Grandpa and the Old Clay Spring Camp

The Medix Run area has been familiar to my family for generations, dating back to the 1930's. The area's hills, valleys, and streams are one of the more rural and remote places a person could find in Pennsylvania. In my mind, the only area that comes up as more isolated would be northeast of Medix Run in a region known as Potter and Tioga Counties. The Medix Run area and the larger area, Benezette, have become extremely popular in recent years since the reintroduction of the Pennsylvania wild elk herd, which has grown immensely.

It began with my great-grandfather Edwin Say traveling up to what was called the Old Clay Spring camp to hunt every year with a group of men. Eventually, when my grandfather came of age, he began the annual trips up to the camp. My grandpa Don once stated in one of his writings that it was at the Clay Spring Camp that 'one of the men from the camp had reminisced that some of the best sermons he ever heard given, came from a minister named Tom Steenbergen on Sunday mornings as he stood atop an empty beer case. It is also said that Steenbergen was also a mover and shaker of the local women.' One of these times, I hope to write down some of the stories regarding this Purveyor of Purificators.

Eventually, the men stopped going up to the Clay Spring Camp. My Uncle Gerald, a brother in law to Grandpa, eventually built a cabin not far from where the Clay Spring Camp had been located. Gerald's cabin was very basic and rustic. It was a place where Grandpa and Gerald would meet and spend much time the following forty-plus years. To get to the place, one would turn off the main highway and travel down side roads. Eventually you would come to a turnoff where you drove on a path made of two tire tracks. In time, you came to a clearing that was surrounded by tall trees. At the center was the camp. It was a simple building consisting of two rooms. Gerald had built the original one-room camp in the early '60s, I believe. Eventually, he added a second room off to the left side of the cabin, where there were three sets of bunk beds. As you entered the main cabin, the dinner table sat to the left, leaning up against the cabin wall. To the right stood an old refrigerator, probably from the 1940s. Of course, it was simply for storing stuff as the building had no electricity. Just past that, built up against the right wall, was a 'sink' and a small counter space. A chair facing opposite divided the 'kitchen' from the 'living room.' To the right of the chair was a rocking chair. In the back center sat an old potbelly stove, which was a source of heat for the room when you fed it wood from the stack that leaned against the cabin wall outside. In the far left corner stood a bed. In front of that, to the left of the bed, was a well-worn couch, though it would be called today a love seat. Of course, the couch had seen better days. Little pieces of it appeared to have been claimed and taken by the residing musculus that inhabited the cabin. The lighting for the cabin came from a combination of kerosene lanterns and lamps that were stationed throughout the room. I remember sitting in the chairs reading old Zane Grey books by kerosene lamplight as the potbelly stove grumbled with hunger pangs from the fire that burned inside it. 

Outback of the cabin, just to the right, stood tall the outbuilding where one could sit and ponder the world's matters while making a deposit in the porcelain bank. Of course, if that was not enough, there, next to where one sat, was a stack of reader's digests from the last couple of decades. It was always a wonder if they were for reading or for when the musculus' had stolen the toilet paper. A few hundred yards on the other side of the cabin lay a spring that bubbled up from the ground. This is the water that would be collected with buckets for drinking, cooking, and cleaning up.

It was towards the end of September of my senior year of high school. I was super excited as we had made plans to go up to Uncle Gerald's camp for a Friday through Sunday. Uncle Gerald, my father, and I planned to ride up together and then my Grandfather Don would meet us up there at the cabin, as he would be coming down from his place in Potter County, which was two hours away. The light came up to greet us that autumn Friday morning, with a fall chill in the air. It was almost as if you could smell the leaves changing around you. Both Dad and I had packed our bags. We threw them in the car and headed to Callensburg, Pennsylvania, where Uncle Gerald lived. After pulling up into the driveway next to his pickup truck, we got out of the car. I glanced over and saw Uncle Gerald leaning up against the back tailgate of the pickup truck. He was dressed in overalls and wearing a Woolrich hunting coat. Of course, he had his old flapjack hat perched on top of his head. In both of his hands, he held canes; this was the result of gout that had ravaged his ankles and feet. 'Hello, Uncle Gerald,' I said with excitement. 'Well, hello there,' he responded with his slow, unique drawl as we reached out and shook each other's hands. After Dad had shaken his hand, he commented, 'Gerald, I see you have the truck already loaded up.' As he peered into the back of the truck. ' Well, yes.' Gerald's responded again in his typical slow drawl. Before long, Dad and I had thrown our stuff in the back of the truck, and the three of us were sitting in the cab. I was in the middle while Dad sat in the passenger seat, and Uncle Gerald was in the driver's seat. We pulled out of the driveway and sped down the road, at a whopping 45 miles an hour, to my dread. We did not stray from that speed the whole way up, whether we were on the highway or not. After a couple of hours and many stories, we turned off the road and onto those two worn tracks that led to the cabin. The leaves were changing from green to bright oranges, reds,  and browns. They seemed to fall around the truck as if celebrating our arrival. We got out of the truck and were greeted with the chilly fall air of Medix Run. The ground was damp, the moss covering it, collecting the fall moisture. A new layer of leaves covered it, on top of the leaves from years' before, layered like a down blanket. The sun introduced herself warmly through the trees, illuminating the colors. It was as if she used the fall-autumn leaves to magnify the colors of the woods. Gerald slowly made his way up the stairs to the front door of the cabin. After unlocking the door, we began unloading the truck, taking the cooler packed full of food out along with all of our stuff. We carried it all in, leaving the cooler on the front porch where it would stay cold in the fall air. Each of us claimed our beds, rolling out our sleeping bags where we would sleep the next couple of nights, Uncle Gerald claiming the bed next to the potbelly stove. Soon enough, we had unpacked our stuff. Now, our attention turned to the task of loading up the fridge. While this was being done, Dad gathered the lanterns and lamps to be topped off, lit, and put back into their places. I grabbed the bucket and made my way outside to the spring to collect water. The air was still as I stepped outside. I made my way down the front steps and around the cabin to the spring. I slowly dipped the bucket into the water. The birds whistled to each other in their aves language. The squirrels chirred their dissatisfaction, apparently due to an intruder disturbing their fall routine. Off in the distance, a murder of crows gossiping to each other incessantly. I gathered the water and slowly walked back to the kitchen. After everything was in place, the three of us sat down for a lunch of cold cuts. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. Grandpa Don would be pulling in any time now.

We moved to various chairs and began reading through a book or magazine. The space was quiet and still as I listened to the clock tick by on its relentless march through time. Before long, the steady snores were emulating from the chairs that had claimed both Dad and Gerald, most likely encouraged by the warmth emulating from the stove. Before we knew it, it was 5:30, and the sun was almost completely set. The shadows had joined forces in the cabin as the light from the lamps illuminated brighter. Everyone began to rouse from where they had been. The talk was about getting dinner started. It was then that it dawned on us that Grandpa Don had not shown up yet. There was a feeling of concern that hung in the room, though I was the only one that seemed to acknowledge its presence. Grandpa was never late for anything. We slowly prepared dinner; I think the slowness was partially because we continued to wait for Grandpa to show up. Finally, it became apparent that we would need to eat dinner on our own. Dinner was eaten, and we cleaned up. We then sat at the table, sipping on coffee and talking. My mind was on the fact the grandpa had not shown up. It was 1999, so the idea of using a cell phone was nonexistent.

The darkness had gathered around the cabin outside. Suddenly, there were lights bouncing off the trees, and we could hear the sound of a truck. All three of us made our way out onto the porch. I went down the stairs and met Grandpa as he opened the door of his truck. ' hello!' he said as he always did, with a deep chuckle. ' Can I help you bring in your stuff?' I asked. ' Sure.' he responded. I walked to the other side, opened the door, took his belongings out, and shut the door behind me. He got out of the truck and made his way to the front steps. It was very odd because he stumbled quite a bit as he neared the porch. I had a brief thought that maybe he had been drinking. I knew that he occasionally would imbibe but had never really been around him when he did; this might have been due to my father being in recovery. Either way, I shrugged it off, and we all made our way back into the cabin. After Grandpa was settled in, we got him some food and then sat around the table talking as he ate. He mentioned that it had taken a lot longer than he had expected to get down to Medix Run from Hemlock Lane. In all actuality, it had taken him eight hours. When we heard this, we were simply confused because it typically would take about two hours, maybe two and a half. He then spoke about how, during the trip, he had pulled over to take a nap. An asshole, as he described a passerby, had stopped and checked on him because his truck was partially on the road. He had reassured the stranger that he was fine, who then left him. Dad and I traded glances as he spoke about this. I made a mental note that something was definitely not right. After Grandpa had finished dinner, we sat and talked. Slowly the room disappeared as Gerald and Grandpa told the stories. Before long, we were following the sounds of hounds as they chased raccoons through the darkness in the river bottoms of Clarion County. The scene would fade and morph into haying season up on the upper place where Grandpa had spent his youth farming. Then the scene would change to a snowy day during deer season, and so the stories went. Eventually the cabin room where we all sat reappeared where we agreed that none of us had realized the time, and so we said good night and went to bed.

The following morning, Saturday, we all slowly woke up. Gerald put the coffee percolator on the stove to heat up. Before long, the magical smell of coffee began to fill the room. Gerald was busy whipping up buckwheat pancakes and cooking a side of bacon. We all noticed that Grandpa still had that unnatural gait like that of a drunkard. The day slowly passed by with each story that was told. The Clay Spring Camp was brought up during the course of the different stories and conversations. Grandpa said that he would enjoy walking back into the woods to show us where the camp had once stood. I grabbed my coat along with my dad's. Grandpa said that he was not going to wear his usual coat. Instead, he put on a light red American Eagle jacket, which we thought odd as there was a cold chill in the air outside. Gerald informed us that he was going to stay at the cabin as he did not think he would be able to make the hike due to his severe gout. 

Even today, it is hard to articulate the events that transpired. Grandpa, Dad, and I slowly made our way back through the woods. Grandpa would sway to the left and right, reaching for tree branches to steady himself. The ominous gray clouds that peaked through the trees embraced the feelings that my father and I had as we followed behind Grandpa. There was a hush in the woods as we walked, unlike the day before, as if a thousand little eyes looked at us in quiet trepidation. The air kissed our noses with its moist, cold touch. Eventually, we came to a clearing, which actually was a right of way for a power line, the trees thick on the other side. We gradually walked across it through the tall weeds. Grandpa's pace would begin to quicken, and both Dad and I would hurry to keep up. Suddenly, Grandpa tripped and fell into the weeds. We rushed up next to him and asked if he was ok. 'Yeah, I am fine,' he growled,' those damn weeds got me.' We helped him up and then continued on, the scene replaying every couple dozen steps. We entered the woods on the other side and continued the pace that would suddenly quicken and then stop, at which time he would either grasp at a tree to steady himself or fall. With each action, I became more emotional. I believe that feeling that I had on that day, as I watched my grandfather, was a foreshadowing of the future. You see, I wanted to fix the situation. I wanted to figure out what was wrong with Grandpa and fix it, but I couldn't, and in all reality, he would not have allowed me. Although I had not spent a lot of time with my grandfather, he had always been bigger than life. Through my eyes, he had always seemed like a big barrel-chested man; that time could not hurt, but that was not the case now.

Finally, Dad and I convinced him that we did not need to go any further. Holding onto a sapling, Grandpa spoke more about the camp. At that point, I really did not care about the camp anymore. I simply wanted to get Grandpa back to the cabin with Gerald. We turned around and slowly retraced our steps. Grandpa would start to stumble, and I would reach out to catch him. He would rebuke me, and then we continued on. Eventually, having made it back to the right of way, we crossed the clearing; the speed of Grandpa's gate quickened to a near jog, and then he collapsed. Reaching down, I attempted to help my grandfather up, and again, I was rebuked. 'Don,' my dad exclaimed in exasperation,' You need to let me and your grandson help you back. It is obvious that you need help.' With that, Grandpa finally agreed. Dad and I helped him up, and he placed his hand on my shoulder. Slowly, we made our way back to the cabin where Gerald waited. 

That evening was much more somber. I am not sure if it was because no one wanted to talk about the obvious elephant in the room. The shadows seemed to deftly creep closer to the light. The following morning we started to pack up. The cabin was chilly as if the stove was giving us a warning that winter was well on its way. Grandpa kept trying to get up from his chair to help, and we would reassure him that we did not need help. Soon, everything had been put away. The sleeping bags were rolled up and placed in the back of the truck. The lanterns and lamps were extinguished and put back in their places. The food was placed back in the cooler and slid into the back of the truck. I took the bucket out one last time to get water from the spring. As I walked, I wondered to myself if I would ever be back to Medix Run again. After filling the bucket one last time, I trudged back to the cabin. The color had seemed to fade around me. The breeze suddenly was a cold wind, as if it had realized the situation. I rounded the corner of the cabin, walked up the stairs, and into the kitchen. I grabbed a rag, dipped it into the bucket of cold water, and began to wipe the counter. I then dipped it back into the bucket and rang it out. I repeated it with the table. After everything had been completed, we all sat back down at the table. A feeling of trepidation again filled me as I thought about Grandpa and how and if he could make it back home. 'Here, Nate, I wanted you to have this.' Grandpa interrupted my thoughts. As I looked up, I saw him holding the red American Eagle jacket in front of him. 'I want to make sure you stay warm.' he stated. 'Are you sure you don't need it?' I asked. 'No, I will be fine.' Was his response. It was agreed upon after much insistence that Grandpa would give us a call when he made it home to let us know that he was ok. I helped him to his truck and watched as he slowly backed around. Then he pulled down the trail leading away from the cabin and disappeared behind trees. 

The hint of a premonition that had introduced itself to me at the spring as I gathered that bucket of water came true; it was the last time. It was the last time my grandfather was ever down at the cabin in Medix Run. In the following weeks, Grandpa was diagnosed with an inoperable tumor in his brain. Because of the pressure that it put on his brain, it caused him to lose the ability to keep his balance, let alone walk. Eventually, it caused the same symptoms as Alzheimer's disease as it grew. It was the last time that I saw my grandfather outside of a hospital or nursing home room. That was the last time that I ever traveled up to Medix Run. Time passed, and eventually, Gerald became too old to care for the cabin, and it was given away.

My grandfather lay in a nursing home for the following two years. I would visit him at every opportunity that I had. In some ways, I kept up hope that one day after walking into his room, he would suddenly be back to his old self.

I received a phone call in June of 2001 that I needed to see him. I drove what typically took a good hour and a half in forty- five minutes. The night was dark outside. I went to the second floor and quietly walked into his room. A curtain had been pulled around his bed. I was greeted by my uncle and aunt along with Marg. They moved and allowed me to step close to the bed. I gently slid my hand into his frail hand. ' I love you so much Grandpa.' I said. I fought to keep the tears in. His breathing was rapid, his barrel chest rising rapidly every second. My vision was blurred as every muscle fought not to allow the tears to flow. Eventually, it was time; I bent over and kissed his forehead. I told him again that I loved him, and then I let go of his hand. I gave hugs to everyone in the room and then walked out. I was told later that it was briefly after I had left that he took his final breath.

I am sure that if one were to find the path that led to the cabin up there in Medix Run, they would still find those tall trees that seemed to stand guard. Each step taken would be greeted with that carpet of moss and a new cover of leaves added to that down-leafy blanket. If they were to listen closely, I am sure that the birds would talk to them about the times that were missed. The squirrels would pick up where they had left off with their disparaging remarks and disdain for the interruptions. In the distance, the murder of crows would continue on with their gossip.

My grandfather once wrote, 'But memories will dim and words will fade, and we have to hope that one of the younger group will take up the thread and write a page.' I have read that excerpt many times. It is at this present time that I pick up the pen, continue the thread, and attempt to write a page.

“A life is a moment in season. A life is one snowfall. A life is one autumn day.” — Alan Lightman