Cook Forest

  I have a place in my mind’s eye, as I sit here in my office.  There is a hint of what I envision surrounding me as I sit in my swivel chair.  The hint is found in the wood paneling.  The place in my mind is Cook Forest.  Let us be clear on the Cook part.  There is no 's making it Cook’s Forest, a common mistake my kids like to correct each other on.  I know this for a fact because I used to give Cook an extra S until the rustic timber signs, that grace most State Parks, corrected me as I got older.
  Cook Forest is a place of history, my family history.  I have been going there since I was 16 years old.  Wait, I take that back.  I was 16 the first time my Mom took all my siblings while I was left to stay with my Dad, who had to work.  Something about teenage attitude.  Whatever.  It’s been over thirty years that this forest has welcomed my family for a week out of every summer.
  We started in a single River cabin when it was my family of origin.  My Mom and Dad and us twelve children.  I can still hear shouts of laughter mixed with the scent of popcorn as it softly rained outside, calling for game night inside.

  Eventually, as we grew into family units of our       own, we moved to the Indian cabins.  These tiny,
single-room, log cabins with chinking, held us for a few years until the babies kept coming and we returned to the original large River cabins on the upper tier.  This is the best place to see if the Clarion River is full enough to go tubing.  It’s amazing how laughter from the river can bounce its echo up into the trees, like a call beckoning us to come play.

  There was one summer, July of 2004, when there were more tears than laughter.  That was the summer my Dad died.  Still, Cook Forest gathered us in.  Hugged in her trees, bathed in her river, we held one another and remembered Dad.

  My husband and I now bring our seven children to these rustic cabins that ALWAYS smell the same.  Each year, our vacation begins the same, with the kids running into the cabin, inhaling loudly and exhaling the words, “Coooook Foressst”.

  Traditionally, our cabin is framed in majestic trees which open to frame bright clusters of stars at
night while a campfire draws all of us together below.  We number about 60 now and take up all the River Cabins and three quarters of the Indian cabins.  You can imagine our campfire circles are pretty big.  When we descend on the Cooksburg Café for ice cream, we often fill every metal table, log bench, and every inch of standing room.  This is right next to the Café sign where the bats like to roost. Just a bit of extra fun.

  Yes, I like looking at this wood paneling in my office.  If I close my eyes long enough I can almost hear the whooshing of the wind that rustles through the tall trees in Cooksburg, PA.  I know what you’re thinking…Cooksburg has an S.  Just trust me on this…it’s COOK (no S) Forest and you should go if you get the chance.  Listen for the screams of laughter up on the hill.

I LOVE this Town!

  I LOVE my town, Erie, PA!  I can't help it-- the thought bursts through me every single time I walk the Peninsula.  I started my strolls there back in August and the beauty is mesmerizing no matter the day's weather or season.

   This summer, my daughters and I were captivated by the varying reactions from fellow walkers, runners and bike-riders.  We revisit these responses regularly...mostly while convulsed in giggles. 

   If you've walked Presque Isle on any sunny day during the warm months you'd already realize that the Karl Boyes multipurpose trail is exactly that, multi-purpose.  This is a shared path, with equal privilege given to all.  There is a courtesy reminder painted on the walk every so often asking all to KEEP RIGHT.  For those who travel...well, faster than I (ie, bike riders, roller bladers, skate boarders, and anyone jogging even at a snails pace,) the word seems to have secretly spread that you are to say, "ON YOUR LEFT," to let me know you are approaching behind me.  There's an element of excitement that is inherent in the fact that I will be run over if I don't move.  I truly appreciate the relish with which some announce this phrase, a sort of giddy power that I have no problem respecting.  This "On your left" is not posted anywhere to my knowledge-  therefore, a huge Congratulations to the verbal trendsetter who made it wildly popular!

 I've also noticed a genuine joy emanating from those bike riders who like to use their bell to alert us that we are about to be speed bumps if we choose to not share the path.  My teen-aged daughter and I delighted in the bikers who were prepped and ready to ring the bell with the lever in position, fingers quivering with anticipation to let it RIIIING...when we hear them coming and move over before their arrival.  The let-down of the moment is announced in the deflated "ting" as they depress the lever and utter a sad and unnecessary, "on your left" as if we'd just stolen their glorious, metallic punch-line.  

  Then there are the wonderfully gleeful "Good morning!,"  "Beautiful day today," and "Hello"'s  that highlight what a pleasant microcosm of our town's friendliest folks I am sharing the walk with.  Of course these greetings have offered their share of mirth based on the level of exertion said greeter is in whilst exercising.  A+ for effort to the perspiring runner who tried extending a "Good morning" which morphed into a breathy, croaked out "Meeahh" with a two fingers raised in a tired salutation.  I could only giggle because my level of breathing was barely challenged at my slowpoke pace. 

   There is a sense of comradery, civility, and kindness that seems to be inspired by the beautiful environment.  And it's no wonder, the panoramic view of Erie's skyline is stretched along views of an ever changing Bay.  At times I'm energized by the stark white clouds that invade the bluest of skies over top choppy waters that reach up to tempt birds that dare fly so low.  In contrast there have been moments that seem to have read my mood and offer serenity in the mist that hovers over tranquil waters which lap the low stones in a soothing effort to offer compassion.  With all this beauty in one tiny corner of this place I call home- I recognize how blessed I am to have been raised here and returned years later to raise a family.  I LOVE my town <3