February 2025 Top 10

Snow. Ice. Sleet. Slush. Freezing rain. Power outages. 

All of these did not make my Top 10 for February 2025. Without further ado, and to march into March, my gratitude list for the shortest yet most treacherous month on the calendar. In no particular order, the small businesses in our community that helped my family conquer the winter grog and combat the cabin fever that is February:

#10 - Whoever Operates a Plow 

Technically, not a small business, but a huge difference maker in our winter existence. Thanks to any human who has cleared a war path on our streets. It has been a formidable February after a January that seemed to be the longest month in the history of mankind. To all those community members who have cleared the way and probably used profanity while doing so (like I have been toward all forms of precipitation). Many a February day, I have sat in my Subaru and sworn in solititude. It is therapeutic. 

And I don't need any more therapy. Enough, winter. Enough. 

#9 - Local Newcasts 

Specifically, underpaid reporters standing in the cold @ Gobbler's Knob. We have a family tradition in our humble abode where we tune into the Punxsutawney Phil pageantry. While watching any sort of news broadcast can be deflating, I love a good weather update in the present conditions. And the apex occurs on Groundhog Day. College educated media members are assigned to the knob of all knobs. It is celebratory. It is weird. It is theatre. 

It is not therapy, but I imagine some of the reporters will be in a session soon. 

Bless their hearts. 

Curse you, hog. 

#8 - Tap 814

On Valentine's Day weekend, the weather was, you guessed it, terrible. But, the steak tips at Tap 814 - tremendous! Forecast cupid, you may have shot an arrow through my heart yet a perfectly cooked set of tips, well that is paradise. Steak, you seized the day. Nice work, Tap 814 chef. 

#7 - Saturday Night Live

Again, stretching the term "small business", the 50th anniversary special was enjoyable for so many reasons. First and foremost, it was not live on late night Saturday. It was on Sunday at a Dad friendly time and I stayed awake for the entire event, which is a feat in itself. As a humorist and dreamer, I have great admiration for SNL and the process of live comedy. If I had to add one more woman to my household, I think it would be Kristen Wiig. 

#6 - Boulevard Grill

Each February, The BLVD celebrates the life of Nicolaus Copernicus, a Polish astronomer and mathematician with a historically bad hair cut. It is a bizarre birthday party that my family has embraced for almost a decade. Their is Polish grub, accordions, and my 85-year-old uncle proudly supporting his heritage. 

A sincere thanks to The BLVD staff who made this year's celebration another silly success. The 2025 Copernicus theme "Keep your friends close, and your pierogies closer" was on point. My 7-year-old went one step further, keeping the chocolate cake even closer than the pierogies. 

She was unconcerned if the chocolate cake had Polish roots. Her great uncle also went to town on the chocolate cake, because above all, they are Americans. 

God Bless the USA.

And Poland.

And Ireland (thank you, Guinness).

#5 - Ryan's Artisan Goods

#4 - Stackhouse Park 

Shared recognition for these two all-seasons-stalwarts. Despite winter's wrath, I combined a Stackhouse Park hike with Ryan's nourishment multiple times this February. As a Stackhouse Park board member, I am grateful to all the volunteers and the Park Ranger who make Stackhouse what it is. I do not believe there is a board for Ryan's, but I would like to believe I am on it. Remember, I'm a humorist and dreamer. This Cambria City small business has provided us a gauntlet of good times grub. 

On one particular February day, I took a Stackhouse hike and observed a deceased deer that was absolutely devoured alive by a pack of coyotes. I did not see the attack, just the remains. I would share the picture, but some of you would never eat again. 

It was wild. I love Mother Nature. 

I ate a Ryan's smash burger directly after this Planet Earth experience. 

#3 - BOLD Athletics 

I am not just smashing burgers this winter. I am crushing Crossfit. Two months into this new exercise challenge, I am having a BOLD blast and my whole family has had the chance to crossover into this fitness realm. Sure, you get sore and some workouts are torturous, but the rewards have been plentiful. 

Take for instance, the Bad Ass Open (which my 7-year-old calls the "Bad A Open" because she is pure). I participated in this final day of February event where one specific workout is completed worldwide in uproarious Crossfit unity. BOLD divided humans into teams and I was destined for Team Purple. Ridiculous costumes were encouraged so I used a Donatello ninja turtle number for the royal and the ridiculousness. I did not keep the costume on while completing the workout because burpees, dumbbell hang clean-to-overheads, and lunges are hard enough. I do not need to impair my vision and add costume weight to the experience. 

I did add my 10-year-old and she was in beast mode. I went from Bad Ass to Proud Dad in a 15-minute grueling workout. She was pumped to do the workout by my side. At one point, my oldest daughter and I were moving in synchronized burpee. While the gym was a loud frenzy, I was locked in a moment that I will carry for awhile - the joy of exercising with her, separated by 30 years of life, but together on this mat and giving it all we got. 

And as I grew sentimental in my heart she was pumped to leave my side and lunge out ahead of me. Dad burpees evolved from young smiling dolphin to beached solemn whale. 

When time was up, I was covered in sweat and gave my Crossfit partner a big squeeze. 

And that was the best muscle tension of the night. She commented on how sweaty I was. 

I know how lucky I am. 

Thanks to the BOLD community and the inspired exercise. The madness extends now into March. 

Damn you, burpees, damn you. (swearing in solitude).

#2 - My Aunt 

She owns a hot tub and lives down the street. Since starting Crossfit, I have used it weekly.  

Thank you, Patty, thank you. (muscle and joint applause). 

#1 - Spring 

Think of this upcoming season as a small business. Appreciate it, visit it, and believe in it. There were so many reasons to pack up or pack it in this winter. Instead, we told winter to...

(use your own profanity)

We persevered and pushed through. We laughed out loud and slid across the ice without falling. And if you fell, you got back up. If my daughters remember anything from this winter, I hope it is the smiles stretched across the community. From a kind waittress on Copernicus night to a competitor on the Crossfit mat, kindness remains undefeated. 

Take an attitude of gratitude into March and recognize the strength in numbers starts with you. 

And if Old Man Winter tries to knock down your door...

Knock....

Him...

OUT. 

(Mic drop)

Big and Bold

"Go big or go home" is a reference that often puts emphasis on a decision. It was over 10 years ago now when a group of community members talked about investing in a big artifical Christmas tree and plopping it down in Central Park of Johnstown. When retold as legend, lampoon, or act of lunacy, no matter how it is remembered, it is just that - remembered...

to order big and bring it home. 

As a guest to Discover Downtown Johnstown Partnership's 10-year celebration of the Christmas tree, I learned about the party's shining star, the tree, which is a credit to a small army of Yuletide yahoos. And this characterization is not an offense to them. As many of them summarized, this was a Christmas crazy, going out on an evergreen limb decision. Word got around that money was being raised to ship a 36-foot-high tree out of some elf factory in the Pacific Northwest and light up Johnstown in a Chevy Chase brand of spiked eggnog, holiday fervor. 

And that is exactly what happened. 

My oldest daughter, who turned 10 this month, has celebrated all her Christmases with that downtown tree. Traditions often start when an absurd idea takes flight...

Right after this Christmas and before the New Year, I had my most significant "This is 40" moment. I decided to just walk into a Crossfit gym and declare that my athletic career was not going to go quietly into the night or at least I was not going to sink any deeper into the couch. Like the spark that led to the downtown tree, I sprung into action. 

And a month later after joining Bold Athletics, once again, I have been rewarded by community strength. At the core, and my core is quite sore from planks earlier this week, the tree and Bold are all about community. About people coming together and working toward a common goal. For anyone who has walked around the tree during the holiday season, the strength is in the numbers - of volunteers showing up winter after winter, of children singing and dancing, and of small business owners working together to make a big difference. For anyone who has trudged through snow @ 5:30 AM to complete a work out, I am proud to be in your pack. 

In my Crossfit community,  I have not been tested this much in terms of language since Spanish 2. There is the WOD, and kipping, and EMOM... I personally like the box and the assault bike because I can easily identify what a box is and I know exactly what is going to happen when I get on that bike - I am going to assault my legs. It has been a challenge and I am appreciative of the men and women who have been a part of the exercise. They have provided encouragement, motivation, humor and have helped me overcome my language barrier. 

By the time the downtown tree lights up for Year 11, I plan on being a Seasoned Crossfit Understanding Human (SCUH). I'll be 41 by then, accelerating toward Girl Dad greatness. My daughters will be getting closer and closer to teenage life and I will be pedaling harder and harder on the assault bike. 

I will have benefited from all those community members who have frozen their butts off putting up the tree and to those who have been working their asses off on the Bold mat. Hard work shines on and pays off. 

Cheer on that groundhog this Sunday. If you had to take down the tree this year or braved the subzero terrain to get to a workout, there is only one way to root. Spread an attitude of gratitude for all the risk takers, squat jumpers, and anyone willing to show up and shake it up when necessary. 

Phil, box jump us into Spring. 

Goodnight, Johnstown.  Dream big dreams. 

Adios, Invierno!  (Goodbye, Winter!)

National Lampoon Christmas Road Trip

On Friday the 13th, I was a passenger in a van to the Pittsburgh Botanic Garden with a ticket to Dazzling Nights, an exploratory, seasonal extravaganza through enchanted wilderness. Combined with friends who are family, we were a team of four parents, two boys, two girls, and zero partridge. The van was so jampacked there could have been a pear tree growing in the middle row. Without further ado, a Top 10 of our light show lampoon:

#10: Light Show PreShow 

To get the party started, the Squirrel Hill Tunnel never fails to offer a brake lights brillance. With the children eating pizza and doing assorted art projects, it gives Moms time to hunt and gather. They talk about layering while collecting items like palentologists on a van dig. The Dads criticize the architects of the Squirrel Hill Tunnel, who surely earned a lifetime of coal. They also eat pizza to stay strong and mighty. 

#9: The Bundle 

Upon arrival, I was the first person to get out of the van. This was after my fellow Dad drove through a holler that felt more like the terrain to The Grinch's abode than to anywhere in Pittsburgh. Once on foot, I surveyed the landscape while peering back at the van frenzy, which was a light show in itself. One of the Moms, not my wife, bought light up gloves for the kids from Amazon. I have never bought anything on Amazon. Ever. (reading Moms gasp in shock)

Let the walking begin. A 4th grader. Two 2nd graders. A kindergartener. Four adults in the prime of their lives. Teaching the children the magic of Christmas and driving 75 miles to walk. God Bless America. 

#8: The Bumble 

Before setting out on this expedition, my Internet research concluded that this holiday, botanic trail would be appproximately one mile of walking. In comparison, the surviving members of the Donner Party traveled 2,499 miles farther. And there light show consisted of the moon and the stars, and a wish that they would not have to resort to cannabilism before the journey was over. 

Some wishes are not granted. Thankfully, we just had Papa Johns. 

All the women in my family brigade wished to go pee before the walk. This led to two pheonoma - the never-ending line of the women's bathroom and the inability of young boys to stand still and wait. I sauntered into the men's bathroom and I could have done interpretative dance in there. The line to the women's bathroom snaked into the hallway like a desperate, frigid serpeant. When my wife exited the female throne (hours later), she looked like a security guard escorting two vandals (our children) to jail (The Great Outdoors). 

I asked what happened in there and my wife answered with her eyes. At least they didn't have to eat each other. Meanwhile, the boys were using the high traffic sidewalk to punch the air and yell untranslatable commands at the botanic garden plants. When Jesus was born, I am sure there was some commotion. 

#7: Holiday Hop 

To begin our journey, everyone received a handheld map that illustrated 14 distinct dazzling regions. If we stayed the course, the trail would circle back to our starting point. If we did not, we would end up in Ohio. I concluded that our tribe did not really settle in until Region 6, Holiday Hop. Before that geographic point, we were scatterbrained and scattertrailed. Holiday Hop is where we found our true colors, lighting up circular lights on the ground by prancing all over them. Prior to that, the previous displays lacked a platform for self-serving aggression that both children and adults enjoy this time year. 

Both our families participated in an entertaining game of light show cat and mouse. It was the high octane, laugh-out-loud silliness the Van Vortex 8 needed. Only one individual cried and that was because his brother is a barbarian. 

#6: Snow & Glow

We took Holiday Hop momentum all the way to the snow machine. The snow machine provided a beautiful flurry that led to a flurry of photos. I overheard one woman lamenting that she should have waited and used this snowglobe scene for her Christmas card picture. 

I walked up to her and told her the Donner Party never sent out a Christmas card. 

Keep it moving. 

#5: Eggnog for Clark 

At about the halfway point of the expedition, there was a strategic hut of beverage. Feeling like Lewis and Clark Griswold, I got an eggnog with the option to spike it. Glory in the Garden. After buying my wife a simliar eggnog and an unspiked hot chocolate for my precious children to share, I filed for bankruptcy. 

Through Amazon. 

#4: Firefly Field

This was the most alluring attraction on our walk in the woods. Hundreds of lights dancing as if they were fireflies. It was a beautiful display that made me think about summer and how good this eggnog is. I wondered if the Dazzling Nights board thought about calling this region the Lightning Bug Boreal instead of Firefly Field. I lost supervision of my kids while in this wonder wander. 

#3: Grand Finale 

One of the last loops took us over a bridge and around a small pond. Entitled "Brilliance", it was appropriately named and sugar plums danced in my head. Moments later I staggered through neon green laser beams that kids thought were so cool. I found them to be disorienting and oppressive to my 40-year-old eyeballs. 

Take your laser beams and your Instagram and your instant gratification needs and GET OFF MY LAWN. Where's the Tylenol?

#2: Live Music 

After completing a triumphant loop, we actually circled back to the barn, completing extra mileage because we are wilderness warriors. The barn had my oldest daughter's favorite holiday food, the hot dog. There was also a musical man with a guitar playing Christmas classics. The other three parents set off to hunt and gather while I established dominon near the musician. I fortified my position, leaning on a high top table while I also kept track of the the little ones on this righteous mission. Multiple tasking. 

While getting starry eyed listening to the tunes, I felt a tug on my vintage Christmas coat, passed down to me by a neighbor of my youth. I looked into the eyes of my kindergarten friend, the youngest of our team, and he gave me a big Christmas smile. As I was about to smile back he blurted out, 

"I JUST WIPED MY BOOGIES ON YOU...REAL BOOGIES" (immediate wild laugh) (end scene)

#1: Together 

On the van ride home, there was a lot of recapping and reliving our night on the trail. Gradually, everyone started drifting asleep. Some kids first. Then me. Then some more kids. Never the Dad driver (well done). When we arrived at our front porch, I carried my youngest daughter from the van as if she was wounded on a battlefield. 

And the hoopla that is Christmas season can sometimes feel like a battle. There is so much to do and not enough time to do it. There are the countdowns, the colors, the concerts, the concerns, the chaos, and the craziness the season brings. 

And then there are times where it is just nice to walk with your family and friends. To appreciate your health, the ability to get outside and on your feet. To share time with good people and make good memories. That is life's true light show. 

As we make our way toward Christmas, walk, don't run. Slow it down and enjoy the view. Carry an attitude of gratitude like Santa carries his bag of toys. This trail leads to 2025 and let it be a happy and healthy expedition ahead. 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Johnstown!

To Life

When my 9-year-old daughter got a role in a local performance of Fiddler on the Roof, I was not fully paying attention. This turned out to be symbolic as the musical centers on a Girl Dad trying his best to listen, love, and not lose his mind while sharing a home with all women. Like Tevye, I am the only man living under my humble abode's roof, and some times the father brain gets fuzzy in such conditions. 

Months ago, my eldest declared she got a role as one of Tevye's five daughters, the youngest, Bielke. My wife had told me about the auditon and my assumption was this was a grade school style showcase of the iconic story that I did not know or remember. If I watched Fiddler on the Roof before, it was lost in my memory. I might have been playing football with her younger sister when I received the details of this community production of Fiddler. So, that might explain why I also do not fully remember receiving the initial musical expectations - I was acting as a tackling dummy for Bielke's real life sister, who now has a Troy Polamalu jersey and it is the role of her lifetime. She puts that jersey on and her flowing Irish red hair transforms into the intimidating locks of a Hall of Fame Samoan safety. 

Fierce. 

Also fierce - Fiddler practice started in August. I learned that I needed to use my dependable Subaru to get my shining star where she needed to be. I learned that Tevye often talked to God about his unreliable horse. I found myself talking to God, driving my Outback all over the land, vaulted into the Theatre Dad Vortex. I then met the man who would take on Tevye and be my daughter's stage father. Prior to meeting this community member, my dear Bielke pointed out that Tevye and I shared striking similiarities - white guys with big beards (and hearts), not much hair on thy head (beauty), and she estimated we were around the same age (young). 

When I shook his hand, I saw the similarity and we discovered we had spent about the same time on Earth. When I heard him sing, this similarity stopped like a defiant horse unwilling to go any further. This guy was good.  In going on 10 years of driving my daughter far and wide, my stage has been the Subaru where I sing poorly, proudly, and passionately. Everything from the edited version of Bulls on Parade by Rage Against The Machine to John Denver's Country Roads. I'd like to think if I did anything in that ten years, I taught her to enjoy performing. 

On the first Friday and Saturday of this November, three performances of Fiddler on the Roof took place @ the Pasquerilla Performing Arts Center on the UPJ campus. The enjoyment flowing from the crowd was indisputable. The talent on the stage was tremendous, led by a powerhouse Tevye. Hundreds of hours of practice led to an incredible testatment to local talent.  All memories fade in time, but I hope to remember my community's Fiddler on the Roof the rest of my days and for all the right reasons. 

Reason # 1: I am so proud of the daughter I drove home from the hospital almost a decade ago. I was not blasting Bull on Parade for that first transport. I was driving more like a grandpa who should have his license taken away. We made it home safe and it has been a glorious experience ever since - being her Dad. It did not surprise me at all by how joyfully she danced, how impassioned she sang, and how strongly she acted. In the hours leading up to the shows, I confidently repeated in my Dad brain "You got this girl". And sure enough, she did. 

Reason #2: My daughter experienced the power of a community coming together. I cannot thank the Director enough for what I saw every time I picked my daughter up to take her home from practice - a genuine leader who guided, complimented, affirmed, and joked with the people dedicated to telling a story while he remained steadfast in detail and purpose. His commitment was inspiring. As the practices progressed, I would meet the cast of characters who became my daughter's stage family. I would commiserate with fellow Dads in the Theatre Vortex. Our family was invited to Friday night cast parties to share food, karaoke, and do an essential human thing - relax. 

Thank you to all those who made Fiddler on the Roof what it was - a family. From the direction to the choreography to the actors - you welcomed a little girl into a creative process that is a testatement to an undeniable truth - when good people come together, great things can happen. And that is a standing ovation that goes way beyond the curtain call. 

Reason #3: A small army of family and friends came out to support these performances. My kids have been blessed by four outrageous grandparents, who have done their fair share of driving around all over the place to help raise these wild childs. My daughters have grown up in a world where their grandparents were always there for them and that is an almost a decade long performance I will forever be grateful for. Over the course of this weekend's three shows, the audience included those four grandparents, teachers, aunts, uncles, cousins, a church family, the best man in my wedding and his family, godparents and friends. In a packed auditorium, a wolfpack of Stephenson supporters howled and hollered. An overjoyed recognition of all those who came out. If you saw me at Show #2 or Show #3, I wore shorts because I overheated at Show #1. I taught my daughter to enjoy performing. I taught myself, as a Dad in the vortex, if to be nothing else, be comfortable. 

When the final show ended late Saturday night, the performing concluded but not the celebration. This might be the last time in my life I get invited to an after party with my kids that starts at 11PM. To Bigdogz Grill we go! (howl at the moon and thank God for daylight savings)

As Fiddler folk gathered, the room filled, a loud love for the arts. Overtop the noise, the Director did what directors do - got everyone's attention. In a heartfelt toast, he acknowledged what this community created and his appreciation for the effort, the grit, and the final product. And then in a theatrical breakout, the cast started to sing the musical's rallying cry, To Life. Like we did all weekend, my wife and I clapped thunderously and foot stomped triumphantly. 

And in that moment, I was grateful for the wife who gave me two great kids. To Johnstown, our hometown, rooted in family and faith. To balancing life and letting the music speak for itself. 

To being a Fiddler on the Roof. 

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.