Made the Thanksgiving photo for last year, but it still works. I put the wrong date in last year!
I am once again looking forward to our family gathering. My daughter will be traveling the farthest. She is coming in from South Carolina. May she have a safe journey, and may we all be thankful for what we have, especially good health, a warm home, and family.
Random thoughts about many interests and people, with a realization of the blessings of life. I try to follow my mother's advice, don't discuss politics or religion.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Thanksgiving 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Gudgeonville Bridge Arson
A picturesque piece of history in nearby Girard, Pa, was set on fire early last Saturday morning. A covered bridge built in 1837 
was destroyed by unknown arsonists in 2008. The Gudgeonville Bridge had a colorful history, a romantic past, and a troubled present, but now it is ashes and charred timber.
In an area like Northwestern Pennsylvania it became essential to have bridges for farmers, merchants, and travelers to cross the numerous creeks and streams. In the early nineteenth century hardwood was plentiful, so wood was a relatively inexpensive and available material for bridge construction. Wooden bridges last much longer if they are covered with sides and a roof, additions especially helpful in the ice and snow of our area. Moreover, the cover of the bridge could serve travelers during a storm, and it is said that horses shied from crossing open bridges above streams.
Back in 1855 a Kentuckian traveling the area with mule and wagon was selling goods in Girard. His business completed, he wanted to take his wagon of merchandise to Meadville. He was given directions that would take him over a portion of Elk Creek that was an adjunct part of the Erie Canal. The Kentuckian traveler and his mule, Gudgeon, had to cross the creek over a steep outcropping of shale
known as the Devil’s Elbow near an unnamed settlement. But as fate would have it, just as the homesick mule was about to step onto the bridge, Dan Rice, the famous clown, and his circus were returning home to Girard for the winter. On board a barge, the calliope player struck up the rapturous strains of, “My Old Kentucky Home.” Upon hearing the sudden and cacophonic sounds of the calliope playing a tune in homage of his home state, Gudgeon bolted and collapsed. The old mule died on the bridge.
The Kentucky traveler saddened by the loss of his friend and mule buried his faithful companion near the bridge and placed sign’s at either end of the bridge proclaiming, “Gudgeon’s Bridge.” And thus is how the area became known as Gudgeonville.
An era ends.
was destroyed by unknown arsonists in 2008. The Gudgeonville Bridge had a colorful history, a romantic past, and a troubled present, but now it is ashes and charred timber. In an area like Northwestern Pennsylvania it became essential to have bridges for farmers, merchants, and travelers to cross the numerous creeks and streams. In the early nineteenth century hardwood was plentiful, so wood was a relatively inexpensive and available material for bridge construction. Wooden bridges last much longer if they are covered with sides and a roof, additions especially helpful in the ice and snow of our area. Moreover, the cover of the bridge could serve travelers during a storm, and it is said that horses shied from crossing open bridges above streams.
Back in 1855 a Kentuckian traveling the area with mule and wagon was selling goods in Girard. His business completed, he wanted to take his wagon of merchandise to Meadville. He was given directions that would take him over a portion of Elk Creek that was an adjunct part of the Erie Canal. The Kentuckian traveler and his mule, Gudgeon, had to cross the creek over a steep outcropping of shale
known as the Devil’s Elbow near an unnamed settlement. But as fate would have it, just as the homesick mule was about to step onto the bridge, Dan Rice, the famous clown, and his circus were returning home to Girard for the winter. On board a barge, the calliope player struck up the rapturous strains of, “My Old Kentucky Home.” Upon hearing the sudden and cacophonic sounds of the calliope playing a tune in homage of his home state, Gudgeon bolted and collapsed. The old mule died on the bridge.The Kentucky traveler saddened by the loss of his friend and mule buried his faithful companion near the bridge and placed sign’s at either end of the bridge proclaiming, “Gudgeon’s Bridge.” And thus is how the area became known as Gudgeonville.
An era ends.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Trip to Greeleyville
My wife and I recently returned from a 12 day trip to visit our daughter in Greeleyville, South Carolina, where she is now living. So, it was with some interest that we observed the location of less than 500 inhabitants.
Fortunately, for us, in the late afternoon of the day we arrived, Greeleyville was alive with the annual Homecoming Parade. Main street was lined with nearly every citizen of the community watching the parade consisting of floats nicely decorated by a local company, marching units, small bands, loud drums, and cars with local queens and kings riding on the hoods, waving in a majestic manner. The Greeleyville High School Band consisted of approximately five instrumentalists and a drum line. In fact, for most of the bands that participated, the drum line and high stepping marchers were the chief features. The crowd was enthusiastic about the local entertainment, and true to small town tradition, candy thrown from the vehicles was a favorite of the children. Food vendors featured roast pig, chicken, and hot dogs.
On Saturday we took a trip to Kingstree, capitol of Williamsburg County, for a Pig Pickin’ Festival. Pig pickin‘, for the uninitiated, is a pig roast. The festival featured row after row of roasting pigs and secret methods of cooking them. We favored those cooked over Black Oak. A carnival atmosphere prevailed with rides and booths, but the main attraction was food, and nearly everyone we saw was eating.
Cotton fields are plentiful. The tobacco crop was recently harvested. Rows of pine trees guard the fields. I enjoyed seeing the Southern Oak resplendent in Spanish moss, a truly southern touch.
When we went to nearly Lake Marion, a reservoir that makes the largest lake in South Carolina, I learned the secret of catching large “cats,” catfish being a local favorite of fishermen.
Southern hospitality is still alive and well. The people we met were friendly. Twice as we were on our daily walk on little traveled Burgess Rd., guys in pickup trucks asked if we needed a ride to town, and nearly everyone who passed gave us a sociable wave.
I am happy to know that my daughter is living in a pleasant, friendly community.
Fortunately, for us, in the late afternoon of the day we arrived, Greeleyville was alive with the annual Homecoming Parade. Main street was lined with nearly every citizen of the community watching the parade consisting of floats nicely decorated by a local company, marching units, small bands, loud drums, and cars with local queens and kings riding on the hoods, waving in a majestic manner. The Greeleyville High School Band consisted of approximately five instrumentalists and a drum line. In fact, for most of the bands that participated, the drum line and high stepping marchers were the chief features. The crowd was enthusiastic about the local entertainment, and true to small town tradition, candy thrown from the vehicles was a favorite of the children. Food vendors featured roast pig, chicken, and hot dogs.
On Saturday we took a trip to Kingstree, capitol of Williamsburg County, for a Pig Pickin’ Festival. Pig pickin‘, for the uninitiated, is a pig roast. The festival featured row after row of roasting pigs and secret methods of cooking them. We favored those cooked over Black Oak. A carnival atmosphere prevailed with rides and booths, but the main attraction was food, and nearly everyone we saw was eating.
Cotton fields are plentiful. The tobacco crop was recently harvested. Rows of pine trees guard the fields. I enjoyed seeing the Southern Oak resplendent in Spanish moss, a truly southern touch.
When we went to nearly Lake Marion, a reservoir that makes the largest lake in South Carolina, I learned the secret of catching large “cats,” catfish being a local favorite of fishermen. Southern hospitality is still alive and well. The people we met were friendly. Twice as we were on our daily walk on little traveled Burgess Rd., guys in pickup trucks asked if we needed a ride to town, and nearly everyone who passed gave us a sociable wave.
I am happy to know that my daughter is living in a pleasant, friendly community.
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