Allegheny Mountains

Allegheny Mountains:

it’s Christmas, and this isn’t a holiday that has much meaning to me outside of some happy childhood memories of celebrating with my family, the ritual of driving north to Pennsylvania to visit my grandmother, what seemed an endless drive, but loving the view as we made our way through the Allegheny Mountains. I feel a kinship with those mountains even today, ancient, rounded and worn down in height, yet once rivaling the Himalayas in their reach. My Christmas memories take me there, that long stretch of turnpike, stopping for a meal and enjoying the crisp bite of mountain air that greeted me fresh after the warmth of the car and family near.

my father was a sure and steady driver, I never once doubted his skills navigating the often snow covered road. Although I’m sure it was a tiring drive for him, he loved the mountains too and would answer any question I threw his way concerning the scenery. He taught middle school physical science and had a great love for geology, geography, maps and history, passing that love on to me. More so, he was a mountain boy at heart, having grown up in deep rural central Pennsylvania, son of a forest ranger, hunting with his family until his sensitive nature urged him to put his rifle down. Even after serving in the navy in the last year of the war, he remained a gentle soul. I loved him dearly.