Top 10 Summer to Fall

From August to September, there is an annual flurry of festival, food, and fun. The actual flurries will "be here before you know it" but it is too early to "snow on the parade". Without further ado and in no true ranking, here is a Top 10, thanking summer and welcoming fall.  

#10: Run the Park    

When I turned 40, I thought I might retire from running. That thought lasted a few seconds as a surge of pride, ambition, and ferocity seized my cranium. Running is therapeutic for this human and stillness is terrifying. Running a 5K in Stackhouse Park however is less therapy terrain and more hillside horror show. On the fourth Saturday of August, I was one of the wilderness nuts climbing our community's bountiful park for so-called fun. 

I went from being mesmerized by Denali National Park in Alaska to punishing myself in Stackhouse a few weeks after returning home. My wife captured the photo finish where a 40-year-old juggernaut lost to a younger, more athletic female. It was breathtaking trail theatre. 

Breathtaking as in I could not breathe nor could I get around that beast of a woman. Great race, comrade. 

I hear 41 is the new 21. 

I'll be back. (Terminator Voice)

#9: Art in the Park

The next day was Stackhouse's annual art extravaganza on the trail and into the Westmont streets. Each year, I assert myself as the Stackhouse Park board member who pretends to be traffic cop. I put on my Stackhouse Park baseball cap and I help vendors by providing directions and helping with the setup /tear down process. I rely on charm and good-natured disposition aligned with Mother Nature. We have had sunshine on our side throughout this event's history. Thank you, Mr. Sun, you golden star of the galaxy.  

It was a great day to celebrate community, support local artists, eat and drink from local businesses, and pet alpaca. You know it is a party when there is a beer tent and a makeshift alpaca petting zoo near a police station. God Bless America. 

Next year, let's hope for more sunshine and an elephant. 

#8: Fiddler on the Roof

When my 9-year-old secured a role in a local performance of Fiddler on the Roof , I announced I would be performing a one-man play called Drummer in the Basement, a Dad Story. Animal has always been one of my heroes. 

In all seriousness, my daughter is a performer. She is all jacked up to be On the Roof. In November, she and a cast of characters will perform at the University of Pittsburgh at Johnstown and I could not be more proud of her. Until then, it is learning, practicing, and appreciating an iconic story. She has already bonded with fellow performers and benefited from the experience of meeting young people and adults who embrace the arts. 

Cheers to all you artists out there. Whether you are on a stage or a crafty creator, the world needs more creatvity and less complaining. If you are going to stand on your roof and shout, may it be to affirm or encourage someone else. 

Buy a ticket for our area's Fiddler on the Roof coming to a stage this autumn. 

Drummer in the Basement will be performed this winter - free admission.  

#7: Basketball Conditioning  

While my eldest child has been working on her craft, my youngest has been pounding the pavement. My 7-year-old is a more primal creature. She responds well to chaos. Her disposition can best be described as the calmest person during a fire drill. So, when a dedicated teacher with a military background makes her do crunches and run circles around a church, it is a beautiful thing. 

And when she wakes up the next day and curses him for it, I am so very happy. 

#6: Laurel and Grouse 

This Cambria City restaurant opened its doors this summer and it was a welcomed spot for an August date night. My wife got craveable pappardelle pasta and I ate a sirolin filet like the happiest caveman on the planet. I thought of my well done, sun scorched daughter doing crunches while I devoured medium-rare majesty, hoping the button to my jeans would not explode like a grouse flying out of the brush. 

And that dear readers is called creative writing. 

Laurel and Grouse - keep it coming. 

I ate that steak the night before I ran the Stackhouse 5K. 

We all have crosses to bear. 

#5: Log House Arts Festival

Here is something you don't hear a parent say at Arts Fest to their children:

"Touch that."

Each year in Westmont the Community Arts Center hosts this event dedicated to art of all kinds. And each year parents maze through the grounds hoping their children do not break, steal, or say something offensive about a work of art. It should be doctor recommended for parents who need to instill discipline. I've heard my wife instruct my girls to keep their hands behind their backs when entering a booth.

 "Approach the canvas like a criminal, darlings. Nod if you desire a price check." (Wife Terminator Voice).   

Thanks to all the Arts Fest vendors we visited on our Sunday stroll. And thanks to all the survivors of the Saturday storm...

#4: Saturday Storm @ Cambria City Ethnic Festival 

Our family has a short Subaru ride to Ethnic Fest each year. We get into our Ascent, a vehicle rooted in Japanese craftmanship, and descend to Cambria City rich in Polish, English, Irish, German, Welsch, and Slovakian ancenstry. It is a wonderful, yearly immigration story. On the horizion, the promise of pierogies. 

As we surveyed our eatery options, my eldest and pickiest daughter yearned for her favorite ethnic food, the hot dog. The wind began to whip. Her hot dog scent could not inflitrate the winds of change and the incoming torrential downpour. I walked nonchalant after eating pierogies, completing the digestion phase, unconcerned about finding the dog or water from the skies. 

And when it rained, it did indeed pour. Folding chairs were folded by the heavens. Cans rattled down the streets like aluminum tumbleweeds. Some tents collapsed or tried to fly. My wife and kids ran for shelter while I soaked it all in.

Once I found my family alive and the storm died down, we rebooted the hot dog pilgrimage. 

The sun came back out and a girl could live the American dream once again. When her soggy palm clutched the bun, freedom rang. 

#3: Mountain Craft Days

A week after the ethnic storm of the century, we arrived at the Somerset Historical Center to conclude a remarkable run of festing for our four. Our neighboring county puts on a turn back the clock doozy of an event. A team of parking attendants led me to a grassy knoll to park my Subaru covered wagon. From there, it was an all out, all day enlightenment. 

From buckwheat to barrelmaking, from kettle soup to apple cider, from all kinds of smiths (tin, rifle, black), from wood turning to butter churning, it was a mountainous marvel. Under the Somerset sun, we ate midday corn mush, one of my favorite sentences of all time. We shared corn on the cob and pancakes on a plate. All our blood types were changed to maple syrup + corn. My girls tried to walk on wooden stilts while I examined a replica firearm that took the life of Abraham Lincoln.  

If only someone could have told John Wilkes Booth...

"Don't touch that."

#2: Ice Cream Honors

Ice cream is vital to a Dad body. I would like to thank Serendipity and Shaffer's for a summer of shaping, sculpting, and satisfying. Here is my Mount Rushmore of 2024 ice cream:

Serendipity Coffee  (George Washington)

Shaffer's Coconut  (Thomas Jefferson)

Serendipity Raspberry Road Runner  (Theodore Roosevelt)

Shaffer's Mint  (Abraham Lincoln, Shame on You John Wilkes Booth)

#1: Smile 

There was no bummer to our end of summer. It was a tour de festival force and the starting point to all events was a smile. As the leaves start to change, do not leave the smiles in summer. Those continue on your roof, in your covered wagon, and on the trails that connect our communities. Be grateful for all those who volunteer, create, support, and inspire. Bring on pumpkin season. 

Ice Cream Honorable Mention: Serendipity or Shaffer's Pumpkin  (Statue of Liberty, no torch, holding a pumpkin)

 

Johnstown in Alaska

I finally shaved my beard. 

Up until August 2nd, my facial fortress was almost untouched in 2024. A few trims and plucks were needed but the base of thy beard was to be left alone, like the bears of Alaska. Admire from a distance, do not approach. 

In January, my eldest daughter instructed me to let my beard grow wild and free. Destination Alaska was planned for late July. The best version of her father in The Last Frontier should be a barbarian of the brush. I accepted her nomination, joyous over my daughter not being a teenager yet and these are the types of decisions we are making together. As much as I wanted my beard to blossom, I was perfectly fine with pumping the breaks on household puberty. Just stay 9-years-old, dear child. Of course, I turned 40 in April so reflections such as these have become standard operating procedure. The "life goes fast" sentimental stage. 

Spring turned to summer and the heat was on and the beard was hot. My wife and daughters were counting down our biggest trip to date while gazing into the ungroomed. And now, we are back home and I look like a school boy.  As many vacation hungry humans can attest to, from planning to conquering, it is a whirlwind. My beard will grow back much easier and faster than us returning to Alaska, a truly amazing place. 

Alaska is the 45th state I have visited and without question, it was the most epic of  our country's lands. I am currently working on a memoir centered on the adventure, an adventure that went well beyond our family of four. I hope to get it written before the calendar year is over. As I write this sentence, I am surrounded by slurping, coughing, and questioning. If you think this writer smokes a pipe in a private nook, you are mistaken. 

So, my blog entries might be few and far between as I recapture "Our Alaska" as I am calling it. So many people from the Johnstown area were characters in the adventure. Grit and gratitude will be referenced often. When traveling anywhere, packing and unpacking can be a gauntlet, but you never unpack grit and gratitude. Carry those on and off, each and every day.

I am grateful for my Alaskan adventurers. Grateful for all the people from all over the world that I met in The 49th State. I can't wait to write about them while my youngest daughter asks me, "Do you like my shoes?" and my oldest sings the same refrain 27 times in a row. 

I look forward to telling more tales and using beard oil once more. I imagine time will go by fast as summer turns to fall. Make sure you take time to laugh, say thank you, and plan the next adventure. 

Montana 2025?

Sounds like a place for a beard. 

Scorched and Shaded

The 2024 summer has been a scorcher and I guess you could say, "extreme", in terms of temperature. We, the humans, have a history of using the word "extreme" when it comes to a little bit of everything from heat to cold to views to candies - I'm talking about you Warheads. Centuries of adventurers made their mark by going to extremes, from climbing the highest heights to descending into the darkest depths. Cave dwellers clumsily walked back into the cave after a sun blasted day. Cooled coves provided refuge for voyagers torched from a day on the water. Throughout all of our history, we have needed the sun's power and the shade's relief. 

In honor of the sun and the shade, here are some of our brightest and coolest moments this July. Read with caution. I write some burns. If you can't take the heat, get off the blog. And away...we...go!

The day after our nation celebrated its Independence, I found myself on a humid golf course in a scramble format. My playing partners were my wife, father, and father-in-law in an annual search for birdies. As the humdity increased, we suffered bogeys. My wife was succumbing to the heat, demanding to know who chose 18 as the optimal amount of holes in the ground for this sport. 

It was not me, honey. 

None of this is noteworthy as my wife has always said that six holes is her maximum attention span for golf. Also, not noteworthy is the fact that we did not birdie many holes. We never do. We are not good at golf. What is interesting is that a giant snapper turtle, a prehistoric looking beast, was observed on a grassy golf knoll on this day. A friend got a picture of this monstrous reptile. The snapper looked much like our presidential candidates - old, confused, and needing somewhere to go, preferably away. Not exactly sure why this turtle presumably left his pond to feel the heat, but I admired how ancient and intimidating he looked. I hope he found his home. He has my vote. 

Three days later, my youngest daughter and I attended the Cambria County Library's educational session on turtles. In an air-conditioned community room, kids responded with hot-aired-hysteria for up close and personal shelled friends. The library's SummerQuest adventure programs continue to provide family fun where there is no time for division or debate. The most controversial moment was when one of the turtles shot out a lighting bolt of urine onto a smartly placed tarp. Airborne turtle pee?...and the crowd goes wild! Cheers to the Blair County Conservation District for the turtle talk and theatrics. 

Later that week, it was another sizzler. And the Johnstown Mill Rats decided to beat the paint out of the Chillicothe Paints. Final Score: 17-0, which reads more football score than baseball scoreboard. The Rats scored 11 runs in a marathon 5th inning. The Chill could not cool off the Rats' bats. The Paints were drying out in the outfield as the Rats ran wild. Legend has it that Bob Ross beamed down from the sun and turned the Paints bats into brushes. You had to be there. We played on the field after the Mercy Rule Win in a sweaty free-for-all.  

Rest in Peace, Paints. 

Rest in Peace, Bob, you legend. 

And while Mill Rats game are fun in the sun, I need to exercise my temple so I don't end up looking like that snapping turtle. In the heat bomb that has been July, my bicycle has been favorable transportation. One particular day this month, I loaded all the bikes into the Subaru, sweating profusley and passionately for my daughters and wife. The Outback had 4 bikes, 4 helmets, 4 water bottles, a pump, scattered hair ties, and a hammer, because you just never know. 

When we got to our destination for Tour De Cambria City,  I already looked like I did a workout yet was inspired by our family together. I was ready to wheel us to greatness. 

I got a flat tire in the first 100 yards. 

Imagine a rejected father pushing his bicycle back to the Subaru. He is sad. You can hear the air going out of his front tire and his face. Imagine his family pedaling on, forever thankful for the man who made this all possible. It is sunny and so damn hot. 

My heart and tire are now repaired. I completed a solo bike ride the morning before this blog, trying to beat the heat. I recommend riding through the Staple Bend Tunnel to feel a truly extreme temperature difference. The "real feel" from trailblazing to tunnel was amazing and refreshing. 

From the course to the library to the stadium to the trail, we are sun powered. Whether you are seeking it or trying to escape it, we are in this together. Respect the turtles and their silent approach. Watch out for foul balls and foul mouths. Pump up your tires with gratitude. 

Keep cool, Johnstown.

June Jingles and Jolts

The summer season's opening month has delivered these local sights and sounds:

Jingle

We attended the SummerQuest kickoff @ the Cambria County Library for a little mid-June rocking, rolling, and reading. The Evergreens set the mood on the outdoor patio as kids frolicked the grounds. The adventure themed event was perfect for this pioneer. Our library's outdoor upgrades are inviting to inspiring while the programming is consistently creative and colorful. Rock painting power to flower sniffing satisfaction, the Great Outdoors were truly great on this night. On the inside of this book kingdom, we personalized adventurous book markers and then entered a planetarium for a short film. 

Sitting inside a giant inflatable globe, the parents learned a lot surrounded by galaxy children. First off, sitting criss-cross applesauce is hard. As I was learning about the intense training astronauts have to endure just to qualify for intergalatic adventuring, I got hot and bothered by sitting. My astronaunt application would get rejected faster than a shooting star:

NASA: "Tell us about yourself..."

Me: "I don't like tight spaces, I can't sit still, and I just recently realized that sitting criss-cross applesauce is hell. I understand that if I am not sitting, I will be floating. I also like having control. How do you control floating? Also, is there barbecue on board? I love barbecue." 

NASA: "Here is a trail map. Stay on Earth."

While the film played, I fidgeted like a caveman desperate to stand up for the first time while my wife admired the library's floor. Legend has it that child birth has increased motion sickness in her body/brain/being. I tried to comfort her by reliving the moment when I almost passed out the first time I saw an epidural needle. 

After the movie, like good parents, we blamed our kids for our problems and bought them ice cream. 

Jolt

While commanding the Subaru on Franklin Street one mighty fine June evening, I peered over the river wall. Brakes slammed. Bald Eagle. 

I abandoned my vehicle and family - after putting on my four way flashers and safely exiting The Ascent. I did leave my door wide open, but we all make mistakes and forgiveness is a part of marriage. My youngest daughter followed me to see this patriotic bird stoically perched on a river rock. This predator was hunting and peering into the American aqua. 

It reaffirmed I would be a terrible astronaunt and I love this country. 

Jingle

My daughters sung the National Anthem @ a Johnstown Mill Rats baseball game. My 9-year-old was the lead singer and her younger sister was her backup vocalist. They were as poised and patriotic as that river rock Bald Eagle. Their musical talent and stage presence is a testament to so many great teachers and mentors along the way. It should be noted that Dad's driving and shower singing provided a strong musical foundation. 

I also taught them to never sing, shower, and drive at the same time. 

Jolt 

At Yellow Creek State Park in Indiana, I was part of a waterway adventure crew that spotted a killdeer on land. A killdeer is actually a sweet looking bird and not a murderous whitetail. This particular killdeer was a parent protecting a clutch of eggs directly behind a park bench. We got some National Geographic pictures of this wetlands bird and the four dinosaur looking eggs lying in this peculiar shady spot. The John Muir in me was beaming like the sun. 

Jingle 

Our family of four went to the see Inside Out 2 @ the Westwood Plaza this month. The best way I can describe Pixar films is that they have "get you" moments. There are times in life where these incredibly smart animated movies hit home depending on where you are on the journey. Inside Out debuted the same year my first daughter was born - a story about the complex emotions inside a little girl named Riley. Nine years later, the sequel catches us up with Riley as she is speeding toward and through adolescence, introducing a barrage of new emotions. 

Beyond the emotions, characters, and outstanding animation, the soundtrack is brillant. As a Girl Dad, the movie was as heartwarming as it was heartwrenching - the adult audience challenged to navigate through the hopes and perils of growing up, surrounded by the kids we are rooting for every step of the way.  If John Muir would have been inside my brain during that hour and a half, he would have said, "Good God boy, we need to get you to Alaska."

I am so very proud of my girls.

Damn you, Pixar. You did it again. 

Jolt 

Later in the month, we went back to the library to get an education on frogs. This was shortly after my youngest daughter almost stepped on a toad in the backyard. She seems to attract amphibians. There is no rush growing up, my froggy princess. Keep finding backyard beasts while I patrol the front lawn and keep the boys away. 

On this Monday night, the library's adventure series was a Frog Friends workshop where we listened to frog calls, learned about local species of leapers, and even got to watch a froggy feeding. Seated on a chair in the front row, I was much more comfortable than my "Planetarum Caveman Experience (PCE)". Special thanks to PA Woods and Forests for providing the amphibious education!

Jingle 

On the second Saturday in June, we celebrated a good friend who entered into ordained ministry. When a full church, a collection of interconnected community members, sang "Your Grace Is Enough", the lyrics spoke for themselves. But if there was an emotion to pinpoint, it was arguably the most importatnt character from Inside Out 2....

Joy.

As June turns to July, bring the joy. Visit your local library and gain some knowledge. Support local artists and teams. Soar with the eagles and hop with the frogs. Get lost in the magic of the movies. Realize that growing up today is not an easy adventure. Cheer on kids each and every day. Kids, cheer on the parents - we need the encouragement too. Strength in numbers gets stronger with an attitude of gratitude. 

Grateful for community and family. 

Adventure on. 

Crazy over Lazy

Over the second weekend of June, I embraced lunacy. By pure definition, being labeled a lunatic is not complimentary. It would indicate some form of insanity or wild tomfoolery that could be dangerous; however, there are a bunch of examples where a compliment is paid in the form of crazy. A committed sports fan becomes a fanatic taking fandom to a lunacy level.  A basketball guard with tremendous dribbling ability or a hockey scorer who uses his or her stick like a magician has "crazy handle". One might hop on a crazy train or be crazy in love. And the prevailing thought after a June Sunday was "tis better to be crazy than to be lazy".

Let's start from the beginning. I woke up first on this particular Sunday, a common initiation in our household. It was 5:15 AM and none of us were in the house. We were in a tent in the backyard. During the pandemic, the idea of living off the land was adventurous and advantageous. Our girls loved the campfire attraction right outside our doorstep and the parents needed a thrill that was outside the walls that had us boxed in. After years of commitment, camping in the backyard is now a standard operating parental procedure that has not lost luster. It comes with SMORES, the possibility of an outdoor movie, and the guarantee of Dad SNORES. 

A tradition that was born out of the backyard camp was Dad going to Dunkin Donuts to deliver "breakfast in tent". I honored my daughters' request by driving my Subaru on the inaugural sugar rush years ago. Then, somewhere during the pandemic madness, I decided - this is too easy and the world is too weird - I will bike to destination donuts.

Biking from Brownstown to Westmont requires almost immediate hills to humble thy father. On this Sunday I was also up again incoming rainfall. This bike mission felt quite apocalyptic as there were very few signs of life and the atmosphere was brewing for a burst. Alas, it was I bursting into Dunkin. "Blueberry and Coconut donuts, to go please, I am on bicycle. That is why I am sweating at 6:00 AM."

When I reemerged as a backyard hero, my wife and children clapped for me and neighbors sung my praises. Just kidding, everyone was still asleep. The birds cheered. I ate my coconut donut in peace, sipping on coffee and the sweet nectar of Mother Nature. Then, the beasts wobbled out of our monstrous blue tent. Sunday is on like Donkey Kong. 

After I watched my offspring devour the nourishment I heroically provided. It was time for me to leave once more, this time by vehicle. I attended a Sunday morning small group that has become an essential ingredient to my earthly existence. It is often fathers talking, laughing, and lumbering through life's challenges. It blends faith, humor, travel, hope, and a wellspring of coffee. The fellowship truly only has one essential ingredient - a belief in a Creator, a gratitude for this opportunity. 

So, it was I that came home as Donkey Kong post-fellowship. My wife reminded me that she and my daughters had to take a church picture at high noon. I told her, "what if I hike through Stackhouse Park and meet you at the church that I just left an hour ago".  She said "Brilliant, you lunatic" with her eyeballs. I love that look. I get it often. Also, I want to point out - dear readers - I was not going to be in this photograph. My hike was justified. 

The girls took a gorgeous snapshot while I made my way through the forest. Once reunited, my oldest locked in with what I was thinking...

"NOW WHAT TO DO WE DO?!?!"

And then suddenly the Laurel Highlands called out to us - my eldest daughter and me - "Head to the hills of Donegal" (deep voice, not heard by wife and youngest child). Let's Subaru Ascent to Caddie Shak! My wife and youngest daughter jump on board after we explain the calling. 

When I was a young buck, Caddie Shak was Donegal. If you were in Donegal, you were at Caddie Shak. And here I was on #7 at the Olde Mini Golf Course, back in my glory. Sunshine, glorious. Wife, glorious. Children, glorious. Pond frogs, glorious. 

Shot #1: Ball rolls back to me (Out of Bounds, Penalty Stroke)

Shot #3: Ball rolls back to me (Out of Bounds, Penalty Stroke)

Another family of four closing in on me. Awkward silence from my wife. Awkward silence from the family waiting on the tee box. Oldest daughter "encouraging" me not to give up. Youngest daughter can't watch any more of this ramp torture.  

Shot #5: Ball rolls back to me (Out of Bounds, Penalty Stroke). 

Pick up ball. Card "7". 

I was silent and fine until I saw the sunglow on my wife's smiling face. She was fighting laughter... poorly. My kids were already on Hole 8. I was an emotional fragile 8-year-old school boy wondering where it all went wrong. Good news, I recovered. Bad news, my wife got a Hole-In-One on #18 and slammed the door shut on my comeback attempt. Victory is hers. Humility is mine. There was little time for emotional processing. Onward to Grand Prix. 

When we got in line for Go Karts, I did not know what to expect. I did not expect my oldest daughter to qualify as a driver. There I was watching my life flash before my eyes. The Go Kart roar echoing over Donegal like it was the Indianapolis 500. My wife and youngest in the opposite lane, buckling in, a formidable tandem. I was directly behind my first-born, who was equally astonished by being behind the wheel. It was a full lineup of Go Karters. You could feel the energy. A teenage Go Kart expert announced race rules that I could not decipher over the firepower and angst. AND WE ARE OFF!

Here comes a true Dad comment - those Karts have some zip! If Caddie Shak captured my face on that first lap, it would have been a frozen face of "Oh, wow!, Oh, wow?, Oh wow!?!, Oh no!?, Oh yes!, Oh!"

And you just keep going. It felt like we did 500 laps. To see my 9-year-old commanding a Go-Kart amongst other Donegal drivers went from bewildering to blissful. She may or may not have spun out another preteen, breaking the "no bumping" rule. 

"Officer, it is hard not to bump when you are going 100 MPH."

When we left Caddie Shak, my oldest believed she was a better driver. My youngest believed she was a better putter. I don't know what my wife believed. It is hard to read women. I believed we should head to Rockwood and get a bite @ Trailhead Brewing. After trailing most of the day on both the mini golf course and race track, my new nickname could be "Trailhead".

The drive from Donegal to Rockwood was an open country experience; a field of longhorns, an oriole chasing a crow over corn stalks, the sale of maple syrup, topsoil, and firewood around every twist and turn. Upon reaching Trailhead, we were graced with the final songs of a live musical act. I ordered delicious and hearty Italian paninis from The Fat Squirrel Restaurant while my ladies set up shop. Once the music ended, I filtered through the brewery's games, finding the card game, WTF (What The Fish).

13 hours after hopping on my bike, we were in fast-flowing water, shouting What The Fish! in Rockwood. God Bless America.

The girls fell asleep on the ride home. My wife and I looked back on the day that was. We had a lot of laughs. We did not talk about Hole #7. We had a lot of fun. There was one thing left to do before we slept in the house.

We took down the tent.

With Father's Day around the corner, I am grateful for days like this one.  For my wife, who is our engine. For my kids who provide the spark. Crazy about my family, my faith, Mother Nature, and the adventure that is every sunrise. 

Rest up, Johnstown. 

Love lunacy. 

Johnstown Mill Rats Top 10

 In the final week of May, the end of school collided with the beginning of local baseball. The Johnstown Mill Rats, known to be persistent rodents, were back for a 4th season @ the Point Stadium. This was after a winter where there were whispers that the Rats would not be coming back. Have no fear, the Rats returneth. My family was 1st base side for the first two home contests of the year and here is the Top 10:

#10: The First Pitch

There is a nostalgia to baseball that resonates like no other sport. That nostalgia is amplified when the starting pitcher has the first name "George" and a locomotive rolls by on opening night. It looked and sounded like 1964 in that moment. First and foremost, thanks to all the parents who are still naming baby boys George. Hats off to you. Second, let's celebrate that we still have train conductors, or at least I think we do. Not a robot or a super computer, but a real-life human operating a rumbling machine on tracks. As train after train powered by The Point, I cheered for both baseball and train transport. Also, I am actually writing this blog and not having ChatBS write my words for me. Hooray humanity!

#9: The Concession Stand

If my wife and I turned our kitchen into a concession stand, would our children eat more regularly? Also, could this be lucrative? We could drain those piggy banks by the 7th inning stretch. The concession stand is the pearly gate of childhood fandom. Most kids are not what you call "baseball purists". Case in point, during the 7th inning of Game 2, one of my daughter's friends asked me, "What team are we cheering for?" 

#8: "Sugary Nuts"

My 7-year-old announced her excitement for this treat for all of Johnstown to hear. The candied pecan is delicious, but as a father, you have to tone down your daughter's accurate yet somewhat controversial proclamation. You have not lived until you have heard the battle cry for "sugary nuts" from the bleachers. 

#7: Rats Rain

If you thought it was going to be sunshine and rainbows for the Johnstown Mill Rats opening home stand, you are a fool. Johnstown and rats love rain. Our home team started the season 2-0 primarily because of thriving under rain clouds. While the Champion City Kings were warding off hypothermia, the Rats were smiling and blasting the ball into the atmosphere.

#6: Rats Rainbow!

It was a rainbow over the outfield wall in Game 2! A red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet spectacle for all to see. 

Except for my kids, they were at the concession stand driving us into debt. 

#5: "The Squeeze"

In baseball terms, "the squeeze" occurs when a baserunner takes off from third base while a batter bunts the ball. For whatever reason, this is one of the sport's most exhilarating stunts. On opening night, the Mill Rats pulled it off to purist perfection. Back in my Little League glory, I was an accomplished bunter. I never hit a home run because that is obnoxious. Anyone can blast a baseball over a fence. It takes guts and glory to stare a pitcher in the eyeballs, lift your bat horizontally, close your own eyes, pray the ball hits the bat, and then run like hell. 

#4: Tossing

My daughters stepped on the field for both contests, playing in-between inning tossing games. My 7-year-old had to throw a baseball through a tire for one exhibition on opening night. Both girls invested in a water balloon tossing game in Game 2, which also sent shockwaves to the Champion City Kings. They saw two little girls tossing water balloons cheerfully as the rain fell to the Earth. The Mill Rats and their faithful are about to intimidate and then submerge you with water joy. Champion City Kings? More like Defeated Peasants. Dry up and go back to Ohio. 

(I have nothing against Champion City. I'm sure it is lovely).

#3: Milton 

The Mill Rats mascot is of course a rat and his name is Milton. By far, the best on-field antic was when a young boy doused Milton with a water gun to "spray him for ticks" on opening night. This was a hillarious sponsorship deal. Tick removal is no joke yet this got a standing ovation from me. It was Dad joke theatre on the field.

#2: Together 

I am glad the Mill Rats are back. Gratitude to the families who rallied together to make this season possible. I am grateful to have a healthy family in attendance. The weather conditions might not have been ideal, but the company I kept was my favorite. That's my team no matter the forecast. My girls are growing up fast so some slow-it-down baseball puts a lot of things in perspective. You are going to make some errors. You will get some bad bounces. The rain will surely fall. 

But, if you stick with it, and stick together, there is a rainbow coming. 

#1: The Season Ahead

The Johnstown Mill Rats will play into late July. I encourage you to take the family and cheer on young kids playing baseball. Pack an umbrella just in case. Bring plenty of money for the concession stand. 

And most importantly, be a positive contributor to community. 

LET'S GO RATS!

Back to The Blog 2024

 After a lengthy hiatus from the blogosphere, I have triumphantly returned to spread goodness. I am now a 40-year-old writer full of increased wisdom, wit, and self-depricating humor. During my time off from writing, I fell off the front stoop taking out the garbage cans, traveled to Hawaii and Kansas (not the same trip for my geographically challenged readers), and have grown a well-manicured, silvered beard. Or as one grandma put it, "you look like a Civil War reenactment". 

Bless her heart. 

In order to reengage the Internet population and build off my 1860s appearance, let's travel to three basics terrains of community. 

LAND

On this Memorial Day weekend Sunday, a simple message from mass was the hope for a "long life on the land". In our society, 40 is recognized as a turning point birthday that comes with victory and defeat. For every garbage can fall into the grass there is a Hawaii rainbow. I was able to experience both of those moments before I hit "The Big 4-0" and I would like to believe I benefited from the triumph and the tragedy. The Hawaii rainbow is captured in a picture with my beautiful daughters underneath it. The garbage can fall was captured by our security camera. Instead of warding off vandals or identifying trespassing critters, our video surveliance system's greatest use has been repeatedly watching a Monday morning Dad collapse taking out the trash. A truly epic fail that has made so many people laugh and one man acknowledge, thy prime has thy past. 

Alas, I am back on my feet and was back on the course for the 10th edition of The Path of the Flood race this Saturday. I purchased new New Balance shoes for the event. I do not understand how anyone buys shoes online. If there was video surveliance watching me trying on running shoes, it would be a tough watch, but I believe it is necessary. I start out excited, move to confused, retry on shoes as if something changed in the past 30 seconds, and I ultimately get really hot. It is almost more challenging than the race itself. During this one-man Shakespearean shoe play, a friendly teenage worker came back around to ask me "Are you still ok?!?!" clearly identifying I was taking the running shoe purchase to a Death Valley extreme. 

Ultimately, I unconfidently bought a pair of New Balance Tektrels that have the slogan "Revel in The Magnificent Outdoors" inside the shoe. This is an ingenious marketing strategy to reel in the 40-year-old Dad. 

New Balance Shoe Designer #1:  "The Tektrel has a great exterior, but how do we grab the Dads' attention?!?"

New Balance Shoe Designer #2:  "What is on the inside? The part no one can see, except the foot, and the Dad."

New Balance Shoe Designer #1: "Nothing right now..."

New Balance Shoe Designer #2: "What if we wrote 'Revel in the Magnificent Outdoors'?!?"

New Balance Shoe Designer #1:  "Brilliant. Every Dad from the trail runner to the grass cutter is going to freak out."

(End Scene)

In 2022, I did the 8-Mile Run for the Path of the Flood. In 2023, I took a year off because our family of four was traveling to Hawaii two days after the race and I did not want to be sore on the plane. That is responsible parenting. You're welcome, kids. 2024, 8-miles once more, no need to fear the sore. 

Each and every year the Path of the Flood has been a remarkable success thanks to great race direction, dedicated volunteers, and a running community willing to flow like the water. The Staple Bend Tunnel is transformed into a racing cathedral as candles provide a tranquil beam with a sunburst exit into the forest. And then you exit the tunnel, and as one runner summarized, "it is hell from there". Hills and a shadeless landscape to end the race make the outdoor reveling a much more difficult tagline to embrace.

The race ends where my marriage began. In 2013, my wife and I had the first wedding reception at Peoples Natural Gas Park. 11 years into marriage, the celebration continues - as a couple who is grateful for a wonderful hometown community. While she finds running to be punishing and stress inducing, it is a cathartic, cardiovascular mission for this man. An opposition attraction when it comes to running yet a unified belief that supporting local events is our responsibility. Blessed to call Johnstown home and determined to be goodwill ambassadors for the place that will always be a part of us. Great job once again to all the Path of the Flood leaders and volunteers. 

And on Satuday night we participated in another event celebrating YEAR 10. Before she brought two children into existence, my wife helped bring life to an idea known as Taste and Tour. 10 years later, it has become synoymous with Memorial Day Saturday and perfectly paired with the morning's racing event. Each year it gets bigger, sells out, and has become a battle cry for downtown Johnstown. My wife plays the role of General. I am the supportive husband who looks like he fought in Gettsyburg. Match made in Johnstown /Heaven. 

Thanks to all the buisnesses, volunteeers, tasters, and tourers - you are all champions. I hope everyone smoked a cigar Saturday night like they were the 4th place male in the 35 to 44 year old age bracket. 

AIR

In April, we flew to Kansas City, Missouri to visit friends we met in Johnstown. They, a military family, had a brief stay in our hometown yet a lifelong friendship was built inside a church, on trails, in parks, and raising kids one adventure at a time. Our reunions since have taken us to the beach, the Virginia wilderness, and a Kansas farmland. It is amazing how faith and family have no geographic bounds. 

In July, the next airborne adventure will be upon us. Our Kansas City comrades are not on this highly anticipated journey, but two other Johnstown families make up our brigade.  Six parents. Seven children. Alaska, HERE WE COME. 

My daughters are in full support that my beard will be grown fully and magically until we get home from The Last Frontier. Then, upon our return, I will shave it completely and look like a runner who could get 4th place in the under 20 age divison. My wife is more scared of the upcoming shave than the accumulating silver. We all have our crosses to bear. 

SEA

I have not cataloged my "days on water per month" but May 2024 has been aqua advantageous. Four separate embarks on the Stony Creek River this May have yielded water wonderful results. Twice as a canoeist, once on a raft mission to pick up riverside pollutants, and a final family float courtesy of Coal Tubin'. I have canoed the Everglades and the Suwannee River, have tandem kayaked in Canada, have gator toured the Lousiana bayou, and have whitewater rafted West Virginia, but there is something special about having a hometown waterway to explore. 

My wife and I got to experience this year's Stony Creek Rendezvous, an annual tribal trip for whitewater enthusiasts to gather @ Greenhouse Park and throw a Mother Nature party. Our connection this year was via a stewardship event organized by the Watersmith Guild, which sounds majestic and medieval all at once. The guild's website proclaims a mission "to inspire watershed conservation and improve lives through arts and adventure programming."  That mission was absolutely accomplished on the third Friday of this May as dozens of volunteers worked together - to plant riverside trees and then complete a paddle-pick-up of riverbank trash in a coordinated conquest. There was community camaderie in that purposeful paddle. Thanks to my Stony Creek squadron who seized that day. 

Flanking that adventure were my canoe trips that featured everything from a bald eagle sighting to my partner canoeist proclaiming, "We are capsizing!"  Mallards and mayhem on the mighty Stony Creek produced hearty laughs, adrenaline pumps, and an appreciation for our neighborhood's Great Outdoors river. This all led to our family Coal Tubin' this Memorial Day Sunday.

Joining our family of four was my father-in-law in a float for the ages. We started out as an interconnected tube team as this was our daughters first go at the river wild. The Stony Creek sparked my eldest's curiosity as she fired up her motor mouth the minute her toes touched the water. Shortly after the first rapids, I left her to the forces of Nature and her mother. I took her younger sister with me, who proceeded to fall asleep, my angel in a life vest. My youngest was a model of serenity while my oldest dared to ask me "what 365 times 9 is?" at one point trying to pinpoint her currrent days on Earth. 

I sharply answered, "I hate math".

Along our route, the differences between my daughters could not have been more dramatic. One was going to talk us off a cliff while the other would have snoozed over Niagra Falls. One's body could not stop moving, treating the rafts like bumper boats. At the same time, her sister was slipping into an incredible Zen, a bobbing redhead glistening in the sun. I love them both and always will. 

I will always hate math. 

But I cannot end the first blog back with hate. I love to write. I love my family. I am grateful for my faith, friends, and the fellowship that has traveled on land, air, and sea with so many great people to some many great places. 

And yet there is nothing like coming home. 

Positive Johnstown blog is back. Spread good news and keep your head above water. 

(Editor's Note: 365 x 9 = 3,285)