Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls?

For Labor Day Weekend this year, good friend J.H. wanted to take a day trip to hike to some waterfalls. Online sources and a couple at church recommended McConnells Mill State Park, so we packed lunch to eat after Sunday morning worship and then piled into our car for the drive about an hour north of the city. As the weather forecast called for rain, we easily parked in the graveled lot. The pit latrines were...rustic, as my mother would say, and then we were off down the path.

This is the hand-painted picnic basket colleague from a vintage shop that P.G. gifted us for our housewarming. Isn't it delightful? It's got everything for four people: plates, cups, mugs, utensils, napkins, a plastic cloth for the table, and a fleece blanket for the ground, a basket for rolls, butter dish, salt and pepper shakers, and two travel flasks. We had curried chickpea salad, gluten-free crackers, salad, carrots and pickles, cherries, and various dried fruits with cherry limeade.

To my utter delight, the old mill was open for viewing, and there was a ranger to answer questions. We ogled the old machinery and felt the building quake when a docent turned on the water turbine in the basement. Over four floors, there are sifters and grinders and baggers for wheat, buckwheat, oats, and corn.

The first mill, with a vertical waterwheel, was built in 1852. It burned in 1867. The covered bridge was built in 1874, and after Captain Thomas McConnell bought the replacement mill in 1875, he fitted it with more efficient horizontal turbines. It ground grain until 1928, when more modern mills put it out of business. 

That's the park's namesake, but here is the mill's most famous denizen, Mose Wharton (1860-1954), who was born into slavery, hired by Captain McConnell to work at the mill, and tended it faithfully until he was 92. This collection of photographs includes memories of his boxing prowess, practical jokery, and that he rescued or retrieved people who fell (or jumped) into Slippery Rock Creek.

In addition to the historical placards, there were some photos, posters, and poems, like this one.

"The Mill," by Joyce M. Tait

I am the mill. 

Melt, winter snow...
Fill my pond and let 

Me catch your flotsam 

On my screen. 

Turn, mill wheel... 

And churn the river's foam
That drives the great
Shaft home.

Flow, river...
Though sluice and millrace,
Making of my wheatstone voice. 

A steady song.

Fill, miller...
My hopper to the brim 

With sacks of ripened grain 

I'll grind to life.

Fly, grain dust 

Abrade my wooden cogs and gears
To satin's bright patina,
Let me glow... 

I am the mill.

In defiance of the rain clouds and drizzle, we set off along the alpha falls trail under the protective covering of the trees, remarking on the moss-covered boulders, antediluvian ferns, and remarkably soft pine needles underfoot.

Upon reaching a parking lot, we stopped for a water break, consulted our map, and set off along the country road, looking for the waterfall. When we reached a major intersection with no sign of the trail, we doubled back and picked it up from a different lot. After climbing the same set of stairs to the first parking lot, we almost despaired of finding the falls, when on our way down I noticed two men driving remote-controlled cars on an unmarked spur: we veered off and shortly discovered: the fall!

Despite the weekend's wet weather, Alpha Falls was just trickling. But we were gratified to have found it, or else we might have rued the 1.5 hours tramping in the stifling humidity. Neither of my traveling companions was familiar with the TLC classic from 1994, "Waterfalls" until I tried to sing the chorus to them:

Don't go chasing waterfalls
Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to
I know that you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all
But I think you're moving too fast

After we returned to our car, it was a quiet ride home for homemade dinner topped off with soft serve from a local shop. I'll leave you with one more poem from the mill.

   "Emotions of Wood and Stone," by Karen Nicely (July 1984)

Old Mill, what history have you seen?

Has anyone died within your walls?

What conversations you must have heard!

Can you tell me some?

Knowledge of life and love have you stored over the 

years--

What problems were solved while contemplating

from your windows the wondrous scene below?

Will I absorb this power if I lean against you long

enough,

If I study each and every stone of your exterior? 

How does it feel to have once been the home of 

deals and transactions, tensions and decisions 

And now to have become a place of relaxation? 

No longer do shrewd businessmen or friendly 

neighbors do their buying and selling within you. 

Young lovers and ancient romantics, children and 

students now populate your wooden floors and 

rickety steps.

Are you sorry for the change or thankful for the

rest, Old One?