Yep. That is what Bogdan Yelcovich said.
So off we went to Bradford, Pennsylvania.
Of course by train. There was no charge to us as long as there was an empty seat or bunk in the caboose.
It was a nice ride.
We rode across this trestle but then hiked back to see it in all of its majesty.
It was a little scary as we went across in the caboose. We could not see anything but empty space below us.
Of course, being guys, we had to see how it was made.
We took a different route on our hike back to Bradford and had a nice surprise.
A beautiful log cabin.
The two occupants were very nice. They were the builder of the cabin and his wife.
They asked if we wished to see the inside. What a treat!
This was the mister’s room. I was admiring his Pennsylvania Long Rifle. He asked if I wished to shoot it. I must have been grinning like a kid with a new dog. He never waited for an answer and immediately took it down from the wall.
Of course both Bogdan and I had to shoot it.
Boy – – – that black powder sure made a big cloud of smoke.
When we went back in the missus had to show us her room.
She was so proud of it.
She actually used that wheel to spin flax. She told us that they raised the flax in the back yard. They would take small bundles of it and beat it on a log. It lost its covering and the remainder was stringy.
She was wearing an apron while she was talking to us. The missus told us she had made if from flax, spun it into string, and then wove it on her loom. It was really nice and she had dyed it with root colors from the garden.
She gave us some cool tea for our long walk back.
From the top of Harrisburg Hill we could see Bradford below us.
It was a great trip but we had to return to Scranton. They were expecting both of us in the railroad yard on Monday.
On the way back we saw a great fire at the Imperial Refinery. We could actually feel the heat as the caboose passed by.
And that was our trip to Bradford. We had a good memory and a bad memory; the nice old couple in the log cabin and this horrible fire in the refinery.
Memories are strange, arn’t they?
Sometimes we make more of them than was real. At other times we try to make less of them.
The following one I will never forget;
no matter how much I try to make less of it.