Remember the Johnstown Flood of 1889?

More accurately, I should ask: Remember hearing about the Johnstown Flood of 1889? I have always thought it a compelling story, but over the years, I have come to be most fascinated not by the mass of water that barreled down the valley, but by the dry lake left behind. This morning while doing a little history researching type of thing, I found a a site where an apparent railroad buff had posted pictures of trains in Pennsylvania. Down at the bottom of the page was this picture.
Photographer: Tony Kimmel
Location: South Fork, PA
Date: October 21, 2007
Description: Three blue 80MACs bring a train northbound through the former lake Conemaugh.

So, the resort homes would have been along the treeline and that low-lying grizzled area is the original lake bed, which, of course, was previously an original low-lying grizzled area.

Go HERE to get information concerning David McCullough’s book about the flood. Click HERE to see photos from the Library of Congress.

I didn’t think this through

Some time ago, I came upon a blog about Thomas Bickle, who was discovered to have a brain tumor when he was around six months old. I think I have been reading about him for seven months now, and late last fall read his mother’s entry that the cancer was winning. She said they were going to enjoy the time between the discontinuation of chemo and the appearance of symptoms from the growing mass in his head. She said they probably wouldn’t blog much during “this cold season.”

A couple of days after I read this, we put up our outside Christmas lights while the weather was favorable and it popped into my head that these lights – red and white and floating on air in the darkness – were Thomas Bickle’s lights. Somehow they were sending a message for him and about him. But now, it is nearing the time to turn them off and take them down . . . and I hadn’t thought about that.

Taking down the decorations

have just finished packing up a small box of Santas and little ceramic houses from the table on the porch. A couple of days ago, I took down the raffia and bells and ornaments that formed a sway on the den door and put it in a firestarter box. This taking down of decorations is not particularly sad; I talk to them and wrap them in paper towels and gently put them in the box. They will be waiting for me there next year.

The nutcrackers will be moving into off-season quarters soon, billeted in another firestarter box, I suppose. Usually, I leave a couple out to watch over things until next year. Right now they are up there on the windows sashes with the wooden, flat black-spotted cow that stays there all year.

Christmas songs are still on the CD player in the corner; the Irish Tenors, if I remember correctly. I listened to John Denver and the Muppets a lot as well, especially When the River Meets the Sea.