Lake Effect

We've had it described to us by numerous people on numerous occasions since we first expressed interest in moving to the Lake Erie area. Moisture from the lake is absorbed into the atmosphere above, turned into snow, and dumped on the surrounding countryside. Meadville, they told us, is pretty much at the far side if the lake effect belt. Sometimes we get it, sometimes we don't. The day before yesterday we witnessed this phenomenon first hand.

The Reverend Carmen was covering for the Youngstown, Ohio minister while he was on vacation, and it happened that a Youngstown member needed a memorial service performed during that time. So Saturday, with dense snow falling all around us, we set out on snowy roads for Youngstown. Rev. Carmen kept asking if we were crazy to be doing this in such obviously awful weather, but onward we trekked.

About thirty miles south on Interstate 79, we suddenly ran out of the snow. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, the roads were dry. We got to Youngstown on the most beautiful day we'd seen in weeks.

She did the service, we ate an early supper, and then lit out back to Meadville. Right around the same part of I-79, we slammed back into snow, worse than the morning's offering, blinding almost white-out snow, and it was impossible to see the lines on the road. To make matters worse, it was getting dark. We'd been making a shopping list on the way, but it was abandoned with our effort to stay on the highway. At last we came to the Meadville exit, but alas, no-one had exited there in a while. There were no tracks to follow, nothing but a guard rail to indicate where the exit might be.

We reached 322 safely and steered for home. There would be no stops along the way. We got here and she tried to back in - to no avail. She trudged through deep snow, leaving the car at the end of the driveway while I trotted out my new snow blower. I snew blew and shoveled, backed the car in and shut the garage - SAFE!

The next morning I had to snow blow again to get out for church. There was a pretty good crowd there, even with the snow still pouring down. Here in Lake Effectville, you don't let snow stop you. If you do, you'll be pretty much stopped from the end of November until the end of April.

Re CALC Ulating!

My new job with the local Meadville PA Sherwin Williams store is titled "Part Time Sales Associate." The short term is "Delivery Boy." I did not know this when I signed on, but it became clear during my second week when the assistant manager, Vinnie, outlined a long list of things I needed to know about this job - including outfitting the delivery van with whatever personal stuff (gloves, boots, maps) might come in handy during my many deliveries. As it sunk in that this was really what the job is all about, a little spark of joy fired up for "The Gospel Of Rand McNally." I've been waiting for months for a Gospel-worthy trip to come along, and last week one did.

In addition to deliveries, I also do trips to other stores to pick up product we are short on when a customer needs it and can't wait for the next regular Wednesday delivery. I've gone to Franklin, about twenty five miles away, Erie, about thirty five miles, and last week I was told to come in early, dress comfortably, MapQuest a route, bring my GPS and whatever else I might need, and drive to Solon, Ohio, a southern suburb of Cleveland about ninety miles away. I bought road snacks the night before, packed my Rand McNally Road Atlas (of course!) and everything else into my backpack and made it to work well before 11:00.

Before starting out I programmed my destination into Hermione, our GPS. She has a British accent and thinks she knows everything. Hence the name. I had a pretty good idea how I wanted to go, but it's always interesting to hear Hermione's version of things. Sometimes she has a really good idea. Mostly, though, she is fixated on Interstate Highways and will try everything in her arsenal to steer me toward them.

Stage one of the trip: get out of Meadville. In this case, the way to go was to head west on US 322. Hermione was very much in favor of that plan. When I passed right by Interstate 79, she didn't object at all, which came as a shock to me. Then she surprised me again by telling me to turn right on State Road 98. Thinking maybe she knew something, and not having an opportunity to check my map, I turned. Almost immediately I remembered that I had been on this stretch of road before, from one delivery northwest of Meadville to another due south. Hmmm. So I found myself on the map and decided to ride with Her for a while longer. When I came to 198, she directed me to turn left, which I was planning to do anyway. She could have sent me right, to I-79 up there. She didn't. Hmmmm.

So we continued west, on into Ohio, and there she tipped her hand. At State Road 7 she told me to turn right, which would take me directly to Interstate 90 to Cleveland. Aha! So I turned left. "Re - Calc - Ulating!" she hissed. I know this side of her pretty well by now. First she tries to talk me into a U-turn to bring me back into her clutches. Then she directs me onto side roads that will soon bring me back around to her way of thinking. I was going to US 6, where I would turn west again. I knew she wouldn't like it, but I didn't care. If worse comes to worst, I can mute her snippy little self. What I can't do is change her Estimated Time of Arrival, which she adds to every time she recalculates.

As I worked my way west and south, in addition to Hermione's disappointment in me, I also had to watch out for Amish horse and buggy units. I passed three or four going my way, and a few going the other way. It's that part of the country. It wasn't pouring down snow for the first time in weeks, so it was a good day for horse and buggying around.

I turned south on State Road 11, a limited access washboard that I endured for twenty miles or so (actually it was five - it only seemed like twenty) until I exited onto US 322, the highway I started out on way back in Meadville. As I headed west again, Hermione finally got back on board with my initial plan - 322 to State Road 44 to US 422 to Solon. We got along famously for a good while, and when we got to Solon, she guided me smoothly to my destination. Five minutes to use the rest room, load the paint and do the paperwork, and we were back on the road again.

I don't know if she was tired of arguing with me or what, but she took me right back to Pennsylvania the way I wanted to go. We had a slight disagreement at State Road 7, which would have taken me around the north side of the lake. I stayed on 322 around the south side, and made it back to the store well before four.

Ducks Walking on Fish And Other Delights

So we've been to Erie I think five times now. We haven't gone to downtown Erie, just the myriad shopping opportunities on Peach Street near I 90. We've even come home in the dark once, and didn't make any wrong turns - there are a couple of tricky places.

When our little miss Yinny Yin Yin was ailing, we found the vet's office recommended to us. It is about three miles north near Saegertown. Carmen did a wedding at a hall about five miles out of town to (I think) the east. She got lost going to the rehearsal, but the wedding day went just fine. A couple of weeks ago we drove to Woodcock Dam where, it turns out, many many people from Greater Meadville go to walk - with or without dogs - in the fresh air outside the Big City.

Carmen has gone to conferences in Ohio - one in Columbus and one out beyond Cleveland almost to Toledo. If I had gone I might have stories to tell, but somebody has to feed the cat and not be a minister. Turns out I excel at both of those tasks

Two weeks ago, our friend Karen came from Orlando. This gave us the golden opportunity we've been waiting for: Pymatuning Spillway, out by Linesville twenty some miles west of here, boasts the area's biggest attraction. The fish are protected and people throw them bread. They are big and they are numerous. Where there are people casting their bread upon the waters, there are also ducks. Put "ducks walk on fish" into your search engine and you'll see pictures of Pymatuning Spillway. So on a cold, rainy day, we drove west on Conneaut Lake Road, through Conneaut Lake the town, and on to Linesville. As luck would have it, the center of town was in the throes of a road repair project, and the turnoff to Pymatuning was blocked off. But after four times through the intersection we were able to ascertain that many people were turning left a few blocks further on, so we followed them around to the road to Pymatuning.

It turned out that we were the only ones willing to stand out there in the rain throwing bread that Monday morning. Even the fish were hesitant to come to the surface. We saw some but not many. It was good weather for ducks, however, and three loaves of day old surplus bread from the day old surplus bread store went to the ducks. So now we've done it. As long as nobody around here finds out that the ducks didn't walk on any fish that day, we can get away with saying we've been there done that and check it off the list.

So that's the latest from the exploring northwestern Pennsylvania front. More later, I'm sure.

The Big City

In 1987 we moved from Vero Beach, Florida to St. Cloud, Florida, about 75 miles away, to start our new life together in a new locality. We were completely anonymous and happy to be that way. Carmen had a job lined up at a title company in downtown St. Cloud. I had nothing, but soon got a job lined up at a plant nursery in Narcoossee, about seven miles from home. I started out riding a bicycle, but soon bought a small motorcycle. This opened the door to a bigger and better job in Orlando, 25 miles from home.



What this rambling is getting at is that when I worked in Narcoossee, seven miles from St. Cloud and fifteen miles from Orlando, the Narcoosians used to talk about going into town for one reason or another, and I came to realize after a while that in Narcoossee, "The Big City" was St. Cloud, gateway to Kissimmee!



We hadn't lived in Meadville for long when we realized that "The Big City" where everyone goes for shopping and entertainment, is Erie. It's 35 miles up the road, either Interstate 79 if you want to get there fast, or Main Street or Park Avenue out of Meadville, each a pretty country drive which meanders some and changes names a couple of times, but soon enough becomes Peach Street, where the big furniture stores and the Target and the Sam's, a bunch of chain restaurants and pretty much everything Meadville lacks is located. There's even an international airport in Erie where you can fly to Cleveland, Pittsburgh , Detroit or London, Ontario.



We actually flew in and out of there back in April for our candidating week (see "Joy In Meadville" a few postings back) but we were only there for the airport and car rental services. It was mid-July when we found ourselves in need of an air conditioner and the local stores were all sold out! We called around and found one in Waterford, up US 19, almost to Erie, and decided to go ahead up there. We've been back twice to The Big City!



Of course, the folks who live in Saegertown, Conneaut Lake, Woodcock, Geneva and Cochranton think of Meadville as "The Big City!"

And all of us, Erie included, occasionally go to Pittsburgh or Cleveland, each about 90 miles from here, when we want to go to a REAL big city. I guess it's all relative.

Small Town Travel

One of the pleasures of living in a small town is that I can walk to the grocery store, the bank, Carmen's church, the haircut place, the post office - pretty much anywhere I want to go - in less than a half hour. Just this morning I walked to the downtown supermarket at 6:00 because we were out of coffee ! ! ! Then later I walked to the bank at 9:00 and opened my own checking account.

Walking downtown is, more often than not (and not at 6:00am) a social occasion. I see people I know nearly every trip, and people I don't know are likely to smile and say hello. A far cry from Boston.

I generally walk Chestnut Street, the main drag running east and west from downtown to our house. It goes past a couple of funeral homes, an assisted living place, several churches, the Y, Diamond Park, the Historical Society of Crawford County, the local office supply store, the Academy (live)Theatre, a bunch of restaurants, an ice cream shop and - The Stereoscopic Museum! Someday I have to go in there. It's only open a couple of afternoons a week.

Chestnut Street dead-ends into the Downtown Mall, anchored by a Big Lots. The mall contains a liquor store, a couple of flea market styled miscellaneous crap stores, a haircut place, a snack and sandwich shop, a Dollar General and a few more stores I can't recall. The Greyhound bus stops out front, and tickets can be bought at one of the miscellaneous crap stores. The public transit buses also stop at the big bus shelter out front.

Way out yonder on the other side of the tracks is where the interlopers reside: Home Depot, Walmart, Staples and the Giant Eagle grocery store. It's too far to walk and I wouldn't want to anyway!

It reminds me of Vero Beach, Florida. I lived there for about sixteen of my first thirty-four years. I walked everywhere. When I worked at a grapefruit packing house, I started work at 5:30am about once a week, and I could pretty much expect to be pulled over by a cop in the downtown area each time. I thought about that today as I walked downtown at 5:45. The other difference was: I was wearing a hoodie in August! That NEVER happened in Vero Beach.

Four Fifty, Four, Three Fifty, Three

Fortunately for two weary humans and two herbally drugged cats, the trip from Albuquerque to Meadville, PA was pretty uneventful. We had a few arguments with Hermione, our GPS. We had a long walk for short gain the first night, a gut-buster pork steak the second and a teen-ager convention the third. The most distressing thing that went wrong was that the batteries in our little CD player were missing and somehow we just couldn't seem to get them replaced. Still!

Shyanne Moving And Storage came for our stuff on the morning of Monday the 5th of July. We spent Monday night cleaning and working out how to pack the car. Tuesday morning we put out trash in our can and that of the absent next door mean lady, loaded the car and Carmen rubbed "Rescue Remedy" on the ears of the kids. The garbage truck came, I returned our can and the neighbor's to their desired locations, and off we went! It was a little after ten by the time we gassed up and headed for the interstate.


I could hear the glee in Hermione's voice when she said "Drive four hundred thirty miles and exit right." We were on the "one-Interstate-a-day" plan. I-40 took us to Oklahoma City. We passed "The Largest Cross In The Northern Hemisphere" in Texas - the highlight of the trip. It was wet from recent rain when we got to OKC, and darkness was approaching by the time we got the car unloaded and the kitties settled in. We walked outside to look for a place to eat. There were the usual McD and BK and Taco Bell, but we were in the mood for something a little less fast. There was a billboard almost directly overhead touting "Cracker Barrel - Turn left here, one block" so we walked a block to the turn, turned down a street with no sidewalks, walking in wet grass or out in the street, cut across a grassy field and landed wet-footed in the restaurant. The food was good old Cracker Barrel food. Afterward we looked out across the grassy field and saw the lighted sign of our motel. We struck out toward it and were almost there when we realized we were fenced-in fy a "fun center" with putt putt golf and an arcade. We followed the fences to another road, the on-ramp to the interstate, walked on the grass or in the street to the highway and cut across a gas station to our motel room. If we had it to do over again, we would settle for something fast.

Day two was I-44 to St. Louis. The most fun that day was driving through Tulsa, where Carmen had lived and worked for a couple of years in a previous life, and seeing what had changed and what had not - in the midst of pretty much solid construction from one end to the other.


Columbia, Illinois is the suburb of St. Louis where our cat-friendly hotel was. Hermione had never heard of the address, so I had to call for an alternate. We arrived with plenty of daylight left, and were advised to go to the shopping center for dinner at Bully's Bar-B-Q. For some reason I can't now fathom, the 23 ounce barbecued pork steak sounded good to me. My guts wrestled with that pig for two days after I ate - the whole thing! The next day I was further nauseated when we passed a series of signs for a steak house featuring the "50 Ounce Belly Buster - FREE!" if you can eat it all in some specified amount of time. If I had it to do over again, I'd go with the barbecued chicken.



In keeping with the tradition - this was my third time in St. Louis, and the third time I failed to even catch a glimpse of the famous arch. I did see the river, however, which I failed to do the first two dead-of-night incursions.

Day three was Interstate 70, which I ran quite a bit back in my truck driving days and my bus-riding days. It runs all the way to Baltimore, my point of origin. Today, however, we only ran it as far as Columbus, OH. The memorable part of the trip was in Indiana when we broke out the CD player. While I went into a grocery store, Carmen tried to get the player up and running. She discovered that there were no batteries in it, which made it dysfunctional. She called my cellular phone, which I was turning on on my way back to the car in the rain. She heard her message at the same time I did.

The hotel in Columbus was right beside some major athletic field where high school kids from all over Ohio were gathered to compete in various sports. There was no peace at any place at any time in that hotel. Friday morning was our earliest departure of the trip.

We had an ongoing argument with Hermione from the time we exited the parking lot of the hotel until we were settled into the mainstream of Interstate 71 many miles north of Columbus. I never really figured out how she wanted us to go, but evidently once we got going on 71 she was okay with it. I think she still wanted to go back to Massachusetts, and 71 was an acceptable compromise route. It was raining as we drove through northeastern Ohio, and rained all the way to Meadville, where we stopped at the Real Estate office for our keys before driving the final few blocks home.

Home. Wow, that sounds good!

VERY LARGE ! ! !

Sunday, May 2nd, 2010 - a date which will live in infunny: intern and acting associate minister for the First Unitarian Church of Albuquerque, Carmen, was given the task of driving to Socorro, NM to make a personal appearance at the branch congregation there. Of course, she took me, her navigator / photographer / purse watcher along to navigate, photograph and watch. The senior minister told her to be sure to see "THE VERY LARGE ARRAY" at the National Radio Astronomy Observatory while in the neighborhood.

We were both kind of excited at the prospect. We'd seen the movie Contact, with the radio telescopes looking like satellite dishes spread across the New Mexico desert. Carmen told her friend Karen, "There are hundreds and hundreds of these huge dishes spread across acres and acres of desert!" We left Albuquerque early enough to drive 70 miles, find the church, eat breakfast and go see the Array, with plenty of time to return to Socorro for the 4:00pm service (they rent space at an Episcopal Church, and those folks are out of the way by 3:30.)

The trip down was unremarkable with the exception that it was very windy. We gassed up before we set out for an hour and a quarter of driving in light traffic. Our directions took us right to the church, we ate breakfast at a nearby Denny's and got ready to head west to THE ARRAY. The camera was ready. I pulled out the GPS to input our destination. I typed in Very Large Array - she never heard of it. I typed in National Radio Astronomy Observatory - she never heard of it. I tried VLA (as it was called on a few signs) and NRAO (on a few more) with no luck. It appeared we were stuck with my Rand McNally Road Atlas for navigation - how twentieth century!!!

As a tribute to my theory that computers are making us stupid, we made a wrong turn and ended up going fifteen miles out of our way before we found the right road out of Socorro (the big city!) The first sign we saw said "VLA - 44 Miles" It didn't say that it was uphill all the way. I don't know how much elevation we gained on that drive, but I do know that we used nearly a half tank of gas going up there. The surrounding mountains were gorgeous, even when they were partially obscured by clouds of dust stirred up by the spring winds. There was a tiny little sign with an arrow pointing south off of Route 60 to VLA. It was a tiny little road, hardly adequate to handle the millions of visitors they would get if it were locatable by GPS.

Far off in the distance we could see about ten dishes sitting out in the middle of nothing. "That isn't the Very Large Array," Carmen said questioningly. "Oh no," I replied. "It must be just a few to whet your appetite for the immense spectacle that awaits beyond." We drove and drove, made a right turn onto the property of the observatory and headed for the Visitor's Center. Carmen stayed in the car while I went inside to find out what we had to do, where we had to go to see the Array. There was a little display with post cards and maps of the walking tour for 25 cents each and a slot to drop your quarters into. I did a little reading: "The VLA consists of 27 dish-shaped antennas that are connected together to form a single large radio telescope..."

"See that Array over there?" I said, pointing to the ten. "That's as Very Large as it gets. Yes, they're spread out over many square miles, but there are only twenty seven of them. I guess we saw pictures of large clusters of dishes, heard about hundreds of square miles, and assumed the rest." "Well, the church is paying mileage for me to drive my sorry butt all the way up here for this!" she said. We realized as we left that the terms "Very Large Array" and "Very Large" anything would thenceforth mean a great expectation followed by a puny reality.

The good news: gas consumption was much less on the way back down to Socorro.