DAY TRIP--Fallingwater

(this photo is from the Wikipedia page on Fallingwater--all the others were ones I took during our day trip)

Our next day trip covered a few more miles than the one to Hawk Mountain.  We decided to go to Fallingwater, a place neither of us had ever seen.  Fittingly, this lovely house (but, oh, so much more than a house) is a U.S. National Historic Landmark, as well as being on the U.S. National Register of Historic Places.

The day began with most unpromising weather--yet another day of rain.  We drove across the PA Turnpike in a pouring rain that made driving anything but a delight.

Just as we reached Fallingwater, the clouds began to clear and snippets of sunshine peaked from behind the remaining clouds that were reluctant to leave.

Autumn has finally arrived--the leaves were not quite as bright as I had hoped.  Autumn is my favorite time of year--and I look forward to the splashy displays of vermilion, yellow, and orange.  There is just enough color now to satisfy me.

After checking in at the Visitors' Center, we waited for our tour group number to be called.  Then we walked down a crunching gravel path to Fallingwater.  

No photographs are permitted inside the house, so I had to content myself with views from the outside.  

A little history is in order.  Anyone who grew up in western Pennsylvania knows the name Kaufmann's Department Store.  For decades, this department store was the height of upscale shopping.  This downtown Pittsburgh store was the kind of place people got dressed up to visit.  Maybe you remember the days when department stores had ladies with gloves operating the elevators.  Kaufmann's was that kind of place.

By the time Edgar Kaufmann, Sr. was running the store, the Kaufmann family had a country retreat location on Bear Run, some 76 plus miles southeast of Pittsburgh.  They wanted to have a house built on the location.  Through various contacts, Edgar Kaufmann engaged the services of Frank Lloyd Wright.  He fully expected that Wright would design a house that would face the lovely view of the waterfalls.  Imagine his surprise when Wright's design called for the house to be built OVER the waterfalls.

What followed is a well-known story of twists and turns in the building process.  Not only was the location a surprise, but the design itself was revolutionary.  Wright called for cantilevered reinforced concrete balconies  that were the primary features of the house extending over the waterfalls.  The conversation flowed back and forth between Kaufmann and Wright.  Some of the controversy swirled around whether or not Wright's design could, in fact, be built.  Of course, eventually it was. 

When Kaufmann Senior died, his son Edgar Kaufmann, jr. (who, for some reason, insisted on the lower case j for jr.) inherited some of his father's wealth along with Fallingwater.  The son Edgar was an only child--and, as it happened, he was also gay.  He never married, though he did have a long term partner.  Since Edgar, fils, was childless, he made plans for Fallingwater to be deeded to Western Pennsylvania Conservancy, which occurred in 1963.

The house was, in many ways, a glorious failure.  While it was being built, the soundness of design was the subject of constant communication between Wright and Kaufmann, Sr.  Eventually, during the 1990s, the house had to be reconstructed to shore up the cantilevers.  The last work, which finally appears to resolved the structural problems, was done in 2002.


While the house was being built, Edgar jr. joined the fray, defending Wright.  It is telling--at least to me--that when Edgar jr. was selecting a career, he eschewed retail altogether, having no interest in the life of running a chain of department stores.  His passion?  Art.  He studied during the 1920s  at the School for Arts and Crafts at the Austrian Museum of Applied Arts in Vienna.     He also was a residence apprentice in architecture at Wright's Taliesen East school in the mid 1930s.


Edgar jr. went on to become the  Director of the Industrial Design Department at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.  He also authored a book on Frank Lloyd Wright.

What a day trip.  Not sure if we have energy for another such trip this autumn, but if we do, I will surely let you know.

Hallowe'en

Last night, the township where we live had the annual Hallowe'en . . .well, what exactly does one call it? The annual gathering of the candy? The annual emptying out of nearby apartments with parents slowly driving through our neighborhood and children maniacally running from house to house getting as much candy loot as they can?

Of course, there are the dozen or so children who live near us, and it is always fun to see them.

When our children were small, we made costumes for them as they joined the roving bands of children. I still have several costumes I made for our daughter stored in a drawer somewhere--let's see--there is the gypsy dancer costume, the Little House on the Prairie pioneer girl, and (my best ever, if I do say so) the Spanish dancer dress in black brocade complete with a red mantilla!

But, how exactly did we arrive at the place that this "holiday" is now one of the most popular, in terms of decorating, and in items sold--costumes, decorations, and candy?

There should be no surprise that the original concept of Hallowe'en (my daughter points out to me that I am the only one she knows who insists on the apostrophe--but, it does after all stand for the missing V) came from the ancients--in this case the Celtic Druids. Their celebration corresponded with the end of the year, as they counted it. October 31 was when the final harvest was gathered, the fires of the old year extinguished, and the marking of winter began. They called their festival Samhain (pronounced Sow-in). Understandably, the beginning of the long dark winter signified death to them. The ancients believed this time between life and death gave rise to a blurring of the two worlds--the dead could roam on this night.

The ancients built huge bonfires, and wore costumes, frequently from animal skins. Upon the conclusion of their celebrating the passing of the old year and the start of the new, they took embers from the dying bonfire, and relit their own hearth fires.

The Romans get into this history as well, because having conquered Celtic lands in the expansion of the Roman empire, the Romans appropriated much of the Celtic Druid traditions. The Romans also had a day for remembering the dead, so they elided that holiday with the Celtic Samhain.

With the rise of Christianity, which was greatly aided by the degree to which the Roman empire had expanded, the orthodoxy of the church sought to co-opt previously "heathen" celebrations. Pope Boniface decreed that the celebration of All Saints, which had been on May 13, would now be November 1. That in turn made October 31 All Hallow's Eve, or Halloweven--Hallowe'en.

Of course, we have long ago forgotten any religious association--whether Druid, Roman or Christian. Children dress in costumes because. . .everyone does. The costumes tend sometimes toward the gruesome, which is entirely in keeping with the Celtic Druid tradition of trying to fool the ghosts who come back to haunt the earth. The bonfires, and even carved pumpkins--also trying to fool the ghosts--all fit into an ancient tradition.

So, how was your participation in the ancient ritual--saying goodbye to the old year, welcoming the new year?

Deer 1--Tree 0

As you might expect, based on the title of this blog, there's a back story.

Last Friday, I went out to rake leaves (yes, my autumn obsession). I raked several neat piles, muttering under my breath about "neighbor's leaves that blow into my yard" and then carried the leaves to the curb.

I offer this photographic evidence, and ask--which side do you think is my yard? and which, my neighbor's?

I mention this Friday chore only to pinpoint a time.

On Saturday, I looked out a back window and thought--that's odd. Why does the small Engelman spruce look so odd? So I trekked outside, and here's what I found.

Several deep gouges in the soft earth.

Many broken branches on the lower half of the tree.

And a gouge on the trunk of the tree.

Apparently, our neighborhood deer, or at least one of them, had issues with the tree. Or, more likely, used this little tree to rub velvet off its antlers. I didn't see the deer, but the evidence is quite clear.

The frustrating thing for me is that I have never seen these deer. Several neighbors have, and my husband and our dog encountered them one evening. We live in very suburban area, in a development that is almost 30 years old. We have lived in this house since 1980, and have NEVER seen deer, until this year. It is evidence of over-building and urban sprawl, that the habitat deer formerly occupied has been destroyed, and so they move into more settled areas.

So, for now, deer--1; tree--0.

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UPDATE: On Tuesday, I came home to find my neigbor--I'll call her Phyllis--raking leaves into piles. I was so overjoyed that I went right over and volunteered to help her carry them to the curb. I have learned that leaves left in piles tend to blow into my yard--so I may as well transport them now, as later.

There's a Nip in the Air

I love autumn!

So these last few mornings, when I get up and feel the nippy air, I am exhilirated. While I do love all the changing seasons, autumn has always been my favorite time of year.

I recall one time during a discussion, someone asked what time of day I liked best, and what time of year. Well, the time of day I love is sunset; and the time of year autumn. That response prompted the questionner to raise an eyebrow and ask: why do you like the two times that are symbolic of things drawing to a close? Short answer--I don't know.

Maybe it has something to do with good things happening in autumn: my daughter was born in October!

Maybe it has something to do with color. I love autumnal shades: vermillions, deep purples, yellows--all the colors.

Maybe it has something to do with football--a game I do love to watch, especially if it is Penn State football. For more almost 30 years, my husband and I have gone to many of Penn State's home games. The drive to State College is wondrous, (if you can ignore the awful traffic jams) particularly when the trees that cover Pennsylvania's rolling hills begin to turn color.

Maybe it has something to do with the crispness in the air. As I walk, I sometimes catch a drift of a wood burning fire, somewhere. That smell alone transports me to childhood days where the air frequently hung heavy with wood burning. (Scientists have demonstrated that the sense of smell is the most evocative sense we have--it can trigger memories like no other sense! Check out this site for info.)

Well, back to autumn. One poem captures the aspects of autumn that resonate with me--a sense that time is fleeting, but, oh so sweet in the present. Shakespeare (you knew it was coming, didn't you?) wrote Sonnet 73 which I have included as the fitting conclusion to this reverie on autumn.

SONNET 73
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.