The Four Seasons of Snow

There are many fine and diverse places to live across this country, and I have had the privilege of living in a number of them.  Each has advantages and disadvantages, from climate to topography to the very definite differences in people and cultures.  This article is about Pennsylvania, and in particular, Franklin, PA.  Franklin is only one of many beautiful, beautiful towns in this most historic and scenic state.  If you have never spent much time in PA, you need to.    

I was born and raised in Northwest Pennsylvania, in a town called Franklin.  Next to “Springfield”, the name “Franklin” (after Ben Franklin) is the most common city/town name in the USA.  But Franklin, PA is no common town.   In fact, it is extraordinary.  Those who have lived there all their lives might not realize that.  I know I heard growing up that “there is nothing here”, etc.  But I have heard that absolutely EVERYWHERE I have lived. Until you move away from where you grew up, you probably don’t really know how special it is. Isn’t it funny how that works?  We don’t value the most obvious things in life until we don’t have them or until we experience alternatives that just don’t seem to measure up.  It takes a long time for us as individuals to admit to such a thing, as we humans have a natural tendency to view the grass elsewhere as greener, and we are too proud to admit otherwise when we find out it just isn’t true.   

I come back to Franklin about once a year, sometimes twice.  I return to visit my in-laws and to visit my Grandmother Lee, who has lived in the same house at 321 Pacific Street for 56 years.  She has a tremendous flower garden, and the primary objective of my pilgrimage here is to see each and every flower in it, listen to her describe what she is doing with each and every plant, and perhaps even have the privilege of helping her move something or lift something for her. But while I am doing these things, which are important only to me (and probably her), I have the privilege of also absorbing all the good things that I left behind in my hometown.

Let me tell you about these good things.  Franklin is nestled in the foothills of the Allegheny Mountains at the confluence of French Creek and the Allegheny River, the same Allegheny River that meets the Monongahela 70 miles downstream in Pittsburgh to form the Ohio.  The vistas in and around Franklin can be described as spectacular, peaceful, and historic.  The Venango County Courthouse is unquestionably among the most beautiful public buildings in the country.  Its glistening white towers provide stark contrast to the deep red body of the building.  The Courthouse bisects two extraordinarily large center-city parks, with real working fountains, a bandstand, and trees that seem larger than life.  Surrounding the park are homes that are 200 or more years old.  The main street in town, Liberty St., is lined with beautiful “Main St.” architecture that has been well maintained.  The residential architecture was born in the oil-rich 1800’s and early 1900’s.  Franklin, Oil City, and Titusville were literally the birthplace of the world oil industry, and the early barons have left behind their architectural marks in the form of great Victorian mansions, dozens and dozens of them.

Surrounding Franklin are many, many hills, and those hills are absolutely full of hardwood trees, thousands of square miles of them.  Pennsylvania means “Penn’s Woods”, and it is well named.  Those out west might think of PA as being a member of the East Coast Metro, but nothing could be further from the truth.  My brother, who also hales from Franklin, tells the story of standing in a garage in Oregon, with the garage full of deer slain by PA transplants.  The neighbors were ooing and awing about the kill.  One older fellow suggested that he didn’t think folks in PA knew much about hunting.  My brother, who was just a kid at the time, smiled, and in his understated way, told the fellow that people were hunting in PA before Oregon was even a place. And he was right.

Sprinkled among the hardwood forests are plateaus that are home to small Pennsylvania farms, farms with tremendous soil, hard-working people, and vistas that provide 90% of the pictures romanticizing the American family farm.  Big round hay bales in foggy fields with oodles of white-tail deer, turkey, bear, and coyotes form a countryside that is as beautiful and desirable as any in the entire nation. 

This particular trip coincided with Applefest, a typical and yet no-so-typical fall celebration that engages the entire town.  Craft booths, car shows, street sales, a 5-k race, music events, and many other attractions together help celebrate another part of Franklin’s rich history, a visit by Johnny Appleseed many generations ago.  We have been gone from Franklin for 16 years.  Walking around Applefest we get to see a lot of people that we have not seen in those 16 years.  And when we see them, they have faces that are familiar, but I just can’t put the name with them.  My wife, Gloria, is much better at attaching names than I.  For years, she worked in a local chiropractor’s office, and she knew everyone in town – at least those who were in pain.  Today their faces are both heavier and thinner, and their hair has whitened and thinned.  Children of the people we knew now have children, etc., etc.   

One thing that I love to do when in town is to drive by all the places I used to live.  I’m not sure why I like this; I guess it helps ground me.  Sometimes sitting there in front of those houses reminds me of bad times, and there were some in my childhood.  But increasingly over the years, those visits reinforce and actually revive the good times.  I love to go down to French Creek at the intersection of 11th and Otter, pick up some flat stones, and try to skip them the whole way across. And you what? I still can.  Half the stones on the other shore I put there between the ages of 7 and 17.

For the first five years I moved away, I didn’t care if I ever came back.  But now I look forward to it. And you know, at the same time, I am SO glad I moved away, not because of any of the bad things, but had I stayed, I am sure I never would have appreciated Franklin the way I do now. 

Is Franklin perfect?  Heavens no. It does have bad things. Can you believe that in Franklin, Little League parents get overly and emotionally involved with their child’s progress?  I swear, it’s true.  And in Franklin, there are some not-so-braggable local politics that occur from time to time.  Imagine that. High-school kids hang out and do undesirable things.  Yep, I’ve seen it.  And the economy is in a constant state of transition, and this past year, there was even a recession there.  These shocking things, of course, only happen in Franklin, PA. But if you can get past these things, it is a great place.

Looking beyond Franklin’s versions of those obvious common problems, it is easy for me to see and appreciate an extraordinary place, partly because of its natural beauty and historical significance, partly because that’s where my Grandma lives, and partly because it’s the only hometown I have.

Fellow Franklin Knights, don’t take your beautiful town (or your grandmothers) for granted.  Take my word for it. And if you are not from Franklin, perhaps you could take a minutes to reacquaint yourself with all the good things of your own hometown.   

Till next week,

Fred