A Downpour and Determination Battling at Manassas

My kayaking event had been canceled Friday night due to bad weather storming in to plague the weekend so I needed to find something to do on Saturday. The 157th Anniversary of The First Battle of Manassas was being celebrated at the Battlefields with living history demonstrations and walking tours, so joining a Meetup group I met at the parking lot early.

 Our group and the general public made for a sizeable number of attendees, and despite the horrendous weather heading our way, a large number, myself included, were defiantly optimistic and only wore a t-shirt. The sensible people wore rain jackets or carried umbrellas. The only protection I had was a small plastic carrier bag for my small Canon camera. I was positive we'd be back at our cars before the watery onslaught. The park ranger who was heading our tour informed us the 'hike' would be about a mile. I would have preferred longer but with my dizzy head, (4th week of benign paroxysmal positional vertigo) and the rain, I counted myself lucky to at least be outdoors enjoying some fresh air while learning local history. I actually know the history of this particular battle but it's always nice to here the story again, new facts always pop up.

 We walked down to the newly refurbished Stone Bridge. The sky was a gun metal grey, the air dense with moisture. I was glad I had bare arms, even though I suspected I wouldn't make it back to the car unscathed. The ranger chatted about the battle, how the Union soldiers possessed better rifles, hoping to outgun and overwhelm the Confederates. The majority of the soldiers had no previous knowledge of battle, they hadn't even fired a gun before. I tried to imagine how it must have felt standing in their shoes, it must have been terrifying despite their bravery and courage.
Stone Bridge was destroyed after the war. The confederates blew it up, not wanting any traces of the battle remaining, It had originally been built in 1825 and after its destruction a wooden bridge was erected in 1862. The present design was built in the 1880's with traffic still using it until the 1920's. It has now been restored to perfection, the erosion damage and missing stones repaired and replaced using the original building techniques from the 1880's.
We walked along the river, the heavy clouds getting darker and hanging lower, occasional gusts of wind threatening a storm. Then as we walked under the canopy of leaves, splats of rain made their way through the cover and plopped heavily onto my head and arms. They felt refreshingly cool but I knew their growing intensity would mean a soaking. People pulled out umbrellas and jackets while a handful of us with no protection stood grinning ruefully at each other, and then once we left the shelter of the trees and stood on the edge of a field, the ranger stopped to explain the battle further. I packed the Canon into its plastic bag and resigned myself to a thorough soaking.

 Aesthetically, the best part of the walk for me were the beautiful blue flowers of chicory, also known as blue sailors, wild succory, coffeeweed, or cornflower. Their sturdy stems seeming to be made of wood. while the roots can be ground into a coffee substitute,  extracts from the roots and leaves can be used as a laxative or de-wormer for farm animals. Their bright blooms pop out of the greenery, delicate flowers swaying gently along footpaths and roadsides. They are my favorite summer flower and thankfully I can enjoy them from July until October.
About two thirds of the way through the hike, people began walking faster towards the parking lot and as the rain fell harder the tour was abandoned. Striding ahead I was back inside Stanley within a few minutes, wiping the rivulets of rain from my face and arms, my wet shirt clinging to me. But I wasn't going home. I drove to the visitors center to see if the living demonstrations were still on the schedule.

 In the distance I could see Henry House with Civil War style shelter tents erected and people in period outfits. It looked so authentic from where I stood, it was as though I'd stepped back in time. I was glad to see them, especially after last year's event being canceled due to worries of violence, another PC problem. I tire of this nonsense, there's no need to take sides. These events are simply re-enacting history, as accurately as possible, and history should not be forgotten, however tragic it may be. There was not a large public turnout and I wondered if this was for PC reasons or due to the weather. For purely selfish reasons I was glad of the low numbers, it meant I would get better photos, but I did feel sympathetic towards the reenactors, who stood in groups sheltering under the trees or beneath their tents. Yet they were all smiles if anyone approached with questions and it was evident that despite the weather the show would go on.

 The rebuilt Henry House and the small family graveyard, including Judith Henry, the first civilian casualty of the war.

Today the battlefields were a bright emerald green, and silent. So very different from how they must have appeared when men fought, yelling war cries with the constant thunder of cannons and rifle fire ricocheting across the valley. Only a few people were hiking the trails on this anniversary, and as I trudged through the grass, the blades heavy with water droplets from the unrelenting rain, I tried to imagine how it must have felt, trapped in that house, surrounded by bloody fighting on a hot and sultry day, and I failed. How could I realistically picture that, having had no experience even remotely close to a war? I wondered also if  the lush greenery I was walking across could have been the actual spot where a fallen soldier had once lain. It somehow seemed wrong to walkover this hallowed ground.

My favorite photo of the day, the grey skies with visible rain falling and grim determined faces of men as though going into battle. These men were marching to the field for a firing display. I had been concerned that they would cancel this because of the rain damping the gunpowder but was assured that their powder was dry for this event and shots would be fired. Excellent!

They were very considerate of us poor public who had been patiently waiting in the rain and set to their task with little delay. I was having serious problems trying to use the manual settings on my camera, focus the lens and hold my umbrella so the Sony wouldn't gt wet, so most of my photos were taken one handed. Unfortunately I became so engrossed in the action that my umbrella kept swaying then dipping to one side so I was constantly having to wipe my lens, but I still managed to press my shutter just as they pulled their triggers. The burned aroma of gunpowder drifted across to me as I hung over the split rail fencing. This style of fencing is commonly used in the parks and I asked if it had been used 150 years ago. I was told that landowners back then didn't have the time or resources to style this kind of railing and would simply have used thin saplings that didn't need splitting or cutting to form their fences.

After the small platoon had finished firing, there was a short break until they fired the cannon. I wasn't in a good position and didn't have a long enough lens to capture this adequately so I began to walk across the field towards the Stonewall Jackson monument. I managed to quickly spin round and photo the smoke as the cannon fired behind me, then with the rain pummeling my face I looked up at the gorgeous bronze statue looming above me. It had been daubed with paint just over a month ago but thankfully, no evidence of that desecration remained today. With all the political correctness currently in the world and many of the Confederate statues and memorials being taken down, I learned that they will stay, regardless, in all government parks. I was relieved to hear this. History cannot be eradicated and these monuments weren't erected to insult anyone. This particular monument is one of my favorites. I wouldn't care what side of the battle it represented. To me it represents human strength, loyalty and courage. And it's an incredible work of art. A magnificent, almost imposing example of art deco style, it was erected in 1940. Astride his horse, Little Sorrel, Stonewall Jackson towered above me, assertive and dauntless, as he stared across the battlefield, as though daring the enemy troops to approach. Close by is a stone pillar marking the spot where General Bernard Elliott Bee of South Carolina was killed. Just before he died he rallied his scattered troops by commanding them, "Form, form, there stands Jackson, like a stone wall. Rally behind the Virginians.”

 I shall return to photograph this powerful monument on another day when I don't have to juggle a camera and an umbrella against a monsoon. I packed up and walked the short distance to my dry car, grateful to the reenactors and park rangers who had made a dreary rainy day into one to remember.

A Moose locked up in PA

On Saturday I met up with Emily, Margie and Andrew to drive up to Tyrone, PA for a day's urbexing. We were meeting a few other DCUE members at the Moose Lodge, a building now closed down and ready for urbexers like us to photograph. The Moose Fraternity started in 1888 in Louisville, Kentucky, as a social club that raised funds for charities, and spread across the U.S. This lodge was built in 1927 and strikes an imposing presence on the street, tall walls of red brick with detailed moose heads on two sides.

The door was open when we arrived, others from our group already inside, the sound of their shutters snapping away. The hallway was dark and cool, the instantly recognizable odor of mold wafting across to greet us. We pulled our cameras from our bags and without a word spread apart, walking in to different rooms to get down to business. Greetings were sent out and received within the dark rooms from friends I hadn't seen for a while as I tiptoed through the puddles on the floor.

The lodge was shut down 11 years ago. Membership had been declining and the manager had become involved with local kids selling drugs. Charlie, our host, who is the president of the borough council, said the town, like many others in the U.S. had a drug problem, but he was firm in voicing that the town was sorting it out. The decay had set in fast throughout the building. There was water on the floor in many of the rooms and in one were huge fluffy globs of black mold clinging to floor tiles and broken furniture. I didn't stay in there. Many of the gang were collected in the bar area, taking photos of a stuffed moose, opening ledgers to photograph historic details. or carefully arranging dusty dull glassware on the bar top for an atmospheric capture. The ceiling looked like it had once been padded and held up at intervals with huge studs, once upon a time looking like huge cushions with a button in the middle. Now the plastic hung down like huge flaps of skin. This feature was drawing a lot of interest from the group so I headed for upstairs which would be less crowded.

Only a few others had made their way up here and I settled down, getting back into the business of taking photos. It felt like eons since I'd last been urbexing and used my Sony camera. Most of my recent activities have warranted only using my compact camera so it felt good to size up my shots using the viewfinder rather than looking at a screen. I walked slowly across the floor, in some places dusty and yet only a few feet further were shallow puddles of collected rainwater from recent storms. The windows reflected in the puddles fascinated me, this would be my best photo of the day. Wooden floorboards had buckled and twisted, reminding me of the floors at Lebow Clothing Factory, from many moons ago when I was an urbexing novice. The intricate plaster cornices still clung to the edges of the ceiling and I wondered if they would be saved during the renovation. I was amazed to find battered cobwebs still clinging to the old wooden gavel and admired the huge painted ceiling roses that added beauty to the broken decay around us.

The kitchen was open to the elements on one side, old rusty food tins piled up by the sink, but the gorgeous wooden cupboards held my attention. Still filled with unbroken and neatly stacked china, much of which bore a Moose insignia. Later as some of us waited outside when we were done, others had exited holding plates in their arms. Charlie had very kindly allowed us to take some souvenirs. So I went back into the dark, walking slowly as my eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine. I picked up a teacup and saucer and a couple of small plates.

We all lined up out front for a group photo by Liz Roll. It had been an interesting shoot and looks like there will be future trips, judging by the wait list for today's event, a lot of folks had been unable to attend due to the day being capped at 20, which had actually been the perfect number for attendance, any more and it would have been crowded.
The large upper windows at the front had all been bricked in, a result of local kids throwing rocks and breaking the glass. Charlie told us the building will be renovated and transformed into a military museum. He's already received about 500 uniforms from other branches, some from WWI, even one from the Army Air Force. He's optimistic that the museum will be open within two years. He came across as a very determined gentleman. When one of our group asked about the building next door, Charlie explained that the YMCA had been a beautiful building but was torn down. The owner had not got the funds to renovate it and was told he had to demolish it or receive a daily fine of $1000 while it stood. Charlie informed us that the town rules had been changed since then. Looking about the quiet streets I noticed how clean it was and Charlie spoke proudly of the strong community spirit. I believed him, and will look forward to the development of the new museum.

After lunch our next stop was Bedford where Eric had set up a visit to explore the old county jail. Built in 1895 it was a jail for more than a century but is now a weaving business on the ground level, beautiful yarns in balls or hanging in loops from the walls. The owner wasn't able to let us stay long as she had a sick lamb to care for, so a quick half hour was all we had, we all sympathized with her, and secretly I wished I could have given up my time at the prison to go visit the lamb instead.

It was certainly intriguing to investigate the old prison area. It was just a short corridor with cells on either side, and then on the far side of the cells were narrow corridors again so the inmates didn't have direct access to the windows. The walls were daubed with crude artwork and written phrases. the others spent a while photographing these, capturing every wall, but they held little interest for me. The shadows cast on the old payphone were more appealing and I loved the old floor. I was glad we couldn't stay long, I'd taken all the shots I wanted within 15 minutes.

We climbed stairs to a stifling floor where once the probation officers had resided. When used as a jail only the sheriff's office had A.C, the cell block had one solitary fan to waft down the prisoner hallway. The rest of the building likely felt as it did today, hot with air so humid, it was difficult to breathe. Down in the basement is a huge domed brick oven, once used to bake the break for the inmates. There was once a Pittsburg mafia inmate kept here for his own protection, no doubt receiving better treatment than his peers, and likely a better diet than bread and water.
The Old Bedford prison is up for sale, now reduced to $399,000. so anyone interested in using this as a residence would be able to party like a jailbird, free crayons thrown in to decorate the walls!

Eric Brown took another group shot of us outside the building and then we drove to a couple of interesting attractions nearby in the town.

Dunkle's Gulf gas station, just down the road, dates back to 1933 and is beautifully decorated in the art deco style. Still functioning as a gas station, it is obviously meticulously maintained and was a gem to see up close, all the tiles looking like brand new. It's still operational as a gas station, the only place to gas up along the Lincoln Highway.

The Coffee Pot, was just around the corner. Although this was a wonderful oddity to see perched up on the hill, it was disappointing inside. We peered through the door window expecting to see tiny tables with colored or checkered tablecloths and a cute counter with coffee machines and lots of quaint artwork with historic photos, but no. Just an old pasting table was set up, a boring empty counter was on one side, and it certainly wasn't selling coffee any more. but at least it's been restored on the outside, it's certainly eye-catching!
Our little group parted from the others who were going to start on their way home. We decided to meander through rural roads to see if we could discover any other abandonments or wonderful sightings. We laughed at Margie who we briefly dropped off at a thrift store and then came back to find her rummaging in what looked like old battered boxes with equally suspect material inside. We chuckled as she walked to the car clutching a few pieces of clothing but then our jaws dropped in amazement as she casually announced the directions to a local chemical plant that was abandoned. She'd been chatting to the owner of the store who had readily given up this information and supplied what seemed to be detailed directions. Unfortunately, either all 4 of us weren't paying adequate attention or Margie had somehow not remembered all of the information but we didn't find the location. but that didn't really matter, the best part was how Margie had come up trumps while we were all sniggering.

A few miles down twisty windy roads Andrew spotted an old truck nestling low in tall grass on a hill. We climbed a dusty track, furrowed by past rains and discovered a small fleet of relics quietly rusting away. I regretted not wearing long trousers as I trudged through the vegetation, sharp brambles and thorns scratching my legs, and no doubt I was getting bitten too.A handsome Ebony Jewelwing dragonfly settled on large green leaves, showing off his splendor and allowing me close enough to take a photo. His brilliance was magnificent, so unfair that his lifespan as a flying adult is only about two weeks.

The sun was beginning to dip as we drove along Rte 30. Just as I slowed to stop for an old abandoned house, Andrew yelled out, pointing, excited to finally be able to stop and photograph the old building after years of driving past it. I thought it had once been a restaurant but after stepping inside it was apparent that it had been a residence. The floors were rotten towards the back but the stairs were fairly solid. Traffic was whizzing noisily past outside as we explored the hot, dusty bare rooms, but when this was first built the now busy road must have been just a quiet, narrow horse lane that passed by. The views out the back were outstanding, looking through the trees at a vast valley with mountains in the background, now in pastels of pink, peach and blue. We took photos in the golden light and stood, just admiring the scenery and trying to imagine how wonderful it must have been to eat dinner or enjoy a beverage while having such a stunning landscape outside the huge windows.

Further down the road we stopped at an old Shell service station in Mercersburg, PA.

 I was shocked to see the scene above which I captured from Google Street View. The historic renovation could only have been done in very recent years. what a transformation!
While searching online for information on the building I came across this poignant article of a resident who'd been asked to write about his childhood in the town during the 40's and 50's. I got lost in it for a while, very well written.

My last photo of the day was of another old empty house on the way home. The neighbors next door were having an outdoor function but took no notice of us as we wandered  around the outside looking for a way in. But peering through the windows revealed an uninteresting interior so we took our last shots as the light faded, enjoying the coolness of the tall grass and fragrant creeping charlie as we crouched down for our photos, Fireflies slowly began to dance around us and began to sparkle and flicker a farewell as we left for the final leg home.