for your body to keep warm while sitting still, so make sure to bring plenty of hot chocolate and hand warmers.

Where: Check DCNR’s website to find out which state parks offer ice fishing.

DECEMBER 2006

Bear Track Tavern 203 E. Main St., Westfield, PA, 1-814-367-5300; Wings and burgers to steaks and seafood offered in separate dining room and bar areas. Dining room opens at 4:30 pm (noon on Sunday), bar at 11 am daily.

Coach Stop Inn 755 Rt. 6, Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-5361; Book your Christmas party! Try our Friday night seafood smorgasbord and our Sunday country buffet. 12 miles W. of Wellsboro on Rt. 6. Mon-Thurs 3 pm-9 pm, Fri/Sat 11 am10 pm, Sun 11 am-8 pm.

Dunham’s Café 45 Main St., Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-1905; Located cozily in downtown Wellsboro inside the Dunham’s Department Store, Dunham’s Café provides an easy way to eat while you shop, from ice cream to soups and lunches!

Fry Bros Turkey Ranch Restaurant 19919 S. Rt. 15 Hwy, Trout Run, PA, 570-9989400; Opened on Mother’s Day, 1939, it now seats over 300 and has a new convenience store with self-serve gas. In over 65 years, it has roasted and served 100,000 turkeys!

Greens and Beans Cafe located inside Night and Day Coffee, Main St., Mansfield, PA, 570-662-1143; the healthiest place to eat in Tioga and surrounding areas. We specialize in homemade soups, sandwiches and grilled wraps. Catering available.

Home Comfort Restaurant 1131 Route 49, Westfield, PA 16950, 815-3672966; Serving breakfast, lunch and dinner. 10 seafood specials every Friday night from 4-9 pm.

Hours: Mon 6 am-2 pm, Tues/Wed 6 am-8 pm, Thurs-Sat 6 am-9 pm, Sun 7 am-3 pm.

DECEMBER 2006

The Native Bagel 1 Central Ave., Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-0990; The Native Bagel’s food is made with tradition: bagels made fresh daily, gourmet coffee, deli sandwiches, soups and salads, homemade desserts. Free local delivery.

Original Italian Pizza 3 Main Street, Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-2090; Stop in and enjoy the best affordable Italian food – pasta dinners, subs and pizza. Open Monday through Saturday 10:30 am-10 pm Ox Yoke Inn Route 6, Galeton, PA, 814-435-2515, www.ox-yokeinn.com; We offer a full menu-breakfast, lunch, & dinnerhomemade soups and full salad bar. Bar on premises. Banquet room available. Dine in or take out.

Penn Wells Hotel & Lodge 62 Main St., Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-2111; Join them for Thanksgiving! Their traditional Thanksgiving buffet can be enjoyed from 11 am to 5 pm Thanksgiving day. Reservations strongly recommended.

The Steak House 29 Main St., Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-9092, wersteaks@ epix.net or www.thesteakhouse.com; This restaurant has been family-owned and operated since 1957. From the finest steaks and seafood to burgers and sandwiches, all served in a smoke free atmosphere.

Reservations suggested, but not required.

Terry’s Hoagies 7 Charleston Rd., Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-7532, terryshoagies. com; Terry’s Hoagies are the best hoagies in town! Fresh cheese and tomatoes, enjoy everything from sandwiches to garlic wraps.

Look for coupon in ad.

Timeless Destination 77 Main St., Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-8499, timelessdestination.com; Introducing the timeless taste of fall. Timeless Destination is the exciting Italian restaurant and lounge by Jay Hixon, featuring filet mignon, seasonal specialties and a great lounge.

Tioga Street Grille and Restaurant 299 Tioga Street, Wellsboro, PA, 570-723-2233; A unique mixture of PA home-style cooking with a barbequed bluesy feel. This casual family restaurant is open daily for breakfast, lunch and dinner, SunThurs 6 am-8:30 pm, Fri 6 am-10 pm, Sat 6 am-midnight. Weekday delivery 11-2 pm.

The Wren’s Nest 102 West Wellsboro St., Mansfield, PA, 570-662-1093; Enjoy natural elegance in casual, fine dining as you sample Chef Fry’s American creations prepared with a twist of inspiration while enjoying this historic 1854 home. Reservations suggested.

Full service bar. Casual dress.

A Hint of Europe 1756 Dean Hill Rd., Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-3604; Looking for something different? Try our fully-furnished, luxury apartment with a clean, contemporary European design. Exquisite interior and unique attention to detail for your relaxation.

Visit us at http://ahintofeurope.com.

Amidst the Mountains Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-3307, www.amidstthemountain. com; Come experience winter on the mountain. Sit by a fire while watching the snow fly. Or take a sled ride down the long twisting driveway. They even provide the sleds!

Bear Mountain Lodge Route 6, Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-2428, BearMountainBB.com; Adventure with

MOUNTAIN HOME

wireless internet, flat-screen TV, deck or balcony, close to biking Rails-Trails; driveway on Rte. 6.

Memories in the Making 57 Central Avenue, Wellsboro, PA, 570-723-1903, www.

MyMemoriesInTheMaking.com; Lovely shabbychic appointed guest house offers B&B stays, whole-house extended rentals, and scrapbooking retreats accommodating up to 9; 3 rooms, 3 baths; on-site scrapbook store/workshop.

Ox Yoke Inn Route 6, Galeton, PA, 814435-2515, www.ox-yokeinn.com; Our motel sits along a beautiful section of Pine Creek.

Enjoy our warm friendly atmosphere. Relax by a campfire or in our dining room, bar or lounge.

Group rates available.

Rough Cut Lodge 2570 Rt. 6, Gaines, PA, 814-435-2192; Seven spacious, fullyfurnished housekeeping cabins on Pine Creek: one to three bedrooms, modern kitchens, porches, color TV’s, VCR’s, fireplaces and air conditioning. Non-smoking cabins available.

Sherwood Motel 2 Main St., Wellsboro, PA, 570-724-3424 or 800-626-5802; www. sherwoodmotel.org; Minutes away from the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon, enjoy 42 deluxe rooms, outdoor heated pool, refrigerator, hair dryer, golf and fishing (ice) packages, free internet, HBO, microwave, whirlpool rooms available.

Ski Denton P.O Box 367, Coudersport, PA, 814-435-2115; Luxury cabin chalets with full kitchens sleep six, open year round. Sit by the fireplace and relax in the main lodge, enjoying great food from the snack bar.

Sylvan Glen P.O. Box 61, Gaines, PA, 814-435-2570; Vacation rentals in the Pine Creek Valley. We offer a four-bedroom, fullyfurnished rental and a one-bedroom A-frame by the week or weekend. Call for details.

Page 29

Forget New Year’s Resolutions – Instea Try a Revolution

By ROBERT KATHCART

January 01, 2007: Happy New Year! As soon as the delirium of last night wears off, I want to get in shape. I want to get healthy. I want to lose weight. I want to quit smoking. My resolutions this year are to stop using that really expensive piece of exercise equipment as a really expensive coat rack. This is the year that I am sticking to my resolutions.

January 15, 2007: I don’t really have time for exercising. Work is keeping me extremely busy. I want to get in shape, but I don’t have the energy for exercising after working all day. I want to start exercising outside, but I will have to wait until warmer weather. I could quit smoking, but nobody likes a quitter, right?

Sound familiar? What happened?

All of your dreams of a new start in the New Year quickly faded into the background, covered by a laundry list of excuses. The first problem is that we let our language defeat us. By saying “I want,” we put off until a future time the regrets we have about things we didn’t do in the past. “I want” imbues me with no sense of investment or personal power. Wanting lies outside of me, beyond my control. I mean heck, I want to win the lottery, but it is out of my control and responsibility.

Just as I have no control over the outcome of the lottery, I have no control over resolutions stated in the “I want” format.

This year, I invite you to forget about resolutions. They have no power. I invite you to make 2007 the year to create a New Year’s Revolution. According to Webster’s, a revolution is a “fundamental change in the way of thinking about or visualizing something: a change in paradigm.” To begin this

Page 30

process, instead of saying “I want to,” I invite you to say the following phrase aloud, filling in the blank.

“In 2007, I am creating the life of my vision. I affirm my personal power to give myself permission to _______.”

Did you say it aloud? (Don’t be embarrassed, no one is watching.)

Saying “I am” puts your life in the now. We can only truly live in the present moment. Saying “I am” makes me an active participant in the process of creation.

So, how is it possible to create the life of my vision? Right now, as I sit writing this article, I have visions of the far off springtime.

Yes, I know what the calendar says about the equinox, but we locals understand the potential that winter has in the next two months. We fear this potential. Perhaps it is so in our own lives, and this is why they don’t go the way we “want” them to. Do we fear the potential within ourselves and therefore refuse to give ourselves permission to create the life we imagine? Do we refuse to allow ourselves to even create vision for our lives?

Creating a vision for our lives is a relatively straightforward process.

It can be accomplished using the Empowerment Model for Creating Change as developed by David Gershon and Gail Straub in their book Empowerment: The Art of Creating Your Life As You Want. This model consists of four steps.

The first step is to do a process of self-discovery. Find a quiet place where you will not be disturbed.

Begin by sitting in a comfortable position. This can be done in a chair or on the floor. Wherever you choose to sit, make sure it is relaxing, but not so relaxing that you fall asleep. Close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to clear your mind and center your focus in

the present moment. After taking a few relaxing breaths, ask yourself what is the area in your life that presents an issue that you want to work on. Let your awareness focus on the images presented; identify the aspect in your life where you are stuck. Without this initial self-discovery, the process of empowerment cannot move forward. Choose only one area in your life at a time to work on.

Once you have identified your stuck place, be with it for a few moments, allowing it to further develop or change. An example would be, “I am unhappy with my physical health.”

The next step is to visualize what your life looks like on the other side of the stuck place. Ask yourself how you would like it to be and quietly listen for an answer. Do not let judgment interfere with what comes up. Listen within yourself as the true you is trying to speak. Let this be a process of free association, allowing images, words, and feelings to arise. Give yourself permission to visualize your life as it would be if you move through the stuck place.

The third step in the Empowerment model for Creating Change is to craft the images of your life past the stuck place into an affirmation. An affirmation is a verbal statement of what you want to create. When crafting your affirmation it is important to keep a few key points in mind: * Keep your affirmations in the positive. Do not use words like no, not, shouldn’t. * Make your affirmation personal.

Remember, you can only direct your life, not control the behaviors of others. * Create an affirmation that is simple. You want to be able to remember it easily and repeat it throughout your day. * Keep your affirmation in the present tense. Create it so you are doing it in this moment.

MOUNTAIN HOME

* Write it down. This will give you a way to have your affirmation present. Once you have really crafted an affirmation that speaks to you, write it on a card that you can post somewhere to reflect upon it throughout the day. You could even carry it with you.

An example would be, “I am confident in my ability to make changes in my physical health with nutrition and exercise.” Or “I make time for my physical health by exercising daily.”

The last step, once you have created an affirmation, is to ask yourself if you believe it is possible.

At this point, you want to stretch yourself onto your growing edge.

Your growing edge is the point where you begin to take some risks. Craft your affirmation so it is not too easy and allows you to step towards a point of risk taking.

While beginning this process, do not make the risk so large that it is overwhelming. Keep the risk doable.

Working towards your growing edge is important because real change can only occur when you are willing to step out of your comfort zone.

To test to see if your affirmation is well crafted, say it aloud and see if it rings true for you and if it is on your growing edge. If it is not, adjust it so it is. You decide what you consider to be a risk for you. It will not be the same for everyone.

Remember, you create whatever you expect with confidence in your life. Repeat your affirmation throughout the day to nurture the seed you have planted. Do what you have outlined for yourself. If you create a sense of expectation, then your affirmation will begin to manifest.

As you work through this process of Empowerment, you will begin to create dramatic changes in your life.

The responsibility rests completely on your shoulders. Make 2007 the Year of Empowerment. Let the Revolution begin.

DECEMBER 2006

Searching For Silence The air is cold and burns the inside of my nose and lungs.

The snow crunches under my boots and I wiggle my toes to keep them warm. I’m walking in between hemlocks and maples, looking for the place where silence begins.

I stop and listen. I hear the snow falling on my jacket. I wipe my nose. Sniff. For a few seconds I have thoughts about going back. The woodstove, my bed, the warm water heated by the big gas furnace in the basement. I shake my head and return to the snow. I’ve been walking for 4 hours. The sun would be over my head right about now.

I imagine it through the flat, gray clouds and big flakes.

I’m sitting on my pad amongst old hemlocks. My little stove hums and I see a wisp of steam escape the lid of my cook pot.

Boiling water, hot water. I fill my cup with hot water and tea and sit back against the tree. Sip. The tree is as quiet as the snow. I try to slow my breathing to match the tree’s. Sip. Foot prints in the snow. A fox, maybe? Sip. He was here before me. This tree was here before the fox. The snow pulled from the oceans was here before the tree. Sip. I am here. Searching for silence.

I’m approaching a body of water. I smell the moisture in the DECEMBER 2006

it’s raining again.

It’s been raining for a week and despite it being January in north central Pennsylvania it is 40 degrees and there has been little snow to speak of this year.

I am not glad to see the rain, although

air. Patterns in the ice. Winter orchids built slow through freeze, after thaw, after freeze. They sway with the windy ripples of a beginning. This is where I come to

it may have traveled far to reach me. Perhaps melting off of a huge ice shelf in Antarctica or a Glacier from Greenland, evaporating into the atmosphere, traveling by trade winds till it reaches

feel, to find. This is where I hear the breathing of the trees and eternity. Where the fox comes to drink and in my mind it snows all the year. The place where silence begins; except that back in the real world MOUNTAIN HOME

North America and the Jet Stream carries it to our doors. I know the rocks around me have been here a long, long time, and yet I fear they are about to see a series of winters like none before. Warmer and wetter and earth changing all over the globe. A global trend of warming like uncomfortable remembrance of having left the stove on at home . . . what will the future of our planet be like? What will Tioga County be like?

I adjust my pack against my shoulders. The inside of my jacket warm and sweaty like the unbearable summers to come.

I’m following the creek back to the woodstove. I move fast. The hemlocks and maples pass by me. Snow buries their thick roots and blankets them in a quietness I am only able to imagine. I open the door in a wave of heat. I can smell the wood smoke and the people who live here. I take my jacket off. Boots sitting in a puddle of melting snow.

Snow that will quickly become water. Add wood to the fire. An old hemlock? Maybe. I speed up my breathing to match the fire’s.

Elizabeth Berkowitz is the co-owner of Wild Asaph Outfitters, two miles east of Wellsboro on Route 6. She highly encourages anyone who shares her concerns about global warming to rent the film An Inconvenient Truth and then start participating in some solutions.

You can contact her at trailblazer@ mountainhomemag. com.

Page 31

Page 32

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

DECEMBER 2006

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page 33

the door that opened. This did not catch on, though, for quite a long time. January 1 symbolized nothing that made sense to agrarian people, so most societies ignored it. In 1582, Pope Gregory decreed that

Both Christmas and the January 1st New Year correspond to the first lengthening of daylight, so it feels like the right time to start the year to me.

The Babylonians began the

LO O K I N G B AC K

By JOYCE M. TICE

Looking Back and Looking Forward New Year’s is my favorite holiday.

I like the idea of finishing one cycle and starting another. In a year, our planet orbits the sun once and we go through our whole four-season cycle. This process has become part of the psyche of our species and is reflected in all our human cultures.

From the naturebased agricultural cycle that sustains us to the accounting cycle by which we measure our business progress, calculate our tax liability, and close the books, our annual trip around the sun defines all that we do on this planet.

But when does the year really start? Where does a circle begin or end? The Celts started the new year November 1, at the end of the previous agricultural cycle. Until fairly recent times in Europe and its satellites the year began at the vernal equinox, around March 25.

This takes the opposite approach by measuring from the beginning

Page 34

of the agricultural season to come.

It also drives genealogists to distraction trying to remember that until sometime in the mid 1700s in this British colonial country, March 24, 1720 was followed a day later

Century-old postcards

by March 25, 1721. It boggles our Janus-centered minds. If we could end the year with the Celts and start it again with the vernal equinox, we could bypass winter altogether (an appealing proposition to all but hard-core skiers). A lot of us would be very happy with that.

In about 153 BC, the Romans were the first to establish January 1 as the start of the year. The month was named for the god Janus, whose two faces looked both to the past and to the future. He was the portal – the door that closed and

January 1 started the year, and so it did – eventually. Protestant Great Britain finally adopted it in 1752, almost two centuries after the decree.

My personal preference for the start of the new year is the winter solstice around December 20. As soon as I get the first glimmer that a day is longer than the one before, I get an immediate and intense attack of spring fever. My green thumb starts twitching. I become insanely hopeful. I start planning the garden, order a five-year supply of seeds from the nursery catalogs, and launch my annual pre-gardening frenzy. By mid-January I am planting seeds under lights even though I know it is way too early.

MOUNTAIN HOME

tradition of the New Years’ resolution, whose most common promise was to return borrowed farm tools. In the United States we resolve to curb our excesses – stop smoking, lose weight, pay off our credit cards. Whenever our new year begins, it is indeed a good time for looking back, learning from both our successes and our failures, and moving on to do better in the coming cycle. I resolve to order fewer seeds this year or use up the excess from last year. Reflect on the past and resolve for the future and Happy New Year 2007!

Joyce M. Tice is the creator of the Tri-Counties Genealogy and History web site at http://www.rootsweb.com/~srgp/ jmtindex.htm, You can email her at lookingback@mountainhomemag.com.

DECEMBER 2006

IMPRINTS

Three Generations Build a Snowy Memory

By PATRICIA BROWN DAVIS There we were – the three of us standing in a fluffy world of white on a cold and moonlit night. Three generations of girls – two of us reliving our pasts, watching the third creating hers.

My daughter Cindy and I were the first two to dive into the freshly fallen snow that covered my front yard. She went to one side of the front walk and I took the other. In the excitement of the moment we may have even forgotten about the five-year-old who stood observing both her mother and grandmother.

I doubt that she was aware of the melting generation gap that was happening between the three of us. Play is the normal work of children.

As soon as I was flat on my back and swishing my legs and arms back and forth in the snow to make my wings and skirt, I hollered, “Aria, look at my Snow Angel. Isn’t she beautiful?”’

“Mommy’s making one too! Can I make an angel?”

“Of course you can, honey,” said Cindy. “Come over here and make an angel next to me. But give yourself plenty of room. Here! Let me help you!”

While Cindy was giving Aria a hand, I looked up in the sky and watched the heavy falling flakes land on my eyelashes and thought, “What could be more perfect than three generations all feeling the DECEMBER 2006

same joy of a new snowfall and the imprint of childhood joy on our hearts?”

My breath was visible and the air was as crisp and clear as the happiness in my heart. I could see my daughter’s joy as she watched her daughter’s delight in creating joy and memory – and I remembered my early days of motherhood. My heart was beating in

Over she came and plopped herself down in the snow, next to me. Her eyes couldn’t have been wider or her smile broader. Little puffs of breath came from her mouth when she said to me, “Peach, did you make snow angels when you were a little girl?”

“I sure did! And I made them with

time with the swishing of my legs and arms. The snow tucked itself around my body and I felt like Mother Earth was putting me to bed for the night.

Was I really as old as my driver’s license said?

“Mommy! Can I make another one?”

“Of course you can dear!”

I was brought back by their voices.

“Aria, come on over here by me, and make a Little Girl Angel next to my Grandma Angel.”

your mommy when she was a little girl, too! And now I’m making them with you!”

It didn’t take long for Aria to make her second angel – or for the novelty to wear off. We weren’t outside all that long – just long enough to make a memory, share a memory, and relive a memory.

Over a cup of cocoa, Cindy said, “Oh Mom! That was so much fun! I’ll never forget this and I bet Aria won’t

MOUNTAIN HOME

either. Have you made Snow Angels since I was a little girl?” Well of course I had – with Richard, and Andrew and Allison: I had done it with all of my grandchildren. I didn’t tell her that I had also done it in a public place that was off-limits – when she was about seven years old. Maybe another time!

Instead, Aria with her “big girl chatter” joined in the conversation.

Our three generations met in some ageless discussion - enjoying a hot beverage and each other.

As we went upstairs to bed, I reminded Aria, “When we get up in the morning we must check to see if our angels are still there.”

I lay in my bed in the dark thinking about the priceless evening we’d just shared. My daughter and granddaughter, my own “snow a n g e l s ,” w e r e making imprints in the snowy white sheets in rooms down the hall, fast asleep. I thought about the front yard snow angels and hoped for cold weather for a while so that, long after they’d returned to their home in Williamsport, I could look out my window and be reminded of their imprints on my heart.

Patricia Brown Davis is a professional musician. These days she spends considerable time in community service and writing her memoirs. You can contact her at patd@mountainhomemag.com.

Page 35

Wine & Dine

By HOLLY HOWELL Whew. What a ride. The holiday season has finally come to an end. The New Year has arrived, and we have made the traditional resolutions to better our lives and our state of well-being. Since we are coming off a month or two of overindulging, many of us simply decide to reform our decadent lifestyle, or at least moderate it somewhat.

Here’s my suggestion: while you are cutting back on food and drink consumption, make a resolution to make every bite and every sip count. Keep your dining experiences new and exciting by expanding your horizons in the world of wine.

Sounds like a fun resolution, huh? Now don’t get too excited.

Broadening your appreciation of wine does not mean you have to drink more of it. It means you get to be more “selective” as to what you drink and when, and being selective

Page 36

MOUNTAIN HOME

means learning a little bit more about fermented grape juice.

Yet wine is so much more than just a beverage. It is a fascinating study of history, geography, and science.

You can visit regions of the world that you have never heard of, and learn about cultures and traditions that will enlighten your everyday existence.

Really.

So, aside from checking out the informative local wine column, what else can you do?

There are several months of winter ahead, and plenty of time for some good reading.

So here you go: Wine for Dummies is one of my all-time favorites. There is no better book for the wine novice, and it will become your number one resource for quick information. Authors Ed McCarthy and Mary Ewing-Mulligan (married to each other) make it fun by

DECEMBER 2006

writing in everyday language and including lots of amusing cartoons along the way (Wiley Publishing, $22).

Another great starter is Fear of Wine, by Leslie Brenner (Bantam Books, $14). Paperback, easy to carry around, and you will love all the illustrated tips from Mr. Cabernet Frank.

The Wine Bible never leaves my side.

This book has over 800 pages of more wine knowledge than you will never be able to absorb in one sitting. It is one of those books that you can just open up to any page and start reading.

Author Karen MacNeil, who is the director of the wine program at the CIA at Greystone in Napa Valley, will keep you mesmerized as she unfolds the mysteries of every wine region on this planet. Great photos, wine recommendations, and easy to digest summaries which she refers to as “Quick Sips” (Workman Publishing, $20).

For food and wine combined, Andrea ImmerRobinson is the ultimate guru.

Her latest book, Everyday Dining with Wine, is a must for wannabe chefs and sommeliers alike (Broadway Books, $30).

Her enthusiasm for the subject jumps right off the page, and will inspire you to create some of the best pairings your dinner guests will ever taste.

You will become an instant fan.

DECEMBER 2006

Got history? Don Kladstrup and his wife Petie have authored a book that is sure to fascinate history buffs as well as wine lovers. Wine & War (Broadway Books, $14) is an incredible story about World War II and how the French managed to save one of their “greatest treasures.” You won’t be able to put this book down, and once you finish, you’ll want to go right out and buy their second release, Champagne – How the World’s Most Glamorous Wine Triumphed over War and Hard Times (HarperCollins Publishers, $24). Tons of great history from the wine cellars of France, and extraordinary personal accounts will give you an entirely new appreciation for the fruit of the vine, especially the sparkling ones.

Got enough to keep you busy? Well, we’ve hardly tapped the barrel. Once bitten by the wine bug, you will be forever cursed with the need to satiate your appetite for wine knowledge. So, here’s to 2007 and much continued learning!

A certified sommelier, Holly Howell teaches wine and food classes for Wegmans Food Markets, Casa Larga Vineyards, Rochester Institute of Technology, and her parents’ cooking school “The Seasonal Kitchen” in Mendon, N.Y. She also writes about wine and food for The Rochester Democrat Chronicle.

You can contact her at wineanddine@ mountainhomemag.com.

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page 37

A Fish Tale Tuna boat. What an interesting name for a sandwich. I remember when I was a shipmate on a tuna boat. Well, it wasn’t a real tuna boat. Well, it was a real tuna boat in a sense, just not a commercial tuna boat.

My friend Paco and I decided in 1992 to catch tuna for a living and sell them to various restaurants along the West Coast. Tuna was bringing big bucks. We were going to make a killing and get rich. We converted an old 15-foot powerboat into our fishing vessel. Actually, the only thing we did was strap a couple king-sized coolers to the stern. Both were packed with ice; one we filled with beer and the other was for fish.

I knew nothing about tuna fishing but Paco assured me that he did. Came from a long line of tuna eaters, he said.

That’s why I bought the beer in return for Paco’s help on the ocean. After all, it was his knowledge that was going to bring us a whale of lifestyle.

So, each day at dawn, for nearly two full weeks, we would motor out 10

miles offshore, sit in the hot Pacific sun, fish net in one hand, and a cold beer in the other. Paco guaranteed me this was the way it was done. But each evening we would weave our way back to El Stupido Bay with two empty coolers.

Late one night as we sat on the boat dock after another day of catching nothing but a big bad beer buzz, I questioned Paco about the lack of tuna in our boat. “Sharks,” he responded resolutely. “We got us a big influx of sharks chewin’ up the tuna.”

I gave Paco a puzzled look. “I haven’t seen any sharks,” I said, scratching my head with the edge of an empty beer can.

“Course not,” he replied, opening the top of the cooler. “When they eat that much tuna, they’re gonna be nappin.’

You see, they eat the tuna at night, and during the day they take siestas. It makes perfect sense. How much tuna could you eat before you got fat and lazy?”

“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out, you bullhead!”

Paco felt around the cooler. “Hey, we’re outta beer,” he said, tipping an empty can.

I was being fed a line and getting as red as a snapper.

Now I never claimed to be the swiftest sardine in the can, but that night I finally figured out Paco didn’t know shad about catching tuna. Oh, his generational line caught tuna all right – every week when it went on sale at assorted supermarkets.

No, it turned out old Paco just liked beer – free, ice-cold beer. He’s lucky he didn’t get his bass kicked.

We live, we learn.

Tuna Boats

1 can tuna in water (6 oz), drained Mayonnaise 1/2 small onion, diced (optional) 2 slices American processed cheese

2 hot dog buns

In a small mixing bowl, empty tuna and add just enough mayonnaise to make creamy.

You’ll have to use your own judgment on this one as different people like different consistency to their tuna. It’s up to you. Once it’s mixed, add your onion if you’re doing onion. If not, you’re set to go. Toast your hot dog buns in the oven at about 350 degrees or broil them (if you have an oven, you should have a broiler setting). Or, option C is to butter both halves of the inside and heat them buttered side down in a frying pan till brown. Once they’re toasted, remove from heat and fill with tuna. Top with a cheese slice and either broil or microwave till cheese is melted. Either way, it will take about 30 seconds. That’s it!

You can email Terry Miller at cookingbachelorstyle@mountainhomemag.com.

Open 7 days a week at 11 a.m.

Dining Room Open 7 days a week: Monday-Saturday at 4:30 p.m. Sunday at 11 a.m.

Weekly Specials 32+ Item Salad Bar Homemade Bread, Rolls and Soup Serving steaks, Seafood and everything between Catering Available on or off premisis 814-367-5300

Entertainment every Weekend

203 East Main Street, Westfield, PA

Page 38

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

DECEMBER 2006

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page 39

A New Year, New People to Meet in Books!

The Best Seat in the House: How I Woke Up One Tuesday and Was Paralyzed for Life (24.95) by Allen Rucker is one of the few works that Rucker wrote without sharing the credits with others. The experience was all his and the book about it was all his too. Transverse myelitis, they called it. It stopped this Hollywood scriptwriter and co-author of The Soprano’s Family Cookbook, The History of White People in America, and Red Neck Woman, in his tracks. Painful phase by painful phase, Rucker takes us through the adjustment he and his family had to come to terms with after that memorable day. Although there was lots of self pity to begin with, by the time he wrote this book, he was able let his humor emerge, as in the chapter, “The Upside of Infirmity” where he lists as one of the benefits of paralysis, “you’ll never again have to hear the words, ‘Hey, while you’re up, could you get me . . . ’” While the book is a personal story of a family faced with crisis, there is an abundance of references to the inappropriate and unappreciated

ways “normal” people react to the physically impaired. It’s very effective at putting the reader in Rucker’s place – the best seat in the house.

Poster Child (23.95) is Emily Rapp’s memoir of growing up with a birth defect that required a foot amputation when she was 4. By the time she was eight she had dozens of operations and had all of the leg below her knee removed. She was the smiling, perky, indefatigable poster child for the March of Dimes and spent much of her childhood traveling around making appearances and giving pep talks. She spent the next twenty-some years overachieving in every field she could. She received awards from the Atlantic Monthly, StoryQuarterly, the Mary Roberts Rinehart Foundation, the Jentel Arts Foundation, the Corporation of Yadoo, and the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown. She was a Fulbright Scholar and was recently the Philip Roth writer in residence at Bucknell. She was always trying to prove she was as good as

everyone who didn’t have a physical handicap. But she didn’t really accept herself, and she broke down in Korea, where she had been sent to teach for the Fulbright program. She didn’t like her body – she didn’t like herself. Only when she called together physically disabled women from different countries who shared their experiences did she begin to accept herself as is. The book ends with her surveying the collection of artificial legs her mother had saved – she “felt sadness mixed with quiet resignation.” “I may never fully understand or even accept the body I live in,” she writes, “but it does tell a story, and that story can be told.” She has.

The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog and Other Stories from a Psychiatrist’s Notebook (26.00)

by Bruce D. Perry, M.D., Ph.D., and Mai Szalavitz, is a fascinating look at many hurting children have been saved under this doctor’s care. He begins by explaining how the normal brain develops. Then he shows how any child who is denied the nurturing and love necessary for brain development will exhibit bizarre behavior. The child who was kept in a cage by the boyfriend of a grandmother, who had been raising her infant grandson before she died, couldn’t walk or talk at age 6. In two years with Perry’s system of patterned, repetitive experience in a safe environment, coupled with physical affection and stimulation in a loving home, the boy, Justin, was ready for kindergarten. All tantrums and explosive behavior were a thing of the past. The book traces the recovery of many children who have experienced severe

trauma, including the children from the Waco Texas Branch Davidian compound. It’s inspiring!

Closer to home, A Perfect Mess (25.99) brings us the revolutionary ideas of Eric Abrahamson, a professor of management at Columbia University’s School of Business. Disorder and mess makes this world a better place, according to his theory. From governments to kitchens, he shares anecdotes and case studies that prove his point – mess belongs, enjoy it! He says the effort needed to keep everything in its place could be better spent on moving forward on projects and it is not cost effective. From the germ-free household that makes its inhabitants susceptible to infection because they have lost their resistance to germs, to the perfectly organized office that has locked its creativity in its files, Abrahamson shows the better plan is to allow for moderate mess. (Now what does he consider “moderate?”)

Betsy Rider owns Otto’s Bookstore, 107 W. 4th St., Williamsport, Pa. www. ottobookstore.com. You can contact her at goodreads@mountainhomemag.com.

Popular books in north- central Pennsylvania (Based on Otto’s sales Nov.16-Dec.16).

TOP TEN HARDCOVER BESTSELLERS 1. Only One Child, by Brian Barlow (Just Write Books, $ 29.95) The WWII tale of two women – one who takes in four British children and the other who gives the keeping of four of her children to someone who will foster their futures in America.

2. The Shepherd, the Angel, and Walter the Christmas Miracle Dog, by Dave Barry (Putnam, $15.95) A Christmas story for all ages that will touch the heart and make readers laugh out loud.

3. Santa Claus, by Rod Green (author), Jon Lucas, Carol Wright, Simon Danaher, and Craig Sudac (illustrators). (Atheneum $19.95) A sensational interactive book filled with everything young readers ever wanted to know about Santa Claus, his workshop, and the North Pole.

4. For One More Day, by Mitch Albom (Hyperion, $21.95) Through Albom’s inspiring characters and masterful storytelling, readers will newly appreciate those they love – and may have thought they’d lost.

5. Wings Over Wilderness, by Charles Thomas (Sixty Below Press, $19.95) The autobiography of Alaska bush pilot Paul Shanahan.

6. Marley & Me: Life and Love with the World’s Worst Dog, by John Grogan (Morrow, $21.95) A wildly neurotic Labrador retriever named Marley teaches an unsuspecting young couple what really matters.

7. The Mr. & Mrs. Happy Handbook: Everything I Know about Love and Marriage, by Steve Doocy, (Morrow, $23.95) An irreverent look at romance from Fox and Friends co-anchor Doocy.

8. Thirteen Moons, by Charles Frazier, (Random House $26.95), A brilliantly imagined novel about a man’s passion for a woman; and how loss, longing, and love can shape a man’s destiny.

9. The Shape Shifter (Joe Leaphorn/Jim Chee Novels), by Tony Hillerman, (HarperCollins, $26.95) Joe’s left on his own to pick up the threads of a crime he thought impossible to solve.

10. The Audacity of Hope: Thoughts on Reclaiming the American Dream, by Barack Obama (Crown, $25.00) Obama invokes the hopes and ideals that have made “our improbable experiment in democracy” work and proclaims his vision for more authentic politics.

Page 40

TOP TEN PAPERBACK BESTSELLERS 1. Only One Child, by Brian Barlow (Just Write Books, $29.95) The WWII tale of two women – one who takes in four British children and the other who gives the keeping of four of her children to someone who will foster their futures in America.

2. Jersey Shore, by Wayne Welshans, (Arcadia Publishing, $19.99) The story of a small town on the edge of the western frontier during Revolutionary War days.

3. Around Picture Rocks, by Sherry A. Gardner, (Arcadia Publishing, $19.99) A history of this section of Lycoming County on Muncy Creek.

4. Williamsport (Postcard History), by Thad Stephen Meckley (Arcadia Publishing, $19.99) An array of vintage postcards of the city in the early days to when it became the lumber capital of the world.

5. Bicentennial Postcard History of Williamsport, by Richard and Miriam Mix (Lycoming County Genealogical Soc., $25.00) A richly illustrated praise of historic Williamsport and the region.

6. Deer Wars: Science, Tradition, and the Battle Over Managing Whitetails in Pennsylvania, by Bob Frye (author), and Gregory D. Sofranko (photographer) (Pennsylvania State University Press, $29.95) The controversial story of Pa. deer management since the early 20th Century.

7. Williamsport’s Millionaires’ Row (Postcard History), by Thad Stephen Meckley (Arcadia Publishing, $19.99) The homes of Williamsport’s Millionaires’ Row National Register Historic District.

8. Bread, Butter & Beyond: Dining Etiquette, by Kathleen D. Pagana, (Layco Publishing Company, $6.95) An entertaining review of dining etiquette, for confidence at business meals, job interviews, banquets, weddings, and other special occasions.

9. Field Guide to Wild Mushrooms of Pennsylvania and the Mid-Atlantic, by Bill Russell (Pennsylvania State University Press, $19.95) Finding the hidden and delicious delicacies of the forests.

10. Williamsport: Boomtown on the Susquehanna, by Robin Van Auken and Louis E. Hunsinger (Arcadia Publishing, $24.99) From thriving lumber industry to the home of the Little League World Series, Williamsport’s story, rich in culture and tradition.

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

Shop Around The Corner

Country Ski and Sports

By TRICHA MARTIN Owner: Ed O’Shea Address: 836 Broad St., Montoursville, Pa. (This is the main branch of 3 stores. There is a smaller store located in Wellsboro, Pa., and another in Wilkes-Barre, Pa.) Hours: Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday: 10 a.m.-9 p.m.; Wednesday and Saturday: 10 a.m.-5 p.m.

Website: www.countryskiandsports.com Phone: 570-368-1718, or toll free: 877-669-9966.

Merchandise: Everything from socks to bikes to kayaks to snowboards. Country Ski has all the outdoor gear and accessories that anyone would need throughout all seasons of the year. Right now their walls are filled with snowboards, skis, boots, and other winter apparel. In a couple of months they will switch to spring and summer outdoor adventure sports, such as biking, hiking, and white water rafting. Country Ski also has a repair and maintenance shop in each of their locations to assist with problems or check-ups with equipment.

when Country Ski was founded.

It started in the back of a garage in Montoursville, Pa., in the 1970s and expanded into a small store a few years later. They began with only selling and repairing skis three nights a week. On Saturdays and Sundays, Ed would stick a sign in his front door that said, “We went skiing, Why not you?”

And it kept on snowing: His business was quickly accepted by outdoor adventurists and was able to expand two more times prior to the purchase of the current store in Montoursville.

Throughout the growth period, other outdoor sports and merchandise were integrated into the floor plan. Now Ed, in business for about 36 years, has three stores, one store located in downtown Wellsboro, and the other

outside of Wilkes-Barre. His two sons, Kevin and Sean, are presently running the two larger stores in Montoursville and Wilkes-Barre, while Curt Schramm manages the Wellsboro branch.

equipment they sell. The staff is trained to repair, problemsolve, and maintain equipment brought in by customers and other used equipment traded-in or sold to the store.

Brands: Roxy, Burton, North Face, Patagonia, Columbia, Old Town, Salomon, Oakley, SmartWool, Raleigh, Cannondale, Fischer, CamelBak, and Liquidlogic . . . just to name a few.

Links: All three stores have an information network of local or well-known outdoor events, other outdoor adventurists, dealer company contacts, clinics, seminars, and clubs and organizations. This is great for locals or visitors, making it easier for them to find out about outdoor events or activities. Check out their website for a calendar of events.

The storm that started the snowball rolling: Ed O’Shea has enjoyed skiing since the 1930’s. When he moved to Central Pennsylvania, from the New England States, he realized the area had great skiing potential but nowhere to buy or rent equipment. That was DECEMBER 2006

The employees: A majority of the staff at Country Ski has prior personal experience with just about all of the outdoor sports featured at their stores. That makes them not only experienced in the actual field but also knowledgeable about the

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page 41

A River Runs Through It – The House, That Is Dear Gary: Like a lot of houses around here, our old house has water running through the basement when it rains, which runs back out through trenches along the walls and exits through a drain.

In a recent sustained downpour, we saw water pouring out of two dime-sized holes near the bottom of the basement wall. Will it hold if we just plug these from the inside with a little concrete? There is no way to do any digging on the exterior, because it is solid rock, but we would like to try to minimize the basement stream. – Water Water Everywhere Dear Water Water: Plugging the holes with hydraulic cement would probably stop the leaks, but the wall would eventually leak somewhere else. The water has to go somewhere, and it is traveling the path of least resistance. If you don’t have proper drainage outside, the water will come into the wall and stop at the plug. It could also look for another path to come into the basement. In the winter, if the

Page 42

frost drives down that deep, it could freeze and expand, causing greater damage. Because you can’t dig down around the outside perimeter and add a drain system, you may have to install one inside the basement.

If you have a dirt floor, you can dig a trench around the basement wall.

Dig a hole at the corner closest to the storm sewer and install a drywall bucket into it, making sure it is lower than the ditch. Then get a submersible pump and put it in the bucket (make sure the pump has a float switch.) The water will end up in the bucket and the pump will pump it out. Pump this water into the storm sewer. If you have a concrete floor, lay a course of concrete brick around the perimeter, about four inches from the wall.

Cut through the floor in the corner and install the bucket as described above. Install the bucket flush with the floor and concrete from the edge

of the bucket to the cut line. Install the submersible pump as above.

Thanks for the question.

Dear Gary: We have a roof leak that is a bit of a problem. Water comes into the first floor bathroom in the master bedroom in the area of the exhaust fan. The exhaust duct goes to the roof, which in this part of the house is one story. The house will be 14 years old this fall, and the builder has been very co-operative in trying to track down the source. We would appreciate any ideas that you might have that would help stop the leak.

– Dripping Dear Dripping: If the house is 14 years old it is possible the damper in the roof vent has lost

MOUNTAIN HOME

spring pressure to stay totally shut when the fan is not running. Harsh winds could blow water up the roof into the duct hood and this could leak. Does the vent hood leak if the fan is running during the storm or typical rainfall? Check this first.

Run the fan during the rainstorm. If it is leaking only when shut off it is probably the damper, and it should be replaced. If it leaks all the time when raining, it could be a roof leak above the hood, leaking into the top of the ductwork from under the shingles. The source of the water could be far from this point of entry, as water can travel down a rafter and drip through somewhere else. Check this by going into the attic when it’s raining and look for the source. If all else fails, have a roofing contractor check the roof and replace the duct hood with a new one. Thanks for writing. Happy New Year to all!

Carpenter Gary Ranck is a sales representative for Brookside Homes.

You can email him at askgary@ mountainhomemag.com.

DECEMBER 2006

A New Year’s Realization When I first learned to crosscountry ski, I was taken to the Darling Run trailhead. There, along the rails-to-trails path, a blessed being in a snowmobile had broken a trail. There it was, mile after mile of perfectly tracked snow. All I had to do was drop my skis into the premade tracks, push off with my right foot, glide for a bit, and then push off again with my left foot. Kick.

Glide. Kick. Glide. It was effortless.

And mindless. I didn’t have to think of where I was going. I was going wherever the tracks led.

Sometimes though, in a moment of distraction, my skis would jump the tracks and I would find myself stuck in deep, resistant snow.

Forward motion was no longer possible without great effort. Better

DECEMBER 2006

to stop and maneuver the skis back into the pre-made tracks. And even though sometimes it seemed as if the pre-made tracks didn’t exactly conform to my particular body proportions, it was far easier to conform than to make my own, new tracks.

In yoga there is a word for these pre-made tracks. The word is samskara. A samskara is any habitual pattern or way of doing something that requires no thought.

It is the mind on automatic pilot. It frequently shows up for me when I am heading to the store only to find myself halfway home because I just dropped into my usual, rutted pattern of right and left hand turns, not thinking.

Samskaras are deeply comfortable

patterns that allow us to let go of thinking and just enjoy the ride.

The only problem with them comes when we no longer want to go to the place the tracks lead to. When that happens, we realize we have to get off the tracks and break trail ourselves, and this is arduous and exhausting.

A New Year’s resolution is really not a resolution, but more of a realization. A realization – sometimes sudden, sometimes deeply known but stuffed down inside – that the old, comfortable tracks aren’t taking me where I want to go. Maybe I don’t even know where I want to go, but I know for sure that these tracks aren’t getting me there. And it is in this spacious and clear moment that I make the

MOUNTAIN HOME

decision to set out upon the vast expanse of trackless snow.

I know the work will be arduous at first, and exhausting. I won’t get very far. I will have to stop often and breathe. And the world will have to stop too, and breathe with me. And each day, at my point of exhaustion, I will recognize that I have made enough of an effort for today. But when I turn around, I find the way back on the tracked snow is much easier. I suddenly realize that because of my efforts today, tomorrow I will be able to come at least this far on today’s tracks before having to break new trail. And in this way, little by little, day by day, I will get where I want to go. In my own self-made, consciously-made, tracks. Kick.

Glide. Kick. Glide.

Kathleen Thompson is the owner of Main Street Yoga, 10 S. Main St., Mansfield, PA 16933. To contact her call 570-660-5873 or online www. yogamansfield.com or email yogamama@ mountainhomemag.com.

Page 43

Continued from page 21 here and there, and their mother imperiously on a carved wooden chair, like a throne, next to Dotty; a small pile of old shoes and sneakers warming under the legs of the stove; the low timbered ceiling hung with baskets, the dozen old plastic juice and Clorox bottles filled with spring water in a corner behind the door, the 19th Century German painting “The Forester At Home”

by Ludwig Knaus, with the stag’s head on the wall, the hunter and his wife in a primitive room remarkably like this one, the hunter lounging with his pipe and dreaming of the chase. The room is less a mess than a wren’s nest, in which each twig is as it is and there’s no reason to move a single one.

“The only thing I like about modern civilization is paper towels,” Dotty says, still simmering a bit that anyone would declare Robert Frost her favorite poet. A coal-smudge of darkness pours from the adjoining library – it’s 12 by 20, with tiny sixpaned Hansel-and-Gretel cottage windows, the walls filled with books except for Dotty’s piano, and the coal stove.

The library is plunged in darkness at dusk, and the flashlight plays lovingly over the shelves crammed with her favorite books – the poets Emily Dickinson (“How the old mountains drip with sunset . . . how the hemlocks are tipped in tinsel/ by the wizard sun); John Ruskin, patron saint of the back-to-nature “Arts & Crafts” movement of the industrial age (“Go to nature in all singleness of heart, rejecting nothing and selecting nothing.”). This is Dotty’s philosophy.

She takes it seriously.

“I won’t read a novel,” she says, “if it has a car in it.”

Bob is a gifted storyteller, on history, adventure, the call of the wild, sounding forth with his great baritone while Dotty basks

Page 44

in the stories and chirps constant sweet-voiced but firm interruptions – “now, Bob, show him the poem before you tell that story!”

– interruptions that bother Bob no more than mist does a hollow, or the Slate Run finding Pine Creek.

The occasional jumbled stereo of their voices – the baritone and underlying soprano – has its own reassuring rhythm.

As darkness falls, and the kerosene lamps are lit, the high voice from the stove sounds, “Tell him, Bob, tell how it got started.”

Bob grew up in Berks County, the son of Burt D. Webber, a Pontiac and Buick Dealer. In high school he starred on stage, and was accepted to a New York high school of performing arts. Yet the wild was calling. After a year at West Virginia Wesleyan College in the 1950s, he moved to the remote Pine Creek Valley where his father owned a 545-acre mountaintop keep along Gas Line Ridge west of Slate Run. The ridge had a fascinating history – the Tidewater Oil Company in the 1880s had run an oil pipeline from New Jersey to Ohio out along Rt. 44; “Gas Line Ridge” was named for the mountain that housed the gas-fired pumping station that kept the oil moving. Soon afterward, in 1886, the oil company replaced the gas-firing with a more efficient steam engine and removed the gas line from the ridge. “I still find four-inch couplings from the old gas line,” Bob says. His father

sold the land to the state in 1975, all but ten acres Bob calls his own – ten acres that will revert to state forest land when he dies. He had offers from the stage – including an understudy for an ABC production, The Magic of Al Jolson, in 1974 in New York City. But he would have been away from the mountains too long.

Bob’s younger brother, Burt D. Webber Jr., 64 years old and living in Miami, was called to a different wilderness – as a treasure hunter plying the Caribbean Sea. In 1978, he rediscovered the Spanish treasure galleon Nuestra Senhora de Conception, which sank off Northern Hispaniola (now the Dominican Republic) in 1641. Webber recovered an estimated $200 million in treasure, including buckets of silver and gold, ancient astrolabs and porcelain predating the Ming dynasty.

“My brother was searching for treasure undersea,” Bob said. “I found my treasure on mountaintops.”

In 1956, Bob was hired by district forester George German, and began his long career with what was then called “The Bureau of Forests and Waters.” In the 1970s, Bob and fellow forester John Eastlake hiked extensively in the Adirondacks, and realized the splendid trails laid out by Adirondack nature-lovers since the early 20th Century were absent from the Allegheny Plateau, undiscovered wilds. Together, they

MOUNTAIN HOME

laid out and cut the 42.4-mile Black Forest Trail in the Pine Creek Valley.

With the help of youth camp crews, Bob blazed the 9.1-mile Golden Eagle Trail in the mid-70s. The trail, with vistas overlooking the 19th Century lumbering area called Beulah Land, is hailed as the finest day hike in Penn’s Woods.

In 1998, Webber got state permission to build a trail up a mountain across Wolf Run. Then in his early 60s, He single-handedly hewed the 1.7-mile trail, cutting and clearing seven switchbacks, and making two benches to enjoy the vista of all the Slate Run area mountains. He proposed naming it “Wolf Run Bald Trail,” but the DCNR refused. That’s the trail the state named, instead, “Bob Webber Trail.”

At 72, Bob still volunteers two days a week, seven hours a day, cutting and clearing trails with his trusty Swiss-forged axe and 17-inch Pennsylvania-made Woodsman’s Pal machete in hand. Making paths is his way of hanging a “Welcome” sign on the wilderness. Winter makes it more difficult to get out and enjoy nature – for most of us.

Bob Webber can hardly wait.

“In a blizzard you wouldn’t believe the cross-country skiing you can do at the top of the mountain,” he says, his hands sweeping to describe the shape of the world, his voice ringing with passion that rises as he gets deeper into his story.

“The whole world is changed, a new landscape of white covers everything, the drifts are moving like ocean waves, there’s no ground cover at all. We’re skiing over the tops of the mountain laurel at midnight under the moonlight at the top of the mountain.” The wick is blazing in the lamp, Dotty is sitting contently in the corner by the stove, and Bob is just getting warmed up into his storytelling.

“We’ve had an awful lot of fun here, I’ll tell you.

An awful lot of fun . . . ”

DECEMBER 2006

drama/thriller.

Timing and availability enter on both the public and industry levels. It is a common industry practice to release potential Oscar contenders as close to the end

Post-Holiday Specials?

You’ll Find Them at the Movies!

Who doesn’t love the January afterholiday sales? Retailers selling all those wonderful items at half price that we paid premium prices to purchase just weeks (and sometimes days) before!

The movie industry has its own type of after holiday sales, too.

Instead of paying royalty fees of 60 to 70, and sometimes as much as 80% on the dollar for the premiere holiday movies, it is possible to acquire a December release in January for as low as 35% on the dollar. This doesn’t mean much to the movie public. The ticket price remains the same all year, but when faced with January’s declining attendance due to various combinations of bad weather, postholiday bills arriving in the mail, and winter illnesses, it helps movie houses to offer great entertainment without loosing the bottom line. Other than the obvious reason of the lower royalty fee, why would any theatre wait to show a December release? It is a matter or content, timing, and availability.

It is difficult to conjure up those warm and fuzzy holiday emotions about movies called Blood Diamond (see December’s Movie Mania), Apocalypto, The Good German, or Children of Men, and yet all these films were released in December at the height of the warm and fuzzy season. The subject matters (the end of civilization, the toll of war, and the end of the human race, set in the past, present, and future) are not the traditional family fare of successful holiday films. The public will enjoy these films just as much post-holiday as pre-holiday and possibly more.

DECEMBER 2006

Apocalypto, released December 8th, is the latest project of actor/director Mel Gibson. The film is an action adventure saga of one man’s struggles to save his family and his way of life.

It is set in the end times of the Mayan civilization, and Gibson has once again

experimented in ancient languages as he did in The Passion. What little dialogue there is in the film is in Mayan.

The Good German, also released on Dec. 8th, expands its release on Dec. 25th. Steven Soderbergh directs George Clooney, Cate Blanchett, and Tobey McGuire in this post World War II intrigue set in Berlin. The Children of Men is set in the future one generation from now. A genetic defect has surfaced that renders the human race infertile, and one woman is discovered to be pregnant and in need of protection. Clive Owen, Julianne Moore, and Michael Caine star in the

of the year as possible to bring them to the attention of the nominating committees. The problem with this is that only a few of these Oscar-worthy films release widely to all markets and

MOUNTAIN HOME

most are available in large markets such as New York City, Los Angeles, and Chicago. When the release expands to the smaller markets, it is January. Perfect for post holiday viewing! On the public side, pre-holiday preparations are time consuming. Activities and obligations curtail a casual night at the movies in December, but a January evening is perfect to enjoy a great film.

Dreamgirls is expected to be Oscarworthy.

Opening on Dec. 21st in just a few markets, it expands to a few more on Christmas Day and will go wider in January. The Broadway hit gone Hollywood stars Jaime Fox, Beyonce Knowles, Jennifer Hudson, Danny Glover, and Eddie Murphy and chronicles the rise of a girl group in the 60s (a la Supremes) and what it takes to succeed. Other late releases that will expand into January are Perfume, Factory Girl, Fast Track, Black Christmas, Flying Scotsman, and Miss Potter.

Not all of this month’s films are December expansion films. There are also new releases that I recommend.

The children will want to see Happily N’Ever After, a fractured tale of Cinderella, Sarah Michelle Geller, her prince, Freddie Prinze Jr., and her evil stepmother, Sigourney Weaver. Of course it has a happy ending! Alpha Dog will appeal to the 15–35 year-old male demographic. The true-life-based action film stars Emile Hirsch and Bruce Willis. Catch & Release will provide romantic comic relief with Jennifer Garner and Timothy Olyphant. Sci-fi fans, be sure to see The Invisible, starring Justin Chatwin and Marcia Gay Harden, January 26th. Happy New Year at the Movies!

Sharon Kaminsky is the director of movie programming for the Bradford County Regional Arts Council and the administrator for the Central Bradford County Chamber of Commerce. You can contact her at moviemania@mountainhomemag.com.

Page 45

Dr. Richard J. Strauch, Licensed Audiologist, will help you back to the richer world of sound. Visit our offices at 2-B Waln St., Wellsboro, PA 16901

Comprehensive hearing evaluation for newborns through adults Hearing instrument evaluation and fitting, using major manufacturers and the very latest technologies Assistive listening devices Evaluation of dizziness and balance disorders Custom swim plugs and personal hearing protection Industrial hearing conservation programs www.drstrauch.com For appointments or more information: 570 724 4042.

Also visit us on the web for a wealth of hearing health information

Page 46

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006

DECEMBER 2006

MOUNTAIN HOME

Page 47

Page 48

MOUNTAIN HOME

DECEMBER 2006