A December Memory

When I was in junior high (middle school for you young folk), I spent a lot of time on my own exploring the quarries, slate dumps (huge, mountain-like piles of waste slate), woods, and fields of Slatington’s western border.  I always enjoyed my alone time. I still do.  There was no better place nor time than this area, especially after a snowfall. So quiet and still with beautiful views and no one around for miles.

Let me take you on a little walk. Those of you from Slatington may remember these places. I hope those who grew up elsewhere will indulge my reminiscence. I will try to paint a picture so you will understand why this place was so special to me.

I lived on Dowell Street. From my backyard you could see the slate dumps. After a snowfall they looked like huge servings of Cookies and Cream Ice Cream!  It was just a short walk to a steep path that took you down to Trout Creek. You had to cross the creek to get to the quarries and woods and fields.  I crossed at the train trestle, being careful not to slip on the snow. I don’t think I would have fit through the space between ties, but I didn’t want to get stuck in there either.  At the very end of the trestle there was another path that led through some trees, uphill to my destination.  It is steep, it is slippery, but I know this like the back of my hand.

At the top of this path is a small test quarry, maybe eight feet across and incredibly deep. I think these, there were several in the area, are the main reason our parents didn’t want us up there. But step around this quarry and take a few steps forward and I come to the most beautiful view in the area. To the left is the very large and very deep and very turquoise blue Pennsylvania quarry.  It is like a small lake. The color seems out of place and it it enhanced by the whiteness of the snow. Wow! To my right is a deep green quarry, maybe half the size of the Pennsylvania, with steep cliff walls that were filled with pigeons and scattered ledges of snow. I can’t remember the name of this quarry, but all of the quarries had names.

Between the two quarries, turquoise on the left and Kelly green on my right was a land bridge, maybe four feet across, that led to the other side.  This land bridge was, over time falling into the quarries. There were spots where there were huge fissures to avoid. I wonder now, fifty years later if that bridge is gone and there exists just one quarry. What color would it be? Maybe azure?

Getting to the other side of the quarries I come to a small woodlot with another path leading to the most peaceful place in this paradise.  It is simply a field. It’s December and nothing is growing so all I can see is an unmarked blanket of white, surrounded on one side by slate dumps and the other by trees. So quiet, it makes me stop to just be mindful of what I have in my life. Who knew that my meditation history would start in a secluded field high above my hometown.  When the trees were bare, like they were this December you could look down upon snowy Slatington, a very pretty sight.

I would walk through the field to the other end where there is a narrow gap between slate piles that leads out to the Old Road, not the Old Town Road!  From here I would walk down the, then dirt, road back to town.

December in a young boy’s paradise. Could it get any better than that?

I hope this little trip down memory lane brought back some memories from your childhood. Keep those memories in your heart, because most likely those places are no longer the same.