The Morgantowner: Cameron County, Pennsylvania

I didn't think I would get to visit a county this month as I usually do because of my six-week class on Thursday and the Jewish holidays throughout October. My county of choice was Camden, New Jersey, which is more than two hundred miles away, and requires two full days of exploration. An opening came up because Sukkot, which started Sunday night, is being observed at Tree of Life on Friday night. The traditional important parts of the eight day festival are the first and last days, this year Sunday night and Monday, two weeks in a row. I thought I couldn't get away. The county after Camden is Cameron County, Pennsylvania, in the north central part of the state. The county population is less than 6,000 and the distance is just under two hundred miles, so, by my own rules, I could go one day and come back the next.

My expectation was a place where people were poor, depressed and angry, with Trump signs on every lawn. I was pleasantly surprised. Not that there weren't some Trump signs, but there were also Clinton signs. The leaves were in full color in this mountain region, unlike in Morgantown, where most of the leaves are still green in this unseasonably warm October. The people I met were all upbeat and friendly. The Pennsylvania tourism people call this area "Wild Pennsylvania." The brochure talks about crafts and restaurants and pretty little towns. Cameron County is in the center of this district, less populous and touristy than the surrounding counties.

From Morgantown, I drove northeast on US 119, avoiding the Pennsylvania toll roads, and merging into US 219, which ultimately heads north to Buffalo, New York, not as far as one might imagine. I turned onto PA 120 in Ridgway to head east to Emporium, the county seat of Cameron County. I had sent an e-mail to a motel on the edge of town requesting a room. When I got there the clerk said that the e-mail system had been set up by a previous employee, and no one knew how to use it. She had a ledger where she wrote down my information. The motel looked like 1959, two rows of rooms facing a driveway. The room was small, and shabby, the internet iffy, the TV old. Still, it was clean and the hot water worked just fine. I haven't paid so little for a room in a long time.

PA-120 is Fourth Street, the main route in Emporium. The town is about a mile long and six blocks wide. North of town is a mountain; the railroad and another hill is south. There is a trail through town marked "snowmobiles." The temperature was still in the 70s October 16 and 17.

I visited the Chamber of Commerce / Artisan Store on 4th St. The docent was a woman in her sixties wearing a Boston Pops sweatshirt. I told her that seemed incongruous for a small town in Pennsylvania. She told me she was a retired teacher who used to take her honors history classes to Boston one year and Washington the next. She thought her kids should see what is possible in the world. She likes living in a small town. For culture they drive an hour and a half to Penn State in State College. She suggested I go see the herds of elk south and east of town and gave me directions. It turned out to be far, and the Elk Visitor Center was in the next county. There is a park on the way, set up so the elk will like it, with meadow and forest and fallen trees. Plants the elk like were planted there. Visitors can see the elk from a blind. I learned that the elk were imported from out West, since the local herds were exterminated early on. I didn't see any elk.

The enter of town boasts a Sheetz gas and convenience store, the one place open all night in the county. I bought a sandwich there for lunch. I found the courthouse, the library and the post office and walked much of Fourth St before heading out for the elk. I met a woman named Connie who saw me taking pictures on the street. She was with a friend, and also had a camera. She asked to take my picture, and I agreed, if I could take hers. Connie and her friend laughed when I asked if there was a mall in town. They shop at Wal-Mart in St. Mary's, 25 miles away.

Across from Sheetz is an ice cream stand, still open with outdoor seating. I got a chocolate cone from a pretty, smiling young woman.

After the invisible elk, I went back to the hotel, and slept deeply. I have not been well since Yom Kippur (Wednesday, October 12) and I had a flu shot on the fourteenth, which made things worse. I awoke just after six and felt awful. I got myself up and found a restaurant called The Cabin on Fourth St. I had a salad with chicken, hold the cheese and fries. I felt better after that.

I was back in the room by 7:30. There is nothing going on after dark, especially on a Sunday. We don't have a television that works (it's analog), so I watched "Once Upon A Time" a time-traveling show with Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde and Snow White living, apparently, in modern times as well as the past. I couldn't figure out what was going on. I was asleep by 10.

The motel has a restaurant open for breakfast and lunch, where groups of older people congregate. The menu offered different-sized portions. I had one sweet potato pancake, something I hadn't eaten before. I had tea, knowing enough to not ask for green tea. The bill was $4.50. I left a nice tip.

I thought I would leave town at 10, as Joe and I had been invited to dinner by the rabbi at Chabad, the Orthodox Jewish group in Morgantown. I walked the snowmobile trail through most of town, and found the abandoned factory, which apparently once made Sylvania light bulbs. There was an operational factory nearby- I could smell the fumes. It rained overnight and the clouds were entangled in the colorful mountains.

I drove home a much longer way, taking 120 east to Lock Haven, then I-99 and US 220 to I-68 near Cumberland, MD. PA-120 is a beautiful road along tributaries of the Susquehanna River, rocky cliffs, mountains of colored leaves, small towns, all in a valley shared with a railroad and the river. I stopped for lunch at Nittanny Mall, dying, near State College, and arrived home by four, in time for another nap before dinner in Chabad's sukkah.