Hiking Mount Marcy in New York

A rugged hike but he made it. There were a lot of hikers on the two miles to the lake. It was dry, the dam had broken a couple of years ago and it was never repaired. I hiked back to the trail head to wait for my husband. I was getting concerned when it started to get dark, then he walked out of the woods. I breathed a sigh of relief. We spent the night at the Legendary Wentworth Hotel. Our room had a king size bed, a fireplace, a separate sitting room with TV, formal dinning, serving wonderful meals. It was a great week.

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Gateway To The City Hidden In Time

In an unknown location is a country where the Gateway exists. The only outsiders to have visited it have sworn to keep its location secret. Many explorers down through the ages have searched sailing from country to country, with the hope of being the one to find this mystical place.

It lies on a great spur of rock above dense jungle, hidden by a high range of mountains. The map will show you the way. The man who lives in the dense jungle has the map, that leads to untold riches. The right person, repeating the right words, will be the one given the map. But what are the right words? Do you have the courage to investigate and find the man, with the map?

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The House Hidden in Time

Somewhere in the northern part of Ireland, a split in time has opened. It has caused every road to turn to the right. One of them is the road leading to the land of Timelessness. If a traveler takes this road they are in danger if they didn’t put on their weighted shoes, for without them they would be sucked into the Land Without Time.

Once there, they would live in the House of Time. A log cabin, where under a board of the uneven floor in the first room to the right, is a red box containing ten thousand dollars in cash. But travelers who are tempted by the large stash should know that inside the thick walls of the cabin is hidden a little office of Police Inspector Harry, a giant of a man who asks silly questions about fried eggs. If you look directly into his eyes you will be turned into a frog, and there you would remain for eternity.

Don’t look in strange places or splits in time, it could be bad for your health.

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Nut Islands, Have You Been There?

In the Atlantic Ocean, not far from the vegetable sea, so-called because certain trees that grow there produce enormous nuts over fifteen feet long. The inhabitants, the Nutanauts, use them as ships. They sail to and from the Isle of Nothing.

The Isle of Nothing is a large lake dotted with islands, stretching from the Forest of Evilshaw to the Castle of the Quest. Travelers may find it somewhere in the north of England. The Forest of Evilshaw itself is dense and trackless, no one dares to hunt there and no thief will take refuge inside its boundaries. Many legends are attached to the island and the people; some say that fairies walk its paths, others that it conceals the mouth of Anduin, resting on the edge of Helvania, hiding a house of the Grand Fairy who protects all inhabitants from Evil.

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Ernst Willy?

All the muscles in Ernst’s six-foot five-inch thirty year old body rippled as he socked the post hole digger in for the second time, trying to make head way in the cold, hard February ground. He was thankful it wasn’t snowing. He glanced up at Mr. Harrison, the owner of the two hundred acre farm spread out in the wide valley surrounded by the Allegheny Mountains in Pennsylvania. He was a portly, fifty-five years old with dark slicked back hair who sported a handle bar moustache. He’s been Ernst’s boss for twenty years, a tough old bird who worked as hard as he did.

By five o’clock they had thirty posts put in, then strung the chicken wire on each pole. At six o’clock; “Come on Ernst let’s call it a day.”

“Gladly, I’m hungry for a good supper.”

“Good the Mrs. is making meatloaf tonight.”

He washed up in the wash-house and had supper with the Harrisons. They treated him like family. As they ate the Harrisons talked about going to the neighbors after they finished eating. They would go there often and have Ernst set up with the children. Eight year old Ida, four-year old Emma and Robert (Robbie) Smith a twelve-year-old young man who the Harrisons adopted from the poor farm.

When they finished eating he stood, “thank you again for wonderful meal.” Mrs. Harrison a slim red-head with china doll skin, smiled, “you’re welcome Ernst, glad you liked it.”

“I’ll be going now, good night.”

Ernst walked toward his small house one hundred yards from the Harrison’s big mansion. It was just right for him, not too big too clean and not too small to be cramped.

As he walked he heard a voice; “You must have Harrison’s money. You know he has a good deal of it stashed in that big house. Get it, you deserve to have it.” Ernst Willy shook his head and looked up the road in front of him and behind. “Who’s talking to me? I don’t see anyone.”

Before he realized it, he was back at the home of his employer and friend. After getting into the house he found the Harrisons were not home.

To be continued. Thank you for Traveling With Me.

Old Fuoss Mill Burns To The Ground

In 1833 the trail was rugged, rocky and full of snakes. From Sinking Valley, David pressed forward and made it over Brush Mountain. In the shadow of the blue mountains surrounding the wide expansive valley, the Juniata River cut through the land and would be the perfect place for his new home.  Beside the rushing water he worked tirelessly for three months erecting a beautiful twenty room home. He looked at his wife and son, “we are going to name this place Beyer’s Mill.”

He worked day and night digging a deep race, lining it with stones from the river. He hired skilled workers to chisel out man-sized rocks from the mountain side, using his strong Draft horses he hauled them to the river placing each one in the perfect spot to build a high dam above the race. Two months later working with builders he erected the Burr Flour Mill beside his home and a Saw Mill at the north end of the race. Then he could manufacture his own lumber and would not need to make the trip to Tyrone to buy it.

Through the years David Beyer and his family ran the small town. It prospered, growing to a large community of fifty happy influential families.

Then in May 1926 it happened. By now the town changed names to Fuoss Mills.  Both the mill and house owned by M. A. Chasewood, who just three years ago purchased the property, from William Fuoss.

The trolley car tracks were blocked by a truck. The engineer couldn’t slow the car fast enough. Breaks screeched, squealing as the car crashed into the truck, the biting smell of gasoline filled the air, as it pushed the truck into the ditch, where it over turned and dumped its full load of fuel into an underground conduit leading to the race running 150 yards to the mill. At the back of the mill a worker on a break stood at the door, lit his cigar and flipped the burning match into the race. The explosion of flames filled the race engulfing the mill, the 20 room house and all the grass around their home. The blaze raced back to the truck and exploded the tank, burning it to the frame. The drivers of the truck and trolley car escaped injury.

Three fire companies from Tyrone, and one from Bellwood responded, they were able to save two other houses nearby. All the chicken pens and other small buildings were leveled.

The mill was never rebuilt, but the community of Fuoss Mills continued to grow, prospering year after year.

Thank you for Traveling With Me.

 

Romantic Capers

1893

Miss Jennie Sypolt, a young lady of Kingwood, who was a poor girl and had to work for her living, answered an advertisement in a matrimonial paper, then began to correspond with a young David A. Murphy, of Kaigs Mills. He was 34 years old and “a real nice looking fellow, “all the girls said.” He claimed to have a small farm, with a comfortable home of his own, and his mother lived with him. She was getting to old to keep house for him now, so he needed a wife.

Through letter writing back and forth their friendship ripened into affection. They exchanged photographs, mutual tokens of esteem, and soon became engaged by correspondence. After a time they reached an understanding that he was to come visit her, and if both were satisfied they would get married. If they were not, no harm was done, and the courtship could be dropped. She was an exemplary church member, not lazy, and no one had anything against her, except that “she wasn’t handsome.” But faith in her lover was strong, never doubting that he would come and marry her.

A time was set for Friday of that week to meet. The would-be-groom arrived in Kingwood on the noon train and walked to the Preston House Inn, where the expectant bride was waiting for him. They were both satisfied and the courtship was brief. At 2 P.M. the next day they were married and left on the 4 o’clock train for the home of the groom. They lived the rest of their lives in love and respect for each other.

Thank you for Traveling With Me.