“Leaving now,” I texted Lori at 8:52 a.m., heading the Subaru towards Tidal.
Dense fog on 220 near Cresson Summit had me praying and listening to worship music, relying on the Lord to guide me.
I thought about how following God can be like driving through dense fog. All I could see was the car in front of me, thankful for its red lights guiding me.
First stop: paying my respects to Dad today on his 107th birthday. And realized his tombstone doesn’t have his actual birthday on it.
Buried between his two wives, he led a full life. Dad took the Bible literally, going forth and multiplying. He had eight kids, two of whom didn’t reach adulthood.
Working as a coal miner, when Dad was my age, he froze his feet working in the mines, getting gangrene. He lost his toes on his right foot and eventually his leg.
And he persevered to the best of his ability. A great man I’m thankful to call “Dad.”
Happy birthday, Pops!
“It’s 6-6,” the orange class first-grader screamed as she ran to her team’s basket. Watching Lori’s granddaughter, Maren, play basketball started the trip well:-)!
Sponsored by a local church, Punxsutawney Alliance Church, the CMA league prayed together before play and taught a Bible lesson during halftime.
Losing to the orange team by one basket, the final score was 16-18.
“Kind all the time,” Maren said, answering Lori’s question. They were talking about a friend at school Maren had befriended, once an enemy, now a friend. Lori was proud of Maren for making friends with her and asked her what her Dad said.
“Kind all the time,” wisdom from asix-year-oldd.
Lunch at King’s with Karen and Betty. I learned Uncle Meade loved Dad and had a hard time when he died. Grandma baked on Friday, and Betty’s favorite was her angel—food cake with seven-minute icing. Grandpa made fantastic potato soup and grew a wonderful garden.
“Grandpa would finish working in the garden and then sit and read the Bible. And I would think, ‘Is ever going to finish that book?” Karen said.
“Dutch told me Grandpa would read the Bible from front to back, and when he finished, he would start again, I replied.
I love thinking about my grandpa reading the Bible. He inspires me. And I wonder if my faith and dedication answer a prayer he may have prayed for his offspring. I like to think so.
On the way home, we explored the Cowanshannock Creek trail that leads to Buttermilk Falls. Water gushed by us on huge rocks as we traversed the dirt path. Bronze Christmas ornaments hung from trees along the way. Reaching the falls, we followed the trail until we could go no more.
“The short but scenic Cowanshannock Trail is a great pathway for hikers, walkers, and bikers to use to link to the larger Armstrong Trail. The Cowanshannock is 1.27 miles long, and plans are to extend it as much as four miles. The trail follows the Cowanshannock Creek on an abandoned Pennsylvania Railroad Company corridor. In the early part of the 20th century, the trail corridor was used to haul coal mined by the Kittaning Iron and Steel Manufacturing Company as well as brick made by the Cowanshannock Brick and Manufacturing Company and the Willard Brick Company. The trail begins at the Bernard Snyder Picnic Area, a beautifully landscaped area with views of the Allegheny River. About halfway into the trail you will come to a beautiful waterfall on the right side of the trail. A pretty wooden bridge crosses the creek here. The trail ends at a cul-de-sac on the banks of the creek.” https://trails.dcnr.pa.gov/trails/trail/trailview?trailkey=179
“Good place for a selfie,” Lori said, her wish my command.
Stopping to visit Lori’s mom, Judy, she had a freshly baked apple pie waiting for us. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to have any since I’m fasting sugar and gluten in January, praying over the year ahead. Looking well, despite battling shingles, Judy’s sense of humor and quick wit had us smiling.
Arriving at Lori’s just before 5:30, we called Bobby to come back for a visit and settled in for a quiet evening. Homemade vegetable soup and grilled cheese filled our bellies, and we began planning our next trip to an unknown destination. ff Foxworthy made us chuckle. Halley called midway through to tell Grandma their cheer team had made it to nationals. Her excited screams made me smile.
“How about going to Smicksburg today?” Lori said, walking into the living room.
Smicksburg, an Amish community with over 800 settlers, offers fun shopping at reasonable prices. Deciding to say yes didn’t take long. Calling Bobby to invite her along, we discovered her dilemma: she had caught a bug that kept her in the bathroom all night. Unfortunately, she couldn’t go.
Our first stop yielded a plethora of goodies. Country Junction served us a delicious lunch before we headed to Buyler’s Bulk Foods and another bulk distributor, name unknown. Three different kinds of popcorn, peanuts, and oyster crackers left Buyler’s with me. Chocolate, Eggs, cheese, and lemon chips left the next.
“72.95,” said the Amish clerk.
“Lori, can I borrow $5? Make that six?” Since the store only took cash, I had to borrow money from Lori to pay my bill.
How can I come to Tidal and not visit Neet? If you want to know anything about anything, she’s the woman. “Well, su … ” When those two words come from Neet’s lips, you know something good is coming. I love tal ng to Neet. She always makes me smile, educates me, and loves me. And I love hearing her talk about my sister Lorn. Friends for life, she loved her.
“Don’t you remember, you’d have to wait and listen? The operator was over here at Viv’s.”
Neighbor Neet had quite the find—a 1952 party line phone book with my Dad’s listing. I also found the names of uncles, cousins, and family friends. I remember using the party line as a child, picking up the phone and, hearing someone else talking, and waiting until they finished before I could make my call. We could only talk for five minutes. By the time I got to kindergarten, you dialed a “5” and then the number’s last four digits to make your call. Eventually, calling someone required all seven digits.
Long-distance phone calls didn’t happen, and how they divided the local and long-distance calls made no sense. My Aunt Margie in East Brady could call my mother in Tidal, 17.2 miles away, but she couldn’t call her daughter, Karen, who lived two miles away. How bizarre!
Turning the yellowed pages and seeing loved ones’ names brought me joy! For one brief moment, as I sought and found Dad’s name, Uncle Tom’s below his, and Archie’s above, they felt alive again.
“She climbed up and got it for me. It was when she was sick. I told her not to, but she wouldn’t listen. She said, “I have something I want you to look at. It’s the last thing I have of my Grandma Rishel’s, and I want you to have it.'” Holding the pitcher in her hand, Neet caressed it, warmth flowing from her as she remembered the special moment between her and my sister, who was dying from cancer at the time.
“I’ll put the angel right beside it; you’ll be together.” And so, Neet made my day as I watched her place the guardian angel I made beside Lorn’s pitcher.
Driving up to Tidal Presbyterian to attend church service, I felt nervous. Alone, I didn’t know if I would know anyone or not. I stopped to take a quick picture of the white wood-sided building and saw Larry Shoup walking in the front door. His Great-great-grandmother was a founding member of the church in 1843.
Walking in the front door, I saw my Dad, standing tall in his gray Sunday suit, cigarette in hand, standing by the bottom of the stairs, talking to the other men before church started. Memories washed over me as I walked up the cement stairs, pulling open the red door and walking back in time. Nothing had changed in forty years; the immaculate care was evident in every crevice of the old building—still the same musty smell, carpets warm and plush beneath my feet. The elegant wood carving on the pews, doors, and frames still shined with the glisten of well-cared-for wood. Should I sit where we used to sit?
I wasn’t sure which pew we used to occupy, but before I could decide, I heard, “Hello, Beth.” Turning to my right, Cindy Fink welcomed me with a hug, and I moved towards her, sitting behind her. Rose Marrapode and Amy Graham welcomed me next. Then, I chatted with Betty and Don Garmong before the service began.
As the service started, my trip down memory lane continued as we followed the order of service in the bulletin. Singing from the hymnals, I heard Mom’s off-key soprano voice ringing out beside me. Looking at the front pew, I remember Dad playing the “Sleeping Church Member” in a long-ago celebration skit for Don Hamilton, the pastor at the time. Mom played the dead church member.
“We found a gurney and had her lying on it with some flowers. Your Dad said, “She don’t look any different,” when they carried her by and everyone laughed. Lorn was the hot church member, your Dad and Chuck Shoup the sleeping members. We got their nightshirts down at Kittanining at Working Man. Charlotte took pillowcases and made the nightcaps. I have one here. I have Chuck’s, I don’t know what happened to your Dad’s. Yeah, that was fun. We had the late church member, and Alan and the kids played church mice.”
“I was a wasp.”
“Yeah, we had wasps. That was a fun night.”
My mind’s eye saw Dad’s plaid pants sticking out from the long white sleeping gown, his black leather shoes completing the outfit, making me smile.
The familiar words of the Doxology, Gloria Patria, and Lord’s Prayer slipped effortlessly from my lips as I relived my childhood memories. Afterward, I slipped downstairs to deliver a couple of Guardian angels and complete my trip down memory road with a look at the basement.
Tidal Basement, where I learned about Jesus, ate many meals and hugged Cody for the last time on Earth. Lori and I reminisced about 4-H, led by Sandy O-Block and Sandy Anderson, meeting in the basement, where they tried to teach us to knit scarves with white yarn. Neither of us learned. We celebrated Mom’s 80th birthday here, Mary Lorenz decorating it and baking all the delicious yummies for the party. Funeral dinners for Dad, Mom, Lorn, and so many others were shared at the long tables. Gert Cothery taught Sunday school to us. Many of the pivotal moments of my life happened beneath the sanctuary of Tidal Presbyterian.
The pastor prayed for the potluck dinner, and as people settled in to eat, I slipped out to meet Lori for lunch. It’s good to see so many people I’ve known all my life: Neila Patton, Angie Kinnard, Amy Graham, Rose Marrapode, Larry Unger and his wife Marsha, Larry Shoup, Rich, and Cindy Fink.
Leaving at 11:00, I headed to Williamsburg to meet Lori and Judy for lunch. Receiving a fun surprise, Lorig Garmong joined us. Joe’s Chipped Steak Salad filled my bell as we laughed and chatted. The restaurant filled up quickly, and we went to Riverside on the way home. Walking in the door, I spotted $2 pallets five, which came home with me. It was time to go home; I’d maxed out the capacity in the car.
“Welcome Home,” Mary said as she pulled me into her arms for a hug.
Returning to the little house on the hill always feels like coming home, even though I haven’t lived there for over forty years. Knowing that Mary and George have loved and cared for my childhood home with such love, raising their family within its walls, makes my heart overflow with joy.
Looking out the kitchen window at the concrete walkway, I remembered when it was poured. I was visiting Dutch in Virginia; black plastic covered the freshly poured sidewalk when we returned home. Excited, I jumped out and ran up it, not realizing the boards holding the plastic down had nails in them. The moment one punctured my tennis shoe, I felt it immediately fill with warm blood. I’m sure Mom loved having to go to the hospital.
I loved the brick shed Dad built with a storage area and door above it. I would climb up there and read for hours, feeling like I had my place. I remember looking down at the three-wheelers and outdoor equipment stored below. An orange bush used to grow where the birch tree now stands. The old tree still stands in the corner of the property behind it.
“I used to pee there,” I told Lori when we drove past the tree on the way home. The old tree fascinated me; I remember pounding nails into it and sitting beneath its limbs reading. Anywhere I could hide, I loved. When we lived there, bushes on the right side of the garage were another place I loved to hide. The closet was in the entryway, the attic in the boy’s room, and the shed under the front porch—all places to get away from the world and enter my world of books.
“I remember Mom standing here watching us,” I said as I looked out, remembering playing Bionic Woman, jumping off the cement walls and landing with a thud, mimicking the TV star’s jump. At other times, I would twirl around and around, pretending to transition into Wonder Woman. We loved to ride our bikes around the top of the driveway in circles. If we had a frog to run over and squeeze the poop out of it, the fun doubled. Besides my baton, my favorite toy was the lemon at ched to a ring that I put on my ankle and jumped over and over. Mom watched it all from the kitchen window.
Of course, when we were playing baseball in the front yard and one of us, I honestly don’t remember who hit the ball through that window, we were glad she wasn’t standing there watching.
The kitchen no longer looks like it did when I was a child. A wooden Ironing board sits where our table used to rest. New cabinets replaced the old ones, but the love felt the same regardless of the decor. I remember coming downstairs on cold winter mornings in my nig gown, standing on the heat vent under the phone, and letting the warm air blow up my gown. The rotary telephone was where I received my first invite for a sleepover from Lori.
Sitting in the living room, I watched the snow fall outside the picture window. With little effort, I recalled sitting on the couch that once sat in front of the window, head propped on my hand, watching the snow fall, excitement growing as the ground became white, knowing fun lay ahead. Sled riding in the winter always provided hours of entertainment for us.
Mary sent me home with various cookies and paper cut-outs to get me started making cards. She tutors me in the art of cardmaking. My old bedroom is her blessing room, where she creates works of art from paper and brings joy to the world.
When we got back, Lori pulled out her school books, and we found some gems. The picture from the paper made us laugh. We remembered getting our hunting license together at Clarion University.
“I think both our moms drove us up there,” Lori said. I never used my hunting license. The boys hunted and tagged it with me. Dad wouldn’t let me use a gun.
We learned more than knitting in 4-h; Lor found a certificate for ceramics. And we were called the Clever Clovers.
My Bible reading Sunday morning included the chapter that inspired the name for Tidal:
“In the days of Amraphel king of Shinar, Arioch king of Ellasar, Chedorlaomer king of Elam, and Tidal king of Goiim,” Origination of Tidal’s name.” Genesis 14:1 ESV
“The sun’s not up yet,” Lori said.
Anxious to get on the road, I left thirty-six minutes earlier than anticipated. The clock said 6:24 when I pulled out of Lori’s driveway heading south. Snow and darkness blended in front of me as I maneuvered down the sharp s-curves of Mahoning Hill.
When I voiced my anxieties, Lori said, “Just go slow; you’ll be fine.” Her wisdom proved accurate, and I had no problems. The snow stayed with me until Ebensburg, and then things dried up. When I reached VA, blue skies and sunshine welcomed me home. I packed the car full of PA goodies!
