October

October 31, and I am overwhelmed by memories of my Pennsylvania beginnings. Today I should be walking along the railroad tracks or through the woods, soaking up the fall color. But I don't think I could bear looking for the old house and finding something ugly built there. Maybe next year I will be up to it. So I reach back to some pictures I took October 30, 2005, when by happenstance both foliage and light were perfect. On that day both my memories and photographs came together in a blaze of color.
I began my walk taking a right onto the old logging trail leading to Jonah Whale Rock, wishing the once nearly impenetrable wild crab apple trees were still there.
I meandered along the path through the leaves trying to find the old tree where Tim and I built a tree house with a limb swinging over the trail.I remember a time when Ema was walking the path many years later and I pointed out where we had created our perch high above the path. She gasped and remarked she had no idea we had done such dangerous things. It is amazing to remember how free we were to roam the land without adult supervision. And there was Jonah Whale Rock. I remember writing in one of my On the Hill books,

Fifty years later, Jon came back with his camera, and there, like the picture in his memory, was the rock—with the same patchy sunlight and green moss.

I left Jonah Whale Rock, walked on to the tracks, then across to the hillside where we found the vines, so great for swinging.

“We could swing on that vine,” said Tim. He grabbed hold of a vine. He flew far down the hill. He swung back and dropped to the ground.

I returned to the tracks and walked the place where Rusty met his fate.

Rusty tried to beat the train to the crossing. When the train passed, Jon looked along the side of the tracks. He saw a sad, red bundle of fur. It was Rusty.

Walking toward the trestle, I looked back to the house on the hill. So sad to think of it not being there!The trestle of my dreams. I remember the story Orie told of being caught on the bridge when a train came and he had climbed on to the safety rails.
The Pirate's Cave under the trestle that featured in many Nagahimo Ants stories I created with Dan in bed at night.
“There might be snakes,” said Dan.
“Or maybe pirates,” said Jon with a shudder.
“Or maybe little crabs that will pinch your toes,” said Tim.
One day the kids felt brave. They would walk through the tunnel.
Dan, Jon, and Tim took off their shoes and socks. They looked through the dark, gloomy tunnel and saw the small white opening on the other side. The boys walked slowly through the tunnel. They had to bend their heads because the roof was low.

“Snakes!” shouted Dan.
“Pirates!” yelled Jon.

“Crabs!” screamed Tim.
The boys ran shouting out the other side of the tunnel.
“Wow! That was scary,” said Jon.
“Yes,” said Dan, “but it sure was fun.”This is the old maple tree across from the house where old Sipe would occasionally tie up his old horse. It is where Boots bit me when Ellen was trying to get him to open his mouth.

Jon came over to see Ellen.

“You must hurry. Boots is sick. He won’t open his mouth.”
Ellen knew what to do. “I will open Boots’s mouth.”
That did not suit Boots. Jon was close to Boots. Boots bit Jon with his big teeth. Boots bit through Jon’s shirt. His teeth gave Jon a bad bruise.
The lake was a late addition and I have many good memories of adventures in the valley below. There was all the playing in the stream that emptied into Jacob's Creek--swimming, crab and snake hunting, being washed down the creek after a storm. I remember Dr. Buckeye, sitting up beside the tracks with his rifle, shooting groundhogs.The backyard--tree climbing, ball playing, swinging, kick the can--it can't be gone.The chicken house where we would thump the floor, bringing mice running. We would watch with amazement when the large brown hens pounced on the rodents, gulping them down. Chickens really are omnivores.
And so ends my walk back in time, the colors ever as bright as in my memory.