RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,340
(it got dark pretty early down there)
By road (small Rt.14 being
the quickest and most direct
route in, even though it left
you on the 'wrong' side of
Elmira - southside, and away
from downtown and center), it
was a quick 21 miles to Elmira, NY
from Columbia Crossroads, PA.
I used that route when I wanted
the most efficient and quickest
way, mostly in the morning trips
to work. This was before we later
by a few years , actually just moved
up to Elmira itself. There were
a couple of other ways to and
from, and I took full advantage.
Columbia Crossroads set high
and about 5 miles from the
junction with Rt. 14. Coming
down the great hill from there
afforded a broad view out - I
recall many an early morning
ride, to Elmira, with countless
radio news items - everything
from Punxsatawny Phil crap to
the IRA battles and fights in
Britain over wages and coal.
I remember it took President
Truman a long time to die, with
updates every day on his condition,
and then pretty much the same thing
with Eisenhower, Kansas. One went
before the other, but I forget the
sequence. There were, along Rt. 14,
deep meadows, with a few churches
spaced around, bit white farm houses,
streams and rivulets running, all
different sorts of weathers, a trailer
park, and a few hot dog or quick
diner places. It was all pretty nice,
with some good vistas. Once you
get nearer to Elmira, it started up
with that usual industrial-backside
look that small cities have : dumps,
concrete and cinder yards, mechanic
shops and junkyards, old clunky homes
that had been incorporated into the
grounds of machine or welding shops,
metal-worker yards, etc. At the edge
of Elmira, another trailer park, much
better kept, sprang up, and a motel
or two.
-
Coming up through the other way,
which is the way I liked much better,
was out to East Smithfield Road and
a right, and then a left in a bit, to
places along the way, called Big Pond -
which was a few farms and maybe
10 or so large, old homes and, yes, a
big pond - where kids, and adults,
used to fish and swim. Kind of neat,
and a unique enough place. The road
wound around through there and then
eventually emptied out to another
thoroughfare, which took you to the
place called Bentley Creek; which is
where Jim Jankowsky's home and
real estate office was. He was a jovial
fellow, big, and a little round; liked
fishing and hunting and all that sports
stuff, and football too. Maybe he was
40, or 42 years old. I never learned
much else about him, and - foolishly
too - never followed up later, after
we'd moved in, with him to keep a
contact channel open. He was a local
guy, and knew a lot of things of the
area and such, but by the time I'd
settled in all my/our contacts weren't
that far afield - instead it was all
the local farm people and wives that
we kept with, and they all had their
own things - mechanics, repairs,
garages, fuels, etc. - so we never
needed to reach out past the locals.
Plus, he acted like a businessman,
a professional, on the make, always
for a deal and a profit, and that was
so unlike the local farm people that
I could never re-sync to such a manner.
-
My farm guys, once their farm day was
over, were pretty much a lazy bunch.
no real outside activities other than
maybe a Summer night's, or a nice
Spring night's visiting - the barber's
porch in the old house where he cut hair,
the Justice Of the Peace place (called
the 'JP' where you'd have to go back
then for Notary, Tags (license plates
in PA language), licenses and permits.
They'd sit around, drinking a boozy
apple cider just this side of being
'booze' and talk about things : cows,
crops, cars, people, and even each
other's wives - sometimes in the
oddest ways, and almost lecherous
too! Once I got adopted (proven in
by work and labor), they have me
along, I'd get a haircut, car repair,
any of the usual stuff to fit in. It was
all cool. My father would, occasionally,
come to visit. I'd bring him along a
few times, but his temperament was
all wrong for it; too huffy, too prone
to be excitable. On the way home he's
almost lecture me, in fear of my being
shot or whatever : 'Don't you ever touch
one of those guy's daughters or wives!
They'd kill you in a minute. You be very
careful what you do.' Funny.
-
That was the urban mind, in him, facing
off the more ham-fisted and ironic country
mind; which sort of sloughed things off
or, in such matters, laughed them off. in
any case, I was never worried. There were
a few delectable daughters around too,
don't get me wrong. 16-20 year old farm
girls of magnificent stature; but, always
relating to Dad, I never touched! Dad,
however, with Jim Jankowsky, soon
became an obstacle in another way -
each time Jim showed me a property,
the ones HE liked (my father) I didn't
like at all. I was drawn to the crazy,
outlandish, old homes and properties
that already resembled the junk-heap
places of my dreams; but Dad had to
co-sign, and thus held a veto over my
head. 'You can't even think of living
here. A 6-month old baby and a new
wife, in a wreck like this? What are
you gonna' do for heat? How you gonna'...
It went on, with a few real disappointments.
Eventually (I'll get to all this) I found one
that he and I both could halfway agree
upon, so I jumped at it. 12 acres, a big old
farmhouse, two ponds, its own dirt road,
plenty of room, a barn, an extra out
building, and more. I'll get to that
story too.
-
Before all that, however, I had my
heart set on an old Black Walnut grove
house way done in a hollow. It was
inhabited by an old gravestone-cutter
guy. He was old and getting feeble, so
his kids were pulling him out into a
rest home. I loved the place. My father
forbade my even thinking about it - a
deep gorge, rock-walled on one side, a
crazy and steep dirt lane in and out,
half craved and broken gravestones
all about in the work-yard area. Deep
with trees and shrubbery and growth.
It was so bizarre that, actually, the
overhead sun only shone in probably
4-6 hours daily. It got dark pretty
early down there.
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