My father, and a group of his buddies, owned a hunting camp in the Pennsylvania mountains named Camp YoHo (for Youngstown, Ohio where they lived). My siblings and I have wonderful memories of the camp. It had one large "great room" with a dining table that must have seated 20+, a huge fireplace, requisite worn out and musty smelling furniture, a kitchen and an upstairs "bunk room" lined with bunk beds and single beds. I believe it sleep 12. Try sleeping with 11 other people in various states of snoring, grunting and, according to my children, farting. Anyway, as a kid, we didn't care one bit. Actually there were two camps because when the Kinzua dam was built, the government paid the landowners who would be flooded out and a new camp was built on the edge of the Alleghany forest. So, our memories sort of blend together between the two camps and many weekends and longer were spent hiking, exploring, fishing, water skiing, jumping off "big rock" and generally, just messing around. There was no TV, and we did not miss it one bit. There was an old radio and occasionally you could get reception for a baseball game. The nearby town, within walking distance, was Westline. I think there may have been a population of 30. There was a strange odor emanating from the town and we believe it was built on a toxic chemical dump. I think we imagined that because everyone in town seemed a bit inbred and odd. Perhaps the odor was a smokehouse, because it always smelled like bacon to me. The Westline in is still there and I remember going there to drink beer (okay, so we weren't kids - or were we?) and playing Pacman and the walk home to the cabin in that pitch black with the amazing stars overhead - priceless!
We took friends and family with us to the camp. How can we forget Uncle Homer and Dad jumping from bed to bed trying to kill a bat with a broom while my baby sister, Mary Beth, sleep peacefully in her crib. Why didn't anyone move her out of there first?? And Uncle Charles bringing home a snapping turtle hanging with jaws clenched around a thick twig for us nieces and nephews to admire. And to tease and torture us all evening about the wonderful turtle soup he was going to make the next day out of our new pet. And how the next morning the turtle was missing from its jail and for probably twenty years, no one confessed to the release until cousin Mary finally admitted that she had snuck down during the night to "free" it. There was the infamous potato soup that was simmering on the stove and when each adult went by the pot, added more seasoning until we sat down to dinner and the soup was practically inedible. Speaking of the stove - you had to light the pilot. That adventure took off my former sister-in-laws eyebrows during one mini-explosion. And, the most exciting addition to the first cabin was a bathroom because prior to that, there was only an outhouse. My brother Tom and I were recently reminiscing about the bathrooms, which always seemed to have a thin layer of moisture on every surface and a sign on the door for Bucks and Does. But the best sign was hanging over the door for you to ponder if you happened to be sitting for any time, and Tom just sent it to me and jogged my mountains memories...
SEVILLE DER DAGO A TOUSIN BUSIS INAROW.
NOMO DEMAIN BUSIS DEMIS TROUX
SUMMIT COUSIN SUMMIT DOUX.
If you cannot figure it out, the translation is:
See Willy, there they go a thousand busses in a row.
No Moe, them ain't busses them is trucks.
Some with cows in, some with ducks.
On "Big Rock" in 2004
