The Best Part of the Yuengling Brewery Tour Isn't Just the Beer

“The entrance was built for a horse and buggy, not a truck. I don’t want to be the first person to knock a brick out of the arch.” Chad cleared the bricks with only inches to spare. Most days, he backs his truck into the Yuengling brewery twice. He and his little Jack Russell dog named Bert collect the hops, corn, and barley discarded by the beer maker. The wet mixture falls from a shoot in the brewery above into his 15 ton dump truck. His tailgate drips making puddles on the worn floor and the air smells like beer. He delivers this brewer’s grain as feed for regional livestock. Chad is not part of the Yuengling Brewery tour. We just happened to encounter him on our trek up one of Pottsville’s seven hills to the Gift Shop entrance where our tour would begin.

Our tour guide Vicky told us we could
photograph anything in the
brewery except her. She warned us to respect her wish since she’d be our bartender later when it came time to sample the Yuengling products. Ed snapped 154 pictures, none of Vicky.

The Yuengling Brewery is America’s oldest brewery, family owned and operated since 1829. Both the National and State Historical Registers declared this distinct recognition during the country’s Bicentennial in 1976. A plaque on the brewery building acclaims this honor.

As our group moved through the brewery, Vicky explained the brewing process. More interesting than all the vats, kegs, cans, and other manufacturing equipment was how Yuengling responded to Prohibition with innovation. A vacant building across from the brewery stands as testament. The beer maker turned to ice cream production.

Yuengling also produced “near beers” malt-based beverages with less than .05% alcohol to survive that period. With the repeal of
Prohibition in 1933, Yuengling produced Winner Beer. Vicky told our group that Yuengling reacted to the end of Prohibition by shipping a truckload of Winner Beer to President Roosevelt at the White House.

A wall mural in the brewery celebrates the end of Prohibition. It features a smiling gray-haired man holding a bottle of Winner Beer in his hand. His other hand holds a mug with a frothy head raised for a celebratory quaff. By contrast, another mural depicts six scowling ladies. Their obviously didn’t like their job as bottle washers.

“I have the best job in the world,” declared the man watching the factory line. He watches the open cans of Yuengling rotate on a
conveyor, get filled with beer and then be sealed with the pop top lid. He posed for a photo then waved us along on our tour.

After that stop, I was beginning to get thirsty but we had one more stop on the tour before sampling Yuengling beers.

Vicky took us to the cave, a dimly lit underground cave where in the days prior to refrigeration the beer stayed cold. Unlike the cave our daughter took us to in Missouri (Connor’s Cave), the Yuengling cave had no bats and we could walk erect. I could feel the dampness and cold through my light sweater. Numerous passages went off from the main tunnel. Ed and I dallied for a few photos then caught up to the group in the Yuengling Bar where Vicky poured me drafts of Black & Tan and the Traditional Lager.

May 21, 2008

The Joys of a Family Visit

To date on our 10,000 Grand Tour, visiting family brings me the greatest joy. How else could I have experienced the fun of watching my grand-daughter Brianna pretend to be a princess? How else could I have smiled admiringly when she dressed in Aunt Suzie’s junior bridesmaid gown and twilled in front of the mirror? I would not have felt her loving hugs.

I would have missed the surprised look on my Mom’s face when I rang her doorbell on Mother’s Day and yelled “Surprise!” I would have forgotten about the home movies of The Farm and my First Holy Communion. Someone else would have placed flowers on Dad’s grave honoring him for Memorial Day.

I would have missed being with my stepson Jason and his wife Lisa when their baby waved on the hospital sonogram screen.

Family is the love that binds us, the source of joy.

Statistically, I am right in there with the 48% of leisure travelers who took one or more trips to visit family in the past year. What’s the matter with the rest of you? Look for a little joy, go see your family.

May 11 - 19, 2008

Remembering Thomas Bridge

Did you ever wonder why bridges constructed in the late 1800s and early 1900s were roofed? For practical purposes, a roof over the bridge protected the wooden deck, increasing the life of the bridge. I found a more interesting purpose in an Indiana County tourism booklet called “Explore Our Hidden Treasures”. It says: “Legend has it that farmers even found it easier to herd cattle across a covered bridge because of their resemblance to barns.” I know my Grandfather never herded his cows across Thomas Bridge in Indiana County, but it is possible that farmers long before Howard Sanford, Sr. did. Thomas Bridge dates back to 1879. Reconstruction occurred in 1998.

As a kid, my cousins and I became easily bored during family gatherings at The Farm up the way from the bridge on Jamison Road. We’d beg for permission to walk to the creek and the covered bridge. In the 60s, grade school kids could walk the country dirt roads without a parent. We’d amuse ourselves throwing stones in the creek and making Indian woops loud enough to echo in the cavernous covered bridge. Then, we’d safely return to the farm to roast marshmallows and swig cherry pop.

Ed and I visited Thomas Bridge on our trip to Pennsylvania. We left the coach in Greensburg and came in our Toyota Corolla. Vehicles under 12-feet high can drive through the bridge to cross Crooked Creek. The Prevost would never have fit.

Thomas Bridge is the only covered bridge in Indiana County still in use today. Last summer, we had visited another of Indiana County’s bridges, the Kitersburg Bridge which dates back to 1877. It also crosses Crooked Creek but is closed to traffic. I never played on this bridge but I enjoy the nostalgia of this old, historic bridge too.

May 17, 2008

I Still Love Going to The Farm

My Dad’s family always called the place simply “The Farm.”

Grandpa went there in his red truck each evening after putting in a day’s work as a police officer in Indiana. Sometimes Grandma would follow in her blue Oldsmobile at the end of her day. She worked as a buyer of china and glass for Troutman’s Department Store. They were an unlikely couple to own a farm. Still they tended the cows, one bull, chickens, geese, pigs, and a field of sheep.

Grandpa and Grandma did all the work at The Farm; our family enjoyed all the benefits. I was just a little kid back then so the 200-plus acres became a giant place to roam, huge compared to our suburban lot in Johnstown, and later Greensburg, where I lived with my parents.

At The Farm, I could chase kittens under the wooded porch, play the old Victrola in the second floor bedroom of the house, and eat grapes off the vine. In the spring, I watched Grandpa sheer the sheep. When it was bailing time, I looked forward to a hayride. In the fall, I would gather so many walnuts in metal bucket that my fingers turned black and I could barely manage the weight.

Grandma’s brothers – The Bobinets – would bring their families out to The Farm for bacon roasts, a tradition I fondly remember. My cousins and I could walk to Crooked Creek and Thomas Covered Bridge or take turns riding the swing attached to the big tree in the front yard.

No one lived at The Farm except for a short time when Grandma let her sister Helen have the run of the place until she and her husband could get back of their feet.

My Mom once said that The Farm killed Grandpa. Those are strong words. He did have a stroke one evening out there alone and the tractor toppled over. Grandma found him and got help. I’m not sure how long he waited for a rescue. And, I guess he was lucky that she found him. Very few cars went down Jamison Road back in those days. After Grandpa passed away, Grandma sold The Farm. It passed to the Fyock Family in 1969. They still own it today.

Last August, I tried to find The Farm but I ended up at a place that looked like what I remembered it to be. Neighbors confirmed that I was of course wrong. This time – May 2008 – I had directions from my cousin Bobby. Ed and I successfully found The Farm.

We were fortunate that Ben Fyock happened to be visiting his Mom when we arrived. He enjoyed showing us around and even pulled out some old family movies to show me the farm as it stood in 1969 when his family bought the farm from Grandma.

Much has changed. The house was renovated for the Fyock Family saving only the frame. Inside, it’s modernized. They preserved the original stairway banister keeping it polished to a high sheen. The wide wooden door frames remain upstairs. Ben told us his Dad used the bricks from the two interior fireplaces for the outside chimney. There’s a new single-car garage behind the house. The spring house is in bad shape inside, but still standing. A flower garden surrounds it. All the other out buildings are gone – chicken coop, pig pen, and sheep shed. The stones leading up to the house from the road and under the big tree still wobble. The grape arbors are gone and there are no farm animals in the fields. The barbed wire fencing Dad and his brothers strung on the railroad ties they dug into the ground came down a long time ago. The barn has a new roof, no longer slate – and is painted white. The interior of the barn is very much like I remember it…stalls for cattle, hay loft, huge wooden ceiling beams, and rickety stairs. Some of the original property has been sold. The new neighboring landowner has a few horses, a new house and a red barn on the acreage. They added a pond too.

We had to step carefully around in the barn to get to an old wooden chest. Ben remembered that it had been on the property at the time when his family bought the property. We opened it carefully. Inside were old canning jars and a collection of empty baby food jars. Maybe Grandma left this behind. Who knows?

Ben called our attention to some of the things I would have never noticed as a kid or maybe even missed as an adult. He pointed out the stone foundation supporting the barn. We marveled at the massive size of some of the interior stones set along the barn door and as a base for some of the swinging wooden doors of the cattle stalls. Some of the ceiling beams were 18-feet long and still showed traces of bark from the original tree on the sides. He asked me about the history of the barn of which I knew nothing. We both agreed that barn construction was a marvel and could merit historic preservation.

When Ed and I set out to visit The Farm, I expected to simply shoot a few pictures and be on our way. But the experience turned into more. Ben, his Mom – Mrs. Fyock, and his little girl made our trip memorable. I sense they love The Farm just like I still do.

May 17, 2008

Grandma Patty, This is a Day I Will Never Forget

I held Brianna’s hand in mine as we walked up the red carpeted grand staircase of marble. We had come to the Westmoreland County Courthouse located on Main Street in downtown Greensburg, Pennsylvania. The Courthouse is a magnificent structure erected in 1906 that dominates the hilly landscape of our home town. Often Brianna had asked her Mom about the “big building” they pass regularly; today she and I went inside.

Security would not let me take my camera inside so believe me when I say Brianna’s eyes opened wide at the grandeur of the 85 foot cupola that extends up four floors. She punctuated her amazement saying, “Grandma Patty, this is a day I will never forget!”

Visitors can schedule an escorted tour, but I knew my way around the Courthouse. I had been there many times. For two summers in a row while in college, I worked in the mail room where I helped Evelyn Mills process the outgoing county mail through a Pitney Bowes postage machine. Years later, I became acquainted with Family Court and Domestic Relations through an unfortunate divorce from Brianna’s grandfather and subsequent custody and support proceedings. There’d be none of that marring our visit though it was apparent others were less fortunate. Court was in session.

Brianna pledged silence so we could go into one of the court rooms that a clerk assured us was “the most beautiful of all.” We quietly took in the coved ceiling, colorful murals, and globular chandeliers while District Attorney John Peck cross-examined a man alleged to be an accomplice in the robbery and murder of a Hempfield Township man in 2006. Before the testimony became graphic, we exited to the hallway. There, I tried to explain to Brianna that a judge and jury will decide if a bad man will need to go to jail.

“This is Brianna’s first trip to the Courthouse,” I causally told an attorney who noticed Brianna and me wandering around the circular mezzanine and leaning over the banister to get a better look at the cupola.

“Would you like to meet a Judge?” He asked Brianna. I answered “yes” for her.

Judge Marsili greeted Brianna wearing his official court robes. He told her that he thought the ceiling in his Family Court Room looked like an upside-down old fashioned bathtub. He pointed to the two round windows and shrugged, “I wonder why my windows here are round?” Then, he gave Brianna a silver badge in the shape of a star. He declared her an official Deputy Sheriff just like the man on duty in the court room.

In the Information Office, I bought Brianna a souvenir photograph of the Courthouse for her Mom to put in a memory scrapbook. The ladies there found goodies for Brianna too. She left their office with a Rubrics Cube, smiley face erasers, stickers and a pencil. Not to be outdone by the Judge or the ladies, the security guard who returned my checked camera to me had a law enforcement badge for Brianna.

“Here you go. You can be a police officer too,” he said handing Brianna the badge.

“I’d rather be a princess,” she said.

This will also be a day I will never forget!

Photos of the interior of the Westmoreland County Courthouse can be found online under History at http://www.co.westmoreland.pa.us

May 14, 2008

So Many Photos of Our RV Road Trip

When I was little, Dad would occasionally let me snap a photo. Film back then produced 12 black and white photos after taking the film for developing. On the last day of school in the 7^th grade, I was allowed to take a camera to school. I have a dozen color photos of friends playing four-square and clowning around in a long line of friends, no one wanted to create a second row. That summer when Moore’s invited me to their s cottage in the mountains, I had permission to take a camera.

Dad had a movie camera too. He got it when we moved to Greensburg in 1962. He was even stingier with this camera and its ability to capture life in seven minute segments. I used his movie camera to make a film of water pollution for the Ecology Club at Hempfield High School. After all, the film was educational. I lost my privilege to use the movie camera after a trip to the Jersey shore in 1972. I filmed some long-haired Hippies performing motorcycle stunts, not seagulls and the beach. Dad was outraged but never cut the segment from our family vacation 8mm movie.

My own kids came along beginning in 1982 and I wanted tons of photos. Heavy albums fill keepsake trunks stored at my Mom’s house. The recording of each occasion was limited to 24 or 36 photos. That’s all a roll could hold and film developing cut into the family budget. On vacations, I splurge and use two rolls of film.

Digital photography changed all that. Some days, I will shoot as many as 154 photos on my Olympus Stylus 800. Ed will even duplicate my shots with his Canon Power Shot S3 camera to get a different perspective. I delete some photos. The ones I save on my Dell Latitude laptop jog my memory as I write in my blog. I only post a handful on my blog. Once in a while, I’ll copy photos to a CD and send them to persons we meet on the road.

Not only has digital photography changed the number of photos I shoot. It has changed my willingness to be creative. Sometimes I look for the geometric shapes in a scene. Other times I try an unconventional angle. If it turns out poorly, I can simply delete it.

I use Picasa to edit my photos. I like the “I’m feeling lucky button” that enhances the shot automatically. I’m a big fan of the cropping feature too. I like to get rid of a small unnecessary detail or eliminate me from a shot when the pose is not flattering.

There are so many shots of our RV road trip that simply do not fit in my blog narratives. Some are a bit too personal to share like Ed munching a fish sandwich (he threatened me with divorce if I used that one) or the one of me crying as I said goodbye to Suzie. Some of the photos are simply redundant. But when it comes to photos, I’m not like my Dad. I’m not afraid to hand the camera to my four-year-old granddaughter. Let Brianna click away because I won’t be paying for film or developing.

On Mother’s Day Brianna took these photos of the family.

May 11, 2008

Ed + Patty = Love

As we walked through the Cumberland County Covered Bridge in Greenup, Illinois, I noticed a message scratched into the oak beams: “Emily + Jason Forever”. The “Forever” must have been short lived because the name Jason was barely visible beneath the Wite-Out painted over it. I suspect Emily had come back to edit the lovers commitment. If it had been “Ed + Patty = Love” pressed into the wood, the names would be aging.

Ed and I met for the first time on Sunday, May 7, 1995 at the Mountain View Inn in Greensburg, Pennsylvania. We arranged our breakfast date after searching The Network profiles for compatible people. Ed peeked from behind his shield of the Sunday Tribune-Review when I walked into the Mountain View lobby. He put the paper down, so he must have like the woman he saw. After a “get acquainted” breakfast, I impulsively hopped on the back of Ed’s Gold Wing motorcycle for a ride to Lynn Run State Park in Rector. I’ve been riding with him even since that day – first the bike, then a Miata sports car, next an MCI “house-on-wheels”, and now our luxury Prevost bus conversion motorhome.

We annually celebrate May 7^th just as if it were a wedding anniversary – we were married on October 3, 1997. No Wite-Out necessary.

May 7, 2008

Special thanks to The Covered Bridge Kids from Lake Land College who shared our visit at the bridge. We are especially grateful to Jaclyn Swigert for snapping multiple photos of Ed and I to commemorate the day.

Authenticity in Tourist Attractions? Unlikely

Just like adults who whisper at Christmas time about presents from Santa and the Mickey Mouse at Disney World who never acts out of character in the Magic Kingdom, I am hearing whispers and questioning what is real at the attractions we visit on our 10,000 Mile Grand Tour.

I will not question the authenticity of our experiences at January’s bloodless bullfight in Texas. The hand-pulled Los Ebanos Ferry crossing the Rio Grande River to Mexico was authentic. And, the alligators in St. Martin Lake were certainly not staged.

Let’s just say that I want to believe that what I am seeing and traveling to visit is real. I want to believe that the Evangeline Oak in Martinsville, Louisiana is the authentic oak Longfellow immortalized in his epic poetry. A retired professor told me the real one died and had been replaced many years ago.

I wanted to believe that I was standing in the kitchen, the bedroom, the authentic house where Abraham Lincoln’s parents lived in the 1840s. Thomas and Sara Lincoln did, in fact, live on the property at the Lincoln Log Cabin State Historic Site, but not in the house. A well-meaning volunteer told me the truth in an apologetic whisper. The original cabin had been dismantled and reassembled at the site of the 1933 Chicago World’s Fair. When the Fair ended, the cabin was disassembled again to be returned to Lerna, Illinois but it never reached the homestead farm. “Somehow, they lost the whole cabin,” he said with a shrug. “The barn and water well are original,” he added when he detected my disappointment.

I felt better about the Shiloh Church and Cemetery. There’s a worn monument surrounded by a protective fence marking Thomas and Sara Lincoln’s graves. It’s authentic. Community service clubs dedicated new markers to Abraham Lincoln’s father and stepmother nearby, a nice gesture but not what I consider authentic.

I must admit that my enthusiasm for attractions is becoming jaded. I’ll be wondering: Is it real? Is it reconstructed? Is it renovated? In truth, spare me. I really don’t want to know it’s not authentic; after all, I was the kid whose Dad whispered one day that Santa was a myth.

You can learn a lot about Abraham Lincoln, the 16^th President of the United States, simply be passing through central Illinois. Although there are countless places where he lived and left his mark on history, we only visited three of these places, two are mentioned in this blog entry. We also saw a notation at Cumberland County Covered Bridge in Greenup giving Lincoln credit for assisting with the building of the original span across the Embarras River. The bridge today is a reconstruction dedicated in September, 2000.

From Greenup, Illinois: Take Route 130 North, and then follow the signs to Lincoln Log Cabin Historic Site on Lincoln Highway Road in Lerna, IL. The Thomas Lincoln Cemetery and Shiloh Church are also along Lincoln Highway Road, 8 miles south of Charleston, IL.

May 6, 2008

We've Met Some of the Nicest People

When I studied at the University of Pittsburgh from 1973 to 1977, more the 21,000 students attended classes at the Oakland Campus. A student could get lost among the masses, but I decided to turn the student population into an opportunity. Every day, I tried to meet at least one new person. I achieved this goal most days by sitting next to strangers in class, volunteering for university projects, working on campus or simply saying a friendly “Hello.” I met many nice people, some of whom remain good friends today.

I view Ed’s and my 10,000 Mile Grand Tour of the USA and Canada in a similar way. This trip presents us with the opportunity to meet new people every day. Since leaving Texas on April 4th, Ed and I have traveled 2,443 miles. In those short six weeks, we have met some of the nicest people. Some are featured in my blogs. Others aren’t mentioned but I want to acknowledge everyone who has touched our lives – There are Rotarians I met over luncheons, people who gave us directions, other fulltime RVers at Rainbows End, campers with cute little kids, people at the VFW or Red Panty Saloon…The list is endless.

So whether you are a “Bus Nut” like Mike who let us park our coach at his bus barn in Fulton, Missouri, or entertained us unexpectedly at your lake house like Phil and Diane, or taught us to play a new game like Scattergories as did Matt and Suzie, or took our picture like the “Covered Bridge Kids” from Lakeland College – Garrett, Sean and Jaclyn, or engaged us in a political discussion like Brian – thank you! Thank you for sharing a moment of your time and enhancing our trip. Stay in touch, follow our travels, and may we meet on the road again.