The fate of Ajax Rock

With our parents (and grandparents) gone four years now, maybe it's time to climb down off of Ajax Rock one last time. I've tried to revive it but am feeling lonely sitting here by myself.


We -- all of us -- put together quite a tribute to Peck and Roena, to our family and friends, and to the special Simpkinsness and Shaferness of our family. We are the unglaciated Allegheny Plateau people, with deep roots in the old Appalachians and a family story like no other.


Are we ready to abandon this meeting place and go on with our individual lives, waiting for another funeral -- or two -- to bring us back together? 


I'm a willing writer, but I can't write about what I don't know -- can't guess at your lives, what's important to you, what makes you happy or drives you crazy. But I want the rock to be about all of us, either collectively or individually -- not the rantings or remembrances of one, gray-haired woman in the family.


The physical distances among and between us make getting together difficult, and even getting together doesn't guarantee a happy ending. But of all the many things that Peck was right about, it's that, in the end, it's family that matters. When we come to a mountain we can't climb or want to have others celebrate our joys -- or even when we come to the end of our time here -- the only people we can be really sure of are our family members. We know each others' stories, share DNA, are familiar with the best and worst in each of us. Me, I think that counts for a lot. I can't speak for the rest of you.


It seems that Facebook has supplanted lots of the sharing we did on the rock. And that's okay for some. But it seems shallow to me -- like just the tip of the iceberg, with the real story beneath the sea where we can't see it. 


I've started another blog that will be my own personal journal, rather than post my opinions or diatribes or stories here. And now I'm just taking a straw poll of all of you who were contributors, readers, or commentators. Ajax Rock: Do we leave it for the ages or find a way to keep it, just in case we need a place to go when life throws us one of its curve balls -- or as happened with Juancho recently, when it showers us with unexpected blessings and happiness?


Yea or nay?

There's only one Ebenezer Scrooge

Ghost of Jacob Marley

There's only one show that never grows old for me at Christmastime, and that is the 1951 film in black-and-white, "A Christmas Carol," which starred Alastair Sim as Ebenezer Scrooge. It is such a masterful performance that no other version of the show can touch it. You can have your "Charlie Brown Christmas," your Grinch, "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" -- even the rather wonderful "A Christmas Story" with Ralphie and the Bumpass hounds and fishnet-stocking-legged lamp. For me, it's all about Ebenezer Scrooge.

I was just four years old, maybe five, when I first saw "A Christmas Carol," and I still find surprises in it after all these years. It seems especially appropriate this year, as I enter the Christmas season with a thanksgiving I haven't felt for a long time, having been too sick the past few years to celebrate Christmas at all.


Dickens is said to have been the first writer to "secularize" the Christmas story, but I find the true spirit of Christmas here -- the wonderful rebirth and change of heart in old Ebenezer happens to young and old alike at this time of year. The real spirit of Christmas swoops down and touches us when we least expect it.


Now, my wish for all of us is that we don't have to be visited by Jacob Marley's ghost to be shown our "Christmas Past," "Christmas Present" and "Christmas-yet-to-come" to wake us up to the wonders of Christmas. It's there all year round, every year, just waiting for us. It can be a piece of music, the look in a child's eye, or the reminiscences of someone in her final stage of life. The red kettles and ringing bells of the Salvation Army, the sound of a church bell, the family in need we never noticed before, the light of a candle -- any or all of these things can open the door to what Christmas really means. 


I'm afraid I've been a bit of a Scrooge the past few years--thinking more about my illness, my fears, my life--than the new life of the Christ child. And here we are, nearly 2012 years later, retelling the story of a manger, a brilliant star, shepherds, and wise men, the age-old story eliciting our better angels and giving us reason to celebrate and to share what we have with others. Even if you don't have money to spend, maybe especially if you don't, you can slow down a bit, do a kindness for a stranger (or a neighbor), volunteer to make someone else's Christmas a little brighter. It has never been about the presents and the shopping and the holiday parties, except that those things bring us together with friends and family members and give us an opportunity to be generous to others in small ways.

Ebenezer Dancing with His Stunned
Housekeeper

The Redeemed Ebenezer

Alastair Sim's Scrooge appeared beyond redemption until he awoke from his dream on Christmas morning, threw open his shutters, and let love into his stone-cold heart. Christmas is magic. All we really have to do is throw open the window and let some of that magic in!

Everyone has a story

On Monday evening, I read my "This I Believe" essay at Shepherd University's auditorium where a handful of townspeople came together to share their stories, along with those who were there to listen. This is part of Shepherd's "Common Reading" experience that invites all students, faculty and staff, as well as us regular folks, to read one book and engage in a common reading and shared experience. My essay, titled "In So Many Words," was about how I believe in the power of words to perform many wonders. One of those wonders is that words form stories and poems and plays that transcend boundaries of culture and time and distance -- things that would make us believe that we are somehow different, that others don't understand us.


While mine was not the most provocative essay read that night, what happened in that small group of readers and listeners proved the point I was making about the power of words. If I were to rewrite my essay now, it would be titled, "Every one of us has a story worth telling." That short time spent in the company of people who had interesting, surprising, funny and inspiring stories to tell the rest of us -- stories that informed their own values, priorities, and deeply held beliefs -- was magical. I left, marveling at the breadth and depth of human experience and the signposts along our journey that we often ignore. Someone appears to be plain vanilla, so we don't give him our attention. Another individual is older, younger, different from us in any number of ways, and we pass her right by, thinking there's nothing we could have in common. Nothing could be further from the truth.


Loie once gave Zach a blank journal that said on the front, "Everyone is the hero of his own story," and I think it's true -- or sometimes somebody else is the hero of your story. But you do have a story, and it's worth telling. I've bookmarked and started listening to the StoryCorps website where the slogan is "Every voice matters." (Check it out here: http://storycorps.org/).


One particular essay has stuck with me, and I would like to hear it again and again. It was written and read by a woman who volunteers to read stories to children in a variety of venues. So one day she is in the ER of a local hospital and has along with her a book of photographs -- no words. She approaches a weary mother and her two children, waiting. She asks if they would like to look at her book. The younger child, a girl, says yes and is animated and interested in every photograph. The older child, a pre-teen boy dressed all in black, is indifferent, keeping his eyes glued to some electronic device in his hand, shrugging off any invitation to join in. They get to the last photograph in the book, a photo of a statue -- an eagle in a large cage, atop a city building. The boy glances over, then speaks: "The eagle is trapped in a cage, looking at the people in the city. The people in the city are trapped in a cage, looking at the bird."

"That's poetry, you know," the storyteller says to him. "I'm going to get a pen and write your poem under the photograph." And she does. As she's writing, the boy says, to nobody in particular, "I might be a writer."

Her essay, the storyteller's, was about how so often, what's on the surface is not all there is to a person -- how sometimes, in order to hit gold, you have to dig a little deeper. I'd say that she hit paydirt with this boy in black.

This is an invitation to tell your story. It's more interesting than you believe. I promise. All it takes is what you know -- your own experience -- and words to express it. Or photographs.

Occupy. What's not to like?

In this photo, the Occupy Wall Street community is shown celebrating Thanksgiving with an "open feast" at Liberty Square in New York. They are emphasizing unity and community as they share food, stories and inspiration. Their "guest list"? None other than the "global community, invited to break bread with us."  


Let's hear from Megan Hayes, an organizer with the Occupy Wall Street Kitchen and a former high-end chef. "This is all about supporting the 99% ... so many people have given up so much to come and be a part of the movement because there is really that much dire need for community. We decided to take this holiday opportunity to provide just that – community." 


And tomorrow they are kicking off the Christmas shopping season with a "Buy Nothing Day" on November 25 and 26. 


What? How dare they not shop on Black Friday? Someone needs to stop them! How utterly un-American. What a dangerous bunch of anarchists!


No, what I actually mean is, "What a concept!"


I did some reading this morning after the brined and stuffed turkey was safely in the oven and the sweet potatoes peeled, cubed, and marinating in some olive oil and seasoning. While I was doing that, I was thinking that I am glad to be among all of you on this Thanksgiving Day, whether we are physically near or just close in thought or friendship or simply by dint of DNA.


Amazingly, my mind and heart were filled with gratitude for what I have, even if I am teetering on the brink of a permanent well-below-the-poverty-line, no-health-insurance, no-income-to-speak-of situation. I have the things that really matter: reasonably good health, friends, family, a growing faith, a wonderful church and an open-minded community in which to live. Trust me, I had no thoughts of revolution, marching in the streets, or the secret overthrow of the government. But I did stop to say a prayer for all of those without the things that really matter, whether they are rich or poor.


Because I have finally just turned off the television permanently and listen to music of my choosing rather than the radio -- and no longer do I read newspapers, knowing all but our local, free newspaper and Shepherdstown's "Good News"paper are owned by mega-corporations that spew out their version of "news" -- I am woefully out of touch and don't know which football teams have better records, who won the last "American Idol" competition or which country is bombing its neighbor. Fighting my way through depression required that I turn off the spigot that gushes a stream of trivia, sensationalism, and a mind-numbing and constant picture of despair and tragedy.


But not to have heard of "occupy" would require one to live under a rock. So I looked it up, read a lot of articles, got a bigger picture. What is all of the fuss about, I wondered. I was expecting a disorganized group of rag-tag, disenchanted people ranting about the profits of Wall Street, and my heart was with them, but I wondered what's new in that? I've felt that way as long as I can remember.


What I learned is that I am a wuss and a weenie for staying here in this comfortable house and not joining the protests. I mean, what's not to like? According to Bloomberg Businessweek, protestors want more and better jobs, more equal distribution of income, bank reform, and a reduction of the influence of corporations on politics. This is the chutzpah that people are decrying, that is getting these protesters labeled as "anarchists," causing them to be tear-gassed, injured by police riot squads, leading to one woman's miscarriage and a veteran's injury? Huh? Are segments of our population so threatened by hearing the truth that they are in favor of punishing these protesters for exercising their First Amendment Rights to free speech and freedom of assembly?


I don't want to ruin anyone's Thanksgiving with more of this diatribe, but there will be another blog about this "Occupy" movement, and I'd welcome having others on (or off) the Rock address it. Because I'm feeling like I want to go back and hide under a rock of my own if this is now considered anti-American and something that is tearing at the very fabric (read "money and power") of our society.

For today, I'm going to focus on all that I have to be thankful for, and that list now includes those people who are out there "occupying" while I'm tending to the turkey and waiting for the Falters to arrive (sadly, without Beth who is sick today).


"We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing...."

Our manatee whisperer

Beth's photo of Carl the manatee

Bethany Claire is taking a well-earned mini-vacation on Captiva Island in Florida. When she left, she was determined to see manatees, knowing that these endangered, gentle "sea cows" would be protected at the Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge. Two decades ago, she and I had gone on a fruitless search for manatees in Florida.


She has a way with animals of all kinds, so when she reported that she spotted manatees and was going to use a sea kayak to paddle out to where they were, hoping to commune with them, I didn't doubt that she would do just that.


Yesterday, I got this report, which I hope she doesn't mind sharing with the "rock" community:


Okay, are you sitting down for this?? Here is the manatee update...

Mama and baby Florida manatees

I petted, yes, PETTED, not one, but two manatees. In the channel behind our cottage, there are about a million manatees and we went out on sea kayaks and they would come right up near us and investigate and stick their bulbous snouts out of the water and snort. And I petted them and i think they liked it. AND....

I DID  see a mommy manatee and her calf. AND mommy surfaced right near my boat and the baby was above her so when mommy came out of the water, baby was pushed almost all the way out so i got to see all of her including her wee side flippers and round tail fin.

I love manatees. 

Mission accomplished. Yay for Beth!

Eternal flame -- "Lux aeterna"

At yesterday's Washington Masterworks Chorale performance at the Kennedy Center, the choral group performed four selections, two sung in Latin, one in Hebrew, and one in Russian. It was an amazing performance. But the most beautiful of all was "Lux Aeterna," a composition by Morten Lauridsen, sounding as ancient as the creation of the world -- ethereal and soul-soothing. It, alone, would make an atheist believe in God. But Lauridsen wrote it as recently as 1997, upon the death of his mother.


I have been listening to it all morning, letting the voices lift my spirits. Lauridsen has written other pieces and won many awards, but this must certainly be his magnum opus. Eternal flame, eternal light -- they speak of God and creation and of God everlasting.  


As I sit here, listening, I'm struck by the memory of movies like "Contact" and "Close Encounters." Both underscored the significance of light and sound (musical tones in the latter) to make contact with beings in outer space. And why not? What is more primal than light and music, both speaking a universal language and connecting us to the far reaches of space, as well as to the depths of our own souls. To me, those are direct connections to God. Jesus said, "I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness but shall have the light of life." This music makes me feel that -- know it, even. 

Whether it's the small flame of a candle, an incredible sunrise, the northern lights, the sun, the moon, or the night sky-- all are manifestations of "lux aeterna," the eternal flame of love. Just listen for yourself, and you'll see what I mean. Links to the music are here.
http://youtu.be/nhfrG_AsbxQ
http://youtu.be/LJEEESpXhUU  and


http://youtu.be/izsW6LjExEQ 

The "Queen City"

Cumberland Exits off Route 68,
Which Parallels the Old National Road

Since 1974, I have passed through Cumberland, Md., countless times on my way to Ohio to visit family. I've never stopped but always wondered about what lies in this small city called the "Queen City" -- queen of the Allegheny Mountains that I've come to love so much. I've known that here are the headwaters of the Potomac River and the first mile of the C&O Canal and seen the many church steeples that rise over the city. Last Sunday was sunny and warm, and the Queen City beckoned. This is how the city looks at night -- not a New York City skyline but a beautiful one of many church steeples rising against the background of the mountains. On Sunday afternoon, we visited many of those churches and found them, alone, worth the trip. The Disciples of Christ Church has the town's clock in its steeple, and the old clock still chimes the hour, every hour.

Cumberland at Night

The Gothic-style Episcopal Church has tunnels underneath it that served as a storage depot for George Washington's troops during the French and Indian Wars and later were used in the Underground Railroad. The Methodist Church had an afternoon organ recital open to the public to celebrate the renovation of its old pipe organ, and we found the site of the last Church of Christ Scientist in a huge, colonial building that was once a home. Our appetites were whetted.

Monday dawned sunny and delightful, so after a hike at Rocky Gap State Park, where we happened upon an aviary of birds of prey, including a pair of stunning barred owls, a great horned owl, a bald eagle, a barn owl and a vulture, we headed back to Cumberland seven miles away, stopping at a Candyland store, oddly, we thought, called "the Fruit Bowl." Inside was a wonderful array of every kind of candy you could think of and many you couldn't, plus piles of apples, pears, fresh produce, Mennonite and Amish foods -- all at prices so low that we filled bag after bag.                  

Head of barred owl

And just above this place is Wills Mountain and the local lover's leap, where an Indian maiden purportedly leaped to her death when the chieftain forbade her to marry a white man during the the time of the French and Indian War. Cumberland is chock-full of history that comes alive (the only kind that interests me).

But you don't have to have driven past scores of times like I did, before I stopped to investigate Cumberland. It's worth a trip of its own. Here we found the West Virginia Scenic Railway, a biker's paradise where the Great Allegheny Passage, a 141-mile, mostly paved trail, leads from near Pittsburgh to Cumberland. There it meets the C&O, 184.5-mile trail to Washington, D.C. Nearby Canal Place is where the railway, the GAP and the C&O meet, and it's a stone's throw from George Washington's first command HQ during the French and Indian Wars. There are stunning views of the Allegheny Mountains, the Potomac River and Wills Creek, and the railroad trestles -- all converging at the passage through the mountains that was once so critical to our country's growth. 

Washington's HQ

Episcopal Church with Underground Tunnels

Allegany County Courthouse

Statue Outside the Railway Station and Visitors' Center

The old railway station has been converted to a lovely visitor center and is located next to Canal Place and the bike trails. It houses a fine exhibit of the C&O Canal inside a replica of the famous Paw Paw Tunnel.  And outside is a statue of a mule and boy, the power that navigated the canal boats, along with the downstream currents.  

Finally, what would be a great trip without food? Cumberland didn't disappoint us. While the Crabby Pig at Canal Place offered up a choice of seafood or pork barbeque with tangy coleslaw, our favorite place by far was the Queen City Creamery where real, old-fashioned frozen custard is the specialty. But the Reuben sandwich, the three-plays-for-a-quarter jukebox, the friendly staff, and the old-fashioned but comfortable decor, complete with a soda fountain, were all top-notch. So here's a farewell (but I'll be back) salute to the Queen City. You can be sure that I won't zip past next time. If nothing else, I'll slip off the exit and grab a blue-ribbon frozen custard before I continue west (or east).
  

Our Cecilia

Just like her dad, under a blanket

Laughing with Kevin

With her birthday coming up on the 25th of this month, Cecilia is now a grown-up, age-wise, even though I think she was the most adult child I've ever known. That's not to say she doesn't know how to have fun -- the photos I've posted show that she is a happy and fun-loving person. Always has been. It's just that she has always had this curious, innate sense of being responsible, more than most adults I know. It's one of hundreds of things I admire about my only granddaughter. 
So she is now at DePaul University in Chicago where she's studying theater management. And I remember so well when she first went to "tech" when she transferred to a public high school in Plymouth, N.H., and how she took to it like a duck to water. 

A pensive and reflective Cecilia Brooks Falter

Just to prove to the rest of the Ajax Rock sitters and occasional visitors that this amazing child is now an amazing young woman, I've stolen some photos from her Facebook page. The proof is in the pudding. We'll get to see her next month, but in the meantime, this is an early happy birthday to a remarkable and loving and perfect granddaughter!

Right out of a Harry Potter movie

Looking a lot like Aunt Beth

H.S. graduation with Mitch, Laurie and Tom

There's that Aunt Beth look again!

Obstacles: Over or through?

THE PAW PAW TUNNEL 

Ever since I moved to W.Va. over 12 years ago, I've intended to go to Paw Paw, partly because of the sound of its name (the paw paw being both a tree and a fruit that tastes like a combination of an overripe banana and mango, mixed together) and partly because of the famous Paw Paw Tunnel, a 3,118-ft. long section  along the C&O Canal, which runs 184.5 miles from the headwaters of the Potomac River in Cumberland, Md., to Washington, D.C. In the 1800's, it was a major transportation highway to the Ohio Valley, and the canal boats, pulled along by mules, carried coal and other goods over the mountains to the population in the East who were hungry for the coal, lumber, grain and other cargo the boats carried.
     Unfortunately for the canal company, the B&O Railroad raced it to completion, and faster freight trains soon replaced the canal boats, leaving the canal company broke. Fortunately for us today, the C&O Canal is a National Historical Park that provides biking, hiking and other recreation opportunities, as well as an area rich in history, the full length of the Potomac River.

     In building the canal, 74 locks and 11 aqueducts were constructed, mostly by immigrant laborers from Ireland and Germany. But no section of the trail was more daunting than the Paw Paw Bends, a mountainous area along the river where the engineers had to design a tunnel through Sorrel Mountain -- a tunnel that took 14 years to complete by immigrant laborers, mostly from Germany and Ireland (those Irish later calling themselves "Scotch-Irish" to distinguish themselves from later waves of Irish Catholic immigrants) who lived in tents along Sorrel Ridge where they were given a daily allotment of whiskey, the promise of wages that sometimes took months to come, if they came at all, and where there were cholera outbreaks and other dreadful conditions. Violence often broke out among the gangs of immigrant laborers and some defected to work on the competing B&O railroad. When it was finally finished, the cost overrun was 500 percent.
     While it's surpassed today by many tunnels, the Paw Paw Tunnel remains one of the world's longest canal tunnels and one of the greatest engineering feats of its day. It's lined with over six million bricks and was only wide enough for a single lane of traffic to go through.

     Yesterday, while driving home from a delightful day-and-a-half visit to Cumberland, Md., known as the "Queen City" because it was the queen of the Allegheny (or Allegany) Mountains, Bob and I decided to take the backroads home and hike through the Paw Paw Tunnel. What we thought would be an easy hike through the tunnel turned out to be a cross between the scaling of our own Mt. Everest and a taste of "Deliverance." 
    Okay, the tunnel in the photo above doesn't look that threatening, especially not on a bright and sunny afternoon, does it? Only here's the thing: We ignored the sign that suggested flashlights, because there's always a light at each end of the tunnel, a footpath and hand railing, right? Let's look again at the photos, okay?

INSIDE THE TUNNEL

W. END OF TUNNEL

OOPS!

     We knew that darkness would come early in the mountains, but we allowed over an hour to hike through and back. What we didn't know until we approached the east entrance was that the park service had boarded up each end of the tunnel, except for a small opening to the footpath, making it almost black once we were about 50 feet inside. And we had noticed a sign that read "Paw Paw Tunnel Trail" that indicated a path over the tunnel, so we knew we could hike that way back if necessary. 

     Groping our way along, we wondered about turning back, but what kind of story would that make? Oh, yes, we hiked the tunnel, but we were wimps and became afraid of the darkness and seeping water and bats inside? So we pressed on, seeing approaching flashlights about two-thirds of the way through. Coming close to the other, well-equipped hikers, we discovered two girls who were using their cell phones for flashlights, so we took ours out, too, and made it through to the other end.

     But now we had to decide whether to trust the phone batteries to hold out long enough to get back through the tunnel, and we opted instead for the tunnel trail over the tunnel -- or so we thought. Instead, nearly a mile west of the end, we found the trail sign, warning of a "two-mile strenuous hike" back. With the sun sinking fast, we started the trail, and it was strenuous all right -- steep, rocky and leaf-covered, up we went, up, up, up -- until I realized it wasn't the top of the tunnel we were climbing toward but the top of the mountain itself. There was no turning back. And this is where the thoughts of "Deliverance" began to flood my mind. If that was two miles, I never want to see three. We finally crested Sorrel Ridge and began a steep descent in the  fading light, realizing that there was nobody within miles who could hear or see us, that there were bears in the woods and the trail was poorly marked and slippery. Time was not on our side, though the nearly full moon was. I started to sing "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall," partly to keep the bears away and partly to pass the time, until I realized that singing hymns was more appropriate to the situation. Bob forged ahead, undaunted, assuring me that the car couldn't be that far away, eternal optimist that he is (and Eagle Scout once upon a time).

     Dense twilight descended as we reached the bottom, with another .7 miles to go to the parking lot, the lights of the town of Paw Paw twinkling in the distance, assuring us that we were closing in on civilization. Nearly two hours after embarking on our tunnel walk, we made it back, right past the sign that said "Use flashlights in the tunnel." If I'd had the energy and a marker, I would have added, "And if you're too dumb to have brought a flashlight, remember that your cell phone won't work in the tunnel, but it can be used as a flashlight, if necessary." 

     Lesson learned: There's a really good reason why those engineers and laborers spent 14 years blasting through the mountain instead of going over it. It was the moment of the "Big Duh." Now I know why those immigrant laborers were allotted whiskey at the end of each day. The best we could do was a jug of apple cider in the van. 

Closely knit

It's a small, everday miracle that the sheep on the left is the source of the yarn on the right, which, in the right hands, produces something as lovely as the blanket below. 

Sadly, those hands aren't yet mine. I'm struggling just to cast on and remember the difference between a knit and a purl, let alone get the tension of the yarn just right and be able to follow a pattern. Happily, Bethy has the technique down perfectly, and the soft clicking of her knitting needles reminded me of the gaping difference between buying a blanket made by a machine and lovingly knitting one for someone you want to keep warm.


Something else happens when you knit: Your blood pressure lowers, you feel the tension sneaking out of your body, and your mind and soul are at peace for that space in time. 

Dropped stitches and complicated patterns can wait. I want to experience the nirvana of knitting. My goal is simply to produce something that looks like this. And there are even YouTube videos to get you started. Thank you, Bethany, for reminding me to pull over. Life in the fast lane is too crowded and too nerve-wracking. S-l-o-w is good.