Where The Winds Carry Prayers

Stark red rocks reflected changing light of early spring sunshine. I felt a pilgrim in this place, drawn to it – seeking, observing, absorbing, listening. Navigating the steep, rocky path from the dusty turnoff spot in a residential Sedona neighborhood, following the footprints of others who had gone ahead, I encountered a presence, a brief whisper of peace, the fleeting embrace of the sacred.

Amitabha Stupa and Peace Park

I was hurting that spring morning - grieving - numb from the loss of loved ones. I was hurting that spring morning, grieving, angry and sad, absorbing the fact that results - consequences - of the recent Presidential election - were going to be far worse than even the blueprint of Project 24 laid out, consequences that were leaving chaos in the lives of those I love.

And so, I sat, closed my eyes and listened - to the birds, and the soft sounds of distant wind chimes, and sometimes, the quiet, respectful voices around me.

The symbols in this place, this Stupa and Peace Park, seemed foreign to my faith tradition, but I was drawn to offer my prayers as I spun the prayer wheels and walked three times around the Stupa. And all the while, prayer flags, strung with intention everywhere in the peace park, were sending prayers heavenward on the breeze.

And so, I brought strings of flags home to Crandall Hill where they send our prayers, prayers for peace, compassion, strength and wisdom into the sky and beyond.

Prayer flags feature five colors:

1. Blue for sky and space, to bring wisdom and clarity

2. White for air and wind, to purify and bring harmony

3. Red for fire to inspire transformation and energy

4. Green for water to encourage balance and healing

5. Yellow for earth, encouraging stability

It is said this arrangement brings all the elements into harmony, blessing the space and everyone who passes by.

Dreaming

BFH in AZ
2019

I was dreaming last night of my mother, my mother in her last months, diminished, tired. But in my dream, I had a chance for a do-over, one where I would find the answer to save her, keep her here on this plane. It wouldn’t be codfish gravy. It wouldn’t be Grape Nut Bread, it wouldn’t be milk toast or tapioca pudding or ice cream. It would be just the thing to bring her back.

As often happens in dreams, I was heroic - pointing out anomalies to her trusted doctors, consulting with spiritual advisors like Dr. Todd, the imposing, impossibly old pastor of my youth, and finally looking for a plant that grew in the brackish water at the base of a huge water wheel.

It’s been a year - 12 months - since the calls from a Coudersport number I recognized as Cole Manor reached me in Arizona and this September, I was in Arizona again, half expecting that number to show up on the phone when it rings, while at the same time, knowing it wouldn't.

I woke up today, opening my eyes to a gray morning, just as I had reached the spot on a precipitous cliff under the waterwheel, ready to plunge to the depths to find the magic elixir.

Marketing

I spent the last third of my career in public relations - marketing - at our local hospital that bore the name of a local man whose generosity built the fine red brick edifice. As I navigated the changes that came fast and furious in those 18 years, I always took seriously my job to communicate - share -  information with the public. The bedrock was to always tell the truth.

Of course, it was my job to present information in the best possible light. But as I first began writing press releases, preparing advertisements and brochures, my boss cautioned me against using superlatives and to instead focus on presenting information patients and families could believe and trust as they made health care choices. 

That experience is why I was aghast at the way UPMC announced the pending closure of the unit in the Hospital formerly known as Long Term Care and/or Skilled Nursing and Rehabilitation and named "Cole Place" when UPMC assumed control of local health care.

UPMC and Sweden Valley Manor Announce Partnership To Enhance Long Term Care Services For Coudersport Residents

UPMC Cole and Sweden Valley Manor are pleased to announce a strengthened partnership that will elevate long-term care services for the Coudersport community. By early November, Cole Place, a skilled nursing facility located within UPMC Cole, will transfer its operations to Sweden Valley Manor, a skilled nursing facility located right across the street.

“This transition will offer Cole Place residents a truly beautiful, special place to live — one that feels just like home,” said Dan Glunk, M.D., interim president, UPMC Cole and UPMC Wellsboro. “Sweden Valley Manor is known for its personalized, compassionate care. This collaboration between UPMC Cole and Sweden Valley Manor builds on our longstanding partnership in caring for Potter County and beyond.”

I can't imagine that the team crafting these press releases - or even Dr. Glunk  – might possibly believe that any nursing home will feel "just like home." Home-like I might buy.

The latest press release was reminiscent of the way UPMC announced the end of labor and delivery at Potter County's only hospital, creating a seven-county area without hospital-based labor and delivery services. 

The announcement from UPMC on February 10, 2025: 

UPMC is taking steps to expand and enhance women’s health services throughout north central Pennsylvania. Our top priority is to provide every patient with high-quality care that is accessible and sustainable and ensure that every birthing parent receives the safest and most advanced care possible in a setting that offers enhanced resources and support.

The OB unit closed in April, despite the efforts of local government officials and a coordinated protest. 'Officials' would not budge and continued in promotion of the idea that the loss of services is an enhancement.

And in November, the lights will go off in Cole Place as they tell us it's an "elevation"

The marketing campaign engineered by UPMC is much like the marketing campaign launched by the MAGA movement, the kind of marketing foretold in Orwell's 1984.

“The party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.... And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed–if all records told the same tale–then the lie passed into history and became truth.” 

Heather Cox Richardson puts it this way: "They are engaged in a marketing campaign to establish Trump's false version of reality as truth. The White House has also brought into the press pool right wing influencers, who are asking questions that tee up opportunities for White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt to push administration talking points, which the influencers then amplify on social media."

September's Golden Light

The sun, the early September sun, hit goldenrod in the backyard field in a brilliance that colored the morning in burnished gold. And again, I was thankful for being in this place at this time.

Earlier, in the dusky hour before sunrise, I ventured out onto the back porch to check for evidence of overnight rain. Me, in my hideous bathrobe, my feet bare, treading across the boards I painted last summer, to the porch's edge where steps descend to a flagstone path. Only dew, the sky that dark rose color, and between the trees, a bright morning star blinked at me. I stood quietly and stretched, breathing the dampness, feeling the stillness. Breathe, remember to breathe. The day before me, goals set to accomplish, the coffee brewing in the kitchen inside, the man still abed upstairs.

And a truck, first in the distance, the sound carrying in the still morning. I tracked its progress across the flat, past the house where a Confederate flag has lately joined the Don't Tread on Me banner and the dueling pistols in the yard. Then up the hill known to the old-timers as Scott Hill, its light breaking at the top before gathering speed as it rumbled past, scattering leaves already fallen.

Another post generated in a 10-minute writing exercise with an online writing group on Thursday, a day of sunshine unlike today's gloominess. The group leader tasked us with writing a list of topics we wanted to explore that morning. I settled on this.

Heigh Ho Come To The Fair!

It was sweltering hot last Tuesday evening when we dumped out the change jar and harvested quarters and half-dollars for our annual trip to the Bingo hall at the Potter County Fair.

Potter County Fair, circa 1947

The county fair sets up late summer in the little village of Millport and that wide spot in the road to Olean bustles for a few days. The Potter County Fair publicity boasts that this is the 89th year, though it seems like only yesterday that I worked on putting together a tabloid section for The Potter County Leader dubbed "50 Years At The Fair".

Tuesday is the day Tri-County Rural Electric Cooperative offers its members $25 in food vouchers and a  free gift - an insulated re-useable shopping bag. There's also a chance to win other gifts like a flat screen tv. Once I won a slow cooker that I still use, though the handle on the lid broke off. Now there's a big wooden handle, crafted by Arthur who loves to solve small problems with flamboyant fixes.

We stood in long lines in the sweaty sunshine to get our hot dogs and sausage sandwiches, nearly everyone around us clutching their stack of Tri County vouchers. We saved just enough vouchers to buy two milkshakes - maple with real Potter County maple syrup - from the 4-H stand.

There was music - a band with guitars and drums covering recognizable rock and roll tunes from decades ago - in the pavilion and workers were setting up for an auction where fair organizers sell the entries in the baked goods categories to the highest bidder, all missing a piece or two carved out by the judges. Long tables in front of the stage as the band played on.

We walked through the horse barn, watched kids practicing their skills in the arena and bought a chance on the 4-H rabbit raffle during our quick walk through the goat and sheep barn. The kids decorate the stalls, some quite elaborately with streamers and pictures and even curtains. 

The 4-H building has been on the grounds for years and it's where the clubs from around the county display their work behind chicken wire so no one makes off with the quilts and woodworking and crafts and this year, tie dyed garments. I appreciate the work those youngsters do year after year, complete with project books to record their data. My year with 4-H in Gladys Simons' cooking class brought me a recipe for tuna noodle casserole I still use.

Someone had provided a bucket of sidewalk chalk with a sign encouraging us to share our favorite parts of the fair and though it was early in the week, already some had shared hastily-drawn flowers or autographs.

Then it was on to the commercial building and a visit with Linda and Carl Klingaman, manning the booth sponsored by Potter County Democrats. Potter County is bright red on the political spectrum and each year as long as I've been involved, there is debate at meetings of the Potter County Dems along about spring. Should we or should we not have a booth at the Fair? This year, the answer was yes and calls went out to volunteers to staff during late-afternoon and evening hours. It was a good-looking booth with tables to display t-shirts for sale and flyers touting the Democratic candidates, giveaways and a survey card to fill out to discover the issues that matter most to local voters. Linda's a high school classmate of mine and she's County Chairperson, working tirelessly to advance the cause of democracy.

While most of the folks avert their eyes as they pass by the booth and fasten their attention on the Rada cutlery right next door, there are a few who stop and surreptitiously slip a couple of bucks in the donation jar or engage in conversation of a friendly nature. 

And then there are the others. Linda related having found a Bible (actually a New Testament that was being distributed by the Gideons over in the next building) awaiting her on the table. It was face down, opened to a circled text from one of Paul's letters to Timothy. And the next day, there was another New Testament, face down, with another text circled. The guys at the Gideon table (and it's only men who are allowed to join - women are not welcome except as Auxiliary) pointed out that they have no control over what folks who accept the gift of scripture might do with those little volumes. 

Both Linda and I thought the admonishment in the circled texts could well describe the kind of 'leader' we have been handed in the election of Donald Trump – the kind of leader who might be described in Matthew 7: “ False prophets. They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves." or in Paul's letter to the Romans: "For such people are not serving our Lord Christ, but their own appetites. By smooth talk and flattery they deceive the minds of naive people."

Then it was on to the Bingo building where you can buy a double card for 50 cents and split the jackpot with the house if you win. But first, I retraced my steps to the 4-H building and grabbed a fresh blue chalk stick and found my spot to letter "POTTER COUNTY DEMS" in big bold letters.

(Once again, I am sharing from my writing practice. The prompt from which this flowed was "County Fair" and I wrote this today (Monday, August 4).

That Time I Poured Punch

On this day 55 years ago, I served punch and cookies at an open house celebration.

The newspaper clipping reports: 

Cookies, made by staff members and wives, and Russell Stover chocolates, courtesy of City News, were served with punch by Mary Domaleski and Jane Heimel. Essie Eimer presided over the guest book and Mary Miller, receptionist, directed the visitors.

It was Thursday of this week that I paid a quick visit to that "new office building," as I'd heard reports The Potter Enterprise (now known as The Potter Leader-Enterprise) office will be no more. The lettering on the big front windows has been painstakingly scraped off,  photo files, stacks of newspapers and even the lingering aura of cigarette smoke gone along with  the big sign above the door. I wondered as I pulled open the door to the entry way and made my way up the couple of steps, how many times I had done that before?

Gracious and personable Della, the local face of the Leader-Enterprise, was kind to allow me one last look at the office building that holds so many memories, though the door to the 'back room' was off limits as the new owner of the building has, for years, put that space to uses other than printing and publishing.

There may have been some courting
going on in that 'new building'
back in 1970 ...

Though I was part of the small-town printing and publishing business for nearly 20 years in one capacity or another, I sometimes forget how enterprising (no pun intended) the staff was in finding ways to boost revenue - ever striving to raise the advertising percentage ratio to make a little money.

The July 15, 1970 edition featured many advertisements like these:

Della tells me that the Leader-Enterprise will continue to be published with production and the rest of the business being coordinated through the Wellsboro office.

Though it's been decades since my dream of carrying on the family's newspaper tradition died, the closing of this chapter brings a whisper of loss. 

Celebrating Independence Day

 

Our teenage grandson is visiting us for a couple of weeks this summer and it makes me realize how different the world we inhabited as children in the 1950s and 1960s is from the fast-paced, highly connected world of 2025.

Of course, this is not a stunning insight!

I have the gift of my grandfather's writing to tell me of his childhood.

From 1958, when I was seven years old ...

I'm saving my nickels in my second childhood for celebrating the Fourth of July as I used to save pennies in my first. But there's a difference –

Over at Whitesville in childhood No. 1, I used to go to Landlord Jones' ice house, and dig and dig until I could find a piece of ice buried deep in sawdust. Then I dickered if the ice was a five- or 10- or 15-cent piece.

Mother had prepared the milk, eggs, flavoring – and what it takes. Then came the breaking the ice and packing it around the freezer can in the wooden tub, and turn and turn and turn!

The resulting ice cream - at last was satisfying of course – wonderful!

In childhood No. 2 –

Step in almost any store and buy the stuff, but it takes nickels rather than pennies and – 'taint half as good.

Advertising of Fourth of July celebrations –  One could count on a mammoth spread eagle and sure to be found were such expressions as 100 Guns at Sunrise, Music by Martial Band and Cornet Band, Grand Parade, Fantastic Parade, Patriotic Speech, Square Dance, Excursion Rates on All Railroads, Ox Roast, Spectacular Fireworks Display - or it might be called Pyrotechnical Extravaganza.

Times change – 

No longer do we drive Old Dobbin to town and tie her in the church sheds.

There ain't no Old Dobbin and there ain't no church sheds.  There ain't no pink lemonade –

There ain't even no peanut roaster with a little tin whistle so shrill it could be heard a long way off.

There ain't no fantastic parade. There ain't no greased pole to climb with a big two dollar on top!

Fourth of July – bah! If you should look for me that day, I can be found at Folly in the Nine Mile, seated in the shade by that dinky lake, maybe listening to the birds, or half asleep, dreaming of Fourth of July celebrations that were celebrations in childhood No. 1, or maybe listening to a ball game over the little portable radio.

If I get burns on my fingers, they will not come from firecrackers but may come from broiling a steak over a charcoal fire. Wistful thinking - look at the price of steaks! More likely I'll bust a bun and insert a wiener.

Here on Crandall Hill we shot off a few fireworks after sunset to celebrate the 249th birthday of our country.

I would have to bet that this custom (shared in my grandfather's column in 1968) wasn't part of anyone's Pyrotechnical Extravaganza in 2025!

"Shooting anvils" was a Fourth of July feature at celebrations when I was a small boy. We wonder if any reader of this column can remember such noise makers!

Just for your information we'll tell you how the trick was done. An anvil was placed on the ground well away from homes. On top of it was placed a piece of metal with a hole in it that would hold perhaps a quarter of a pound of gunpowder. On this was carefully balanced a second anvil.

Nearby was a wood fire that kept the end of a small steel rod red hot. The shooter touched a trail of gunpowder on the lower anvil, igniting the explosive. The top anvil may have gone 20 feet in the air. The explosion rocked the hills.

Loading the anvil and keeping fire to heat the rod was quite a task so the blasts did not come very close together.

That was how the trick was done some 80 years ago.

Update: It turns out I was not correct as I surmised anvil shooting was a thing of the past. Check out this report from July 4, 2025.