Saturday, 26 November 2011

Riding the Rails in Rockhill Furnace, Pennsylvania

!: Riding the Rails in Rockhill Furnace, Pennsylvania

Tucked into the pocket of a pair of hundred-year-old railroad engineer coveralls, you are instantly returned to an era of vintage rail transportation here. Like triumphantly raised arms, two silver smokestacks proclaim their victory over time, which otherwise seems suspended by the sprawling, wooden, red-painted shop complex surrounding it, modified by not a single nail since it first rose from the ground. A cobweb of tracks, imbedded in the artery which divides the twin boroughs of Rockhill Furnace and Orbisonia, merges into three in front of the depot, which bears the latter's name, departure point for one of three daily, narrow-gauge, steam locomotive-pulled trains operating as the East Broad Top Railroad. The clang of a bell, rung across the street, indicates the arrival of a bright red trolley car from the opposite direction.

Tourists ride the rails today; coal miners rode them yesterday.

Cradled by Blacklog Mountain and both Saddleback and Sandy Ridges, the area, then undeveloped, beckoned prospectors with its natural resources, consisting of agricultural land, water, timber, coal, and iron, the Blacklog Creek both feeding and leading them to what would become its twin boroughs.

Initially serving as a Native American campsite and hunting ground, as evidenced by archeological traces found at Sandy Ridge, the area first took root in 1754 when land was purchased from Six Nations, and the first road, mimicking the original Indian path and fostering westward expansion of settlers, was created 33 yeas later, stretching between Burnt Cabins in the south and Huntingdon in the north.

Bedford Furnace, the area's first village, evolved from a trading post in 1760. Providing both a sense of location and permanence, it attracted the first white settler, George Erwin, who established a trading post in a log cabin, shipping goods over narrow, wilderness-tunneling trails and exchanging them with travelers and Native Americans alike.

Placing the initial pin into the map, the Bedford Furnace Company established a charcoal furnace in order to be able to produce iron in 1785, sparking growth in the Juniata Valley and serving as the first of many to eventually characterize it.

Rockhill Furnace Number 1, built in 1831 by Thomas Diven and William Morrison south of the town in Blacklog Narrows, replaced the smaller, original plant, while Winchester Furnace, the third such ironworks, rose a few hundred yards away.

Abandoned in 1850 after a less-than-prosperous reign, it was joined seven years later by furnace Number 1 when area deforestation depleted the timber necessary for iron smelting charcoal, although the Civil War once again-albeit temporarily-re-lit its fires.

A mortgage foreclosure preceded its purchase in 1867, but its resurrection now hinged upon a fuel source to feed it. The needed pot of gold at the end of the rainbow-or, in this case, on top of the rainbow-came in the form of coal discovered on Broad Top Mountain. What was now required was a method to transport it from its summit-located mines to the iron furnaces in the east.

East Broad Top Railroad:

During the early-1850s, Pennsylvania's Juniata Valley began to sprout rails.

The single track of Pennsylvania Central Railways, thread through the narrow mountain passes and along the Juniata River, connected Lewistown and Huntingdon, for the first time offering a non-aquatic, intrastate transportation alternative to the Public Work's Main Line Canal. The Pennsylvania Railroad's own all-rail line soon grew branches throughout the Allegheny Mountains, allowing it to penetrate hills and valleys in order to collect and haul the region's riches in the form of lumber and coal. Track laid between 1853 and 1854 enabled the Huntingdon and Broad Top Railway to surmount its very namesaked incline on the west side. But rail access remained a void on its east.

Although the necessary charter for such a rail line had been granted on April 16, 1856, several proposals-and 14 years-ensued before a group of Philadelphia businessmen, spurred by the Civil War's cry for additional track to move troops and supplies, collected the required capital to construct one, forming, with the aid of the still-born charter, the East Broad Top Railroad and Coal Company on July 3, 1871. It was decided, from the outset, to employ three-foot, narrow gauge track in order to reduce construction and operating costs and facilitate tighter turns.

The first track was put to bed on September 16 of the following year and its first locomotive, a 17.5-ton, wood-burning, narrow-gauge 2-6-0 built by the Baldwin Locomotive Works of Philadelphia and named the "Edward Roberts," was delivered a year after that.

Like a journey of time, track-laying could be measured by the calendar, the first 11 miles of it reaching Rockhill Furnace on August 30, 1873, ascending Sideling and Wrays Hills before arriving in Robertsdale the following year-all for the purpose of transporting coal and forestry products from Broad Top Mountain to Mount Union, its southern terminus, for transfer to standard-gauge Pennsylvania Railroad trains.

The original village of Rockhill Furnace, taking shape round the iron furnaces a half-mile from the current depot on the banks of Blacklog Creek, progressively expanded.

The fleet equally multiplied when three 26-ton Baldwin Consolidation engines were acquired between late-1873 and early-1874, the same year that the Robertsdale-mined coal was first rail-transported to Rockhill Furnace to fuel the blast furnaces now taken over by the newly-formed Rockhill Iron and Coal Company to ultimately produce pig iron.

As a town, Rockhill Furnace took initial form as a dual-stack iron furnace and collection of coke ovens, which expanded into the East Broad Top Railroad shop complex lining the Jordan Creek-a veritable pocket of self-sufficiency.

Occupying the farmland purchased for the complex and employing the original, still-existent stone farmhouse for its administrative offices, the soon-sprawling plant's gears were turned by means of its steam-powered overhead shafts and belts, with additional electricity and compressed air generated by its boiler plant, pumping current, like flowing blood, to its foundry and machine, car, and blacksmith shops. Its brick roundhouse, eventually encompassing eight stalls, facilitated alignment with the needed track, provided light locomotive maintenance, and served as a storage shed, while heavy repairs occurred in the machine shop. Commodities necessary for steam engine operation, including water, coal, and sand, were stored throughout the complex, which itself was capable of the locomotive repair and maintenance functions themselves, as well as rolling stock manufacture and the production of forgings, castings, and machine parts for both the railroad and the mines it accessed.

The yard's wye, formed by track from Mount Union and crossing Meadow Street (Pennsylvania Route 994) just past the Orbisonia depot, facilitated intra-complex car movement, storage positioning, and train configuration, providing access to either Alvan or the Shade Gap Branch, depending upon car orientation.

Indeed, the shop complex served as one of many links in a chain, none of which could have existed without the other, inclusive of the area's natural resources giving rise to the iron smelting industry, the railroad needed to transport the coal to fuel it, the shops to manufacture and maintain its equipment, and the town arising to support the workforce which turned its gears.

Its fleet initially encompassed two passenger coaches, two baggage cars, and 176 freight and coal hopper cars.

From the mainline, which extended from Robertsdale to Woodvale in 1891 and Alvan in 1916, spur tracks spread like arteries from a central vein as additional mines were bored, resulting in the Shade Gap, Shade Valley, Booher Mine, Rocky Ridge, Number 7 and Number 8, Coles Valley, and NARCO branches, and the Shirleysburg clay spur.

With progressive expansion and prosperity, the East Broad Top Railroad began to carry passengers over and above the standard miners, coal, and freight for whom and for which it had been conceived.

The beginning of the 20th century signaled the railroad's infrastructure modernization program. Iron rails, for example, were replaced by steel ones. Wood was equally swapped for steel on trestles and bridges, and the durable metal for the first time formed its freight cars.

In 1926, coal-in addition to iron ore, quartzite ganister rock, forest products, and other miscellany-constituted 80 percent of its freight, exceeding 26 million ton-miles alone.

According to East Broad Top Railroad Timetable Number 53, effective Monday, September 29, 1930, it covered the 33-mile main line route from Mount Union to Alvan in one hour, 45 minutes, one southbound run departing at 0920 and arriving at 1105 via Allenton, Adams, Aughwick, Pump Station, Shirleysburg, Orbisonia, Pogue, Three Springs, Saltillo, Fairview, Kimmel, Coles, Rocky Ridge, Wrays Hill, Cooks, Robertsdale, and Woodvale.

Like everything in life, however, the railroad experienced both peaks and troughs. When the depression sunk its teeth into its profits, it was reorganized, simply, as the Rockhill Coal Company, and J. William Wetter assumed the presidency of both the iron furnace and the railroad which fed it.

Exerting its demands for commodities, however, World War II temporarily re-lit the fires in its furnaces, and strip-mining joined its list of coal and ganister rock extractions for the first time.

Inevitably, with the iron supply dwindling and coal the only commodity left to haul, the end of the line-literally-loomed ahead. Passenger rail services from Mount Union to Woodvale, initially curtailed from the two daily, Monday-to-Saturday round-trips, to a single one, were altogether discontinued on August 15, 1954, leaving coal as its sole, and increasingly unprofitable, type of freight. Mount Union brick plants, converting from coal to natural gas, no longer needed it for their own viability, while the proliferation of rail-replacing roads hammered the final anvil into the line. Mail, now transferred to truck transport, obviated the need for the post office contract.

The Rockhill Coal Company terminated its coal shipment requirements on March 31 and the East Broad Top Railroad's raison d'être essentially ended.

The last service, a round-trip from Rockhill Furnace to Mount Union via Saltillo and operated by 161,000-pound locomotive Number 17-a Baldwin 2-8-2 built in 1918-occurred on April 6, 1956, while all common carrier operations mimicked the event a little less than a month later, on May 1.

Stretching throughout the area, from Mount Union and climbing Broad Top Mountain on its east side, its mainline track network, along with its numerous, initially-intact branch lines, appeared like the cobwebs clinging to once-useful pieces of history, but now relegated to relics, their only associated movement, albeit in painstakingly slow form, being the weeds and grasses which sprouted between their cross-ties until they camouflaged them.

Not far behind was a second onslaught-in the form of the Kovalchick Salvage Company of Indiana, Pennsylvania--which had purchased the entire system, including its locomotives, cars, stations, shops, buildings, company houses, rights-of-way, and the land from which the once-precious coal commodity had been removed.

Four years passed. A few branch lines were uprooted. A handful of cars was sold to rail fans who insisted on owning a tangible piece of history. The weeds continued to aggressively attack and conquer the tracks. But, strangely, the dismantling company did not.

Indeed, instead of eradicating this piece of narrow gauge, steam railroad and coal mining history from the stage where it had been enacted, Nick Kovalchick, president of his company, became preservationist of it, rising from salvager to savior.

The East Broad Top Railroad's first re-purposed spark was lit by Orbisonia's one-week bicentennial celebration, whose cornerstone was the very rail line which had given birth to it, perhaps reflecting an act of creation, in which nothing truly dies.

Replacing tourists with coal, the trains would once again ply the tracks, offering return-to-history excursions. Cleared of underbrush, and given the necessary repairs, they once again supported railroad life when locomotive Number 12, a 1911 2-8-2 Baldwin, was christened with ginger ale by Kovalchick's daughter, Millie, on August 13, 1960.

Pulling two converted, open-air and four passenger coaches over the hitherto 3.5 miles of resurrected rail, it chugged, belched, and hissed black smoke and white steam, returning to the natural element for which it had been designed, as far as Colgate Grove. Because a wye had not been remedially installed until later, locomotive Number 15, having followed the proud, narrow gauge chain, pulled it back to the Orbisonia station.

Instead of departing history, the railroad, now under command of new president, Nick Kovalchick, has been returning to it ever since.

Designated a Registered National Historic Landmark by the United States Department of Interior in 1964, it is both the oldest-and oldest still-operating-narrow gauge railroad east of the Rocky Mountains, and today ranks as one of the "top tucks" into the preserved pockets of narrow gauge steam railroad history.

Tourists and locals alike retrace the bicentennial path, now stretching five miles, on one of three round-trip weekend excursion trains during May, June, and September; on Thursday-to-Sunday frequencies from July to mid-August; and during three-day, Friday-to-Sunday periods in October, covering the ten miles during 70-minute runs, ten minutes of which constitute a pause in Colgate Grove. Special and theme trains are offered on Mother's Day, Independence Day (accompanied by appropriate fireworks), Civil War weekends, on Labor Day, during the fall foliage season, on Halloween, and on Polar Express trips in December. Children-applicable trains are pulled by Thomas the Tank engines.

Although some 25 different steam locomotives plied the East Broad Top Railroad's tracks throughout its history, eight-comprised of six narrow gauge 2-8-2s and two standard gauge 0-6-0s-remain today, one of which is stored at the Whitewater Valley Railroad in Indiana. Most of the others continue to occupy their original residences-the roundhouse in the Rockhill Furnace shop complex.

The Number 3, a Baldwin standard gauge 0-6-0 built in 1923, was restricted to operations in the Mount Union switching yard and at the coal cleaning plant. The last and most powerful of the type, it was retired in April of 1956 and is stored in the Mount Union engine house.

The Number 12, a Baldwin 2-8-2 constructed in 1911, was contrastively the first and smallest Mikado to have been acquired, capable of hauling up to 15 loaded hopper cars from the coals mines. It was last used in 2000.

Of the same class as its Number 12 predecessor, the Number 14, built in 1912, was the second narrow gauge locomotive to be acquired, featuring both increased weight and power.

Still greater capability was offered by the Number 15, constructed in 1914, to satisfy increasing demand, enabling it to pull up to 18 loaded hopper cars.

The first of three large Mikados, the Number 16 of 1916, introduced superheaters, piston valves, and a Southern gear valve. It was retired a year before the original East Broad Top Railroad discontinued service, in 1955.

The succeeding Number 17 became the only heavy Mikado to be provisioned for tourist train service, while the number 18, the last and largest in the fleet, was retired in 1956. Like the other two in its class, it could pull 22 loaded hopper cars.

Several passenger cars, all coated in dark green, also encompass its fleet.

Of the coaches the railroad purchased from the Boston, Revere Beach, and Lynn, and the Air Sable and Northwestern, a single coach, two combinations, and the president's car remained after the others were sold at the conclusion of the line's passenger service. Six freight cars were converted to this configuration to enable it to write its tourist train chapter.

Coach Number 8, for instance, hails from 1882 and was constructed by the Laconia Car Company before having been acquired by Boston, Revere Beach, and Lynn in 1916.

Combine cars 14 and 15 share the same lineage.

Parlor car 20, now serving as the East Broad Top's first class coach usually appendaged to the end of the train, had been constructed in 1882 by Billmeyer and Smalls and was subsequently acquired from Big Level and Kinzua in September of 1907 for use as Railroad President Robert Seibert's personal coach.

Several other types make up the fleet, including flat, box, baggage, freight, and track cars, motorcars, cabooses, and diesel locomotives.

Today's tourist trains continue to depart from the "Orbisonia" station, a wooden, two-story, clapboard depot located on the north side of Meadow Street, just beyond the crossing point from the shop complex. It served as the railroad's operating headquarters after it moved from its initial, Marble House residence on a ridge behind the shop buildings. According to Vagel Keller, of the Friends of East Broad Top-a 501.c.3 historical and preservation society-"the current Orbisonia station (is) located in the borough of Rockhill Furnace, while the namesake is one-forth of a mile east... The station at this place was originally known as 'Rockhill,' and in 1888 the village got a post office called 'Rockhill Furnace.' Apparently, this caused misrouting of mail intended for an older post office in Pennsylvania named 'Rockhill,' and at about the same time that the current station was being built in 1906, the US Postal Service asked the East Broad Top to rename the station to avoid confusion... Paradoxically, the re-named 'Orbisonia Station' hosted the Rockhill Furnace post office until shortly after the end of common carrier operations."

During its heyday, its waiting room was alive with train crews, clerks, and passengers. Today, it serves as a gift shop still sporting its original wire ticket window, and from here passengers file through the door to a wooden, boardwalk-type porch, serving as a "platform," to await the train beneath the later-added, full-length trackside canopy.

The actual journey, in a choice of open, coach, or first class cars, plies the original, three-foot-wide, narrow gauge track and passes Orbisonia, farms, and forests before pausing at Colgate Grove after negotiating the wye, location of the East Broad Top's Shirleysburg clay spur, whose track had been laid in 1918 and had stretched from the grove itself to the base of the fire clay quarry on Sandy Ridge. Short-lived, its rails were removed in 1927, and the current wye, employing part of its right-of-way and constructed in 1961, resolved the train turn-around obstacle encountered during the bicentennial celebration excursions.

Today's passengers can remain at the grove either during the two-hour interval until the next run or overnight, but, since it offers little more than a barbecue and a scatter of picnic tables, all food, drink, and gear must be self-provided.

The East Broad Top offers two educational, railroad era-immersive programs. The first, designated "Engineer for an Hour," allows the rider to step into the shoes of an engineer and fireman by riding in the cab of a steam locomotive during one of the regularly scheduled trips, operating the throttle, blowing the whistle, and shovel-replenishing the firebox with coal. The second, "High Iron University/Rail Camp," is a five-day program offered in conjunction with Altoona's Railroaders Memorial Museum, and provides an indepth look at operating a steam powered railroad.

Aside from the train trip, rides are also offered in speeder, M-3, and handcars.

Another immersive experience is a tour of the railroad's shop complex, which served as the heart of its operation. Seemingly immune to time's sweep, it appears exactly as it did a century ago. The silver smokestacks mark the location of the Babcock and Wilcox boilers, which provided the steam needed to run the belt-driven equipment, while the red-painted buildings consist of the blacksmith, car, machine, and carpentry shops, pattern house, foundry, and lumber shed.

According, again, to Vagel Keller, "Another persistent myth holds that the current shops and roundhouse were built to replace earlier structures destroyed by a fire in 1882...The fire myth is based on oral traditions that conflate a cyclonic windstorm in the fall of 1881, which blew down part of the roundhouse (surviving today as the four arched doorways on the eastern half of the present structure), and on a fire in the early 1900s, which destroyed the paint shop and adjacent boiler shop. The roundhouse you see today originated with the four eastern stalls in 1874, was expanded to six stalls by 1895, and to its present form after 1911. The current shop complex originated in 1882 after the superintendent of the railroad prevailed on the Board of Directors to authorize the purchase of machine tools. Like the roundhouse, the shops were expanded over the years, taking their present form by 1911."

Rockhill Trolley Museum:

Sharing the dual-gauge portion of the rails in the yard across from the East Broad Top depot, the Rockhill Trolley Museum, billing itself as "Pennsylvania's first operating" one, affords the visitor a second opportunity to sink himself into vintage transportation history, plying the track to cover distance while distancing himself from time.

Powered by 600 volts of direct current collected by a continuous, overhead copper wire by means of a sliding shoe positioned at the end of a pole, electric trolleys, like trains, run on tracks, each of their under-floor motors usually powering a pair of wheels. An electric motor-driven air compressor channels pressure to their brakes. Internally, conductors check tickets and collect fares.

Tracing their origins to horse-drawn cars, trolleys, in their earliest forms, were small, wooden, four-wheeled vehicles, providing inter-city transportation. Demand, paralleling metropolis growth, soon necessitated larger cars, later constructed of steel, for passenger, freight, and mail transport, and by 1918, the trolley transportation industry had become the country's fifth-largest. Pennsylvania alone was served by 116 such trolley lines, which covered more than 4,600 miles of track.

But, as cities stretched, like taffy, into suburbs and were increasingly accessed by roadways, need for this transportation system declined, leaving only Philadelphia and Pittsburgh to run their lines after 1960, when Johnstown became the last small urban area to cease using its own.

Because it offers an inexpensive, pollution-free alternative to inner-city transportation, some existing track and related system components have been restored, which could be considered a budding stage of resurgence, modern cars or light-rail vehicles once again crisscrossing streets, intermixed with individual car and bus traffic.

This important trolley history can be experienced at the Rockhill Trolley Museum, which thus offers a second, rail-based transportation focus to Rockhill Furnace. Established in 1960, it acquired its first trolley car, the "Johnstown" Number 311, from its namesaked city. Built by the Wason Manufacturing Company of Springfield, Massachusetts, in 1922, it initially served in Bangor, Maine, before being sold to the Johnstown Traction Company, with which it performed a similar role in the Flood City until it was retired 19 years later, on June 11. As the first such car to operate within any Pennsylvania trolley museum track network, it continues to do so more than four decades later.

It is now one of many in the collection emanating form such Pennsylvania cities as Johnstown itself, York, Harrisburg, Scranton, and Philadelphia, and is part of its larger fleet of 35 in-service and under-restoration city and suburban, interurban, rapid transit, and maintenance-of-way cars.

York Car Number 163 is one of them. Constructed in 1924 by the J. G. Brill Car Company of Philadelphia, and constituting the museum's most extensively restored example, the trolley was one of five with curved sides operated by York Railways. Subsequently used as a summer home positioned just north of the city on the Conewago Creek, before being thrust from its foundation by Hurricane Agnes in 1972, it was subsequently donated to the museum. Now a collection of hybrid parts, including wheels and motors from Japan, seats from Chicago, and cane coverings from China, it became the world's only-operable example from York after the equivalent of 17 years of volunteer restoration.

Oporto Car Number 172 is an example of a smaller, single-axle car. Built and used by the Sociedades do Transportes Colectivos do Porto, or S.T.C.P., in 1929, the extensively brake-equipped vehicle, comprised of air, hand, and dynamic systems, was well suited to the Portuguese hilly city.

Ship-transported across the Atlantic and then road-conveyed from Philadelphia on a highway trailer, it immediately operated tourist excursion runs at the museum. Carved wood trim, brass fittings, sliding end doors, storable windows in roof pockets, and a three-abreast configuration constitute its ornate interior features.

The ,539 New Jersey Transit PCC Car Number 6, first ordered in 1945 as part of a 40-strong fleet by the Twin City Rapid Transit Company from the St. Louis Car Company, connected Minneapolis with St. Paul two years later, operating on the Interurban Line, for which it was ideally suited with its northern winter-combative galvanized steel body; significant, nine-foot width for interior volume; two-person conductor booths; and electric horns.

Its "PCC" designation, an abbreviation of "President's Conference Committee," stems from the fact that it was the result of the new trolley standards it created in an attempt to increase street car ridership, which had increasingly migrated to individual automobiles.

Car Number 6, one of 30 acquired by Newark, New Jersey-based Public Service Coordinated Transport in 1953 after the Minnesota system had substituted its own trolleys with diesel buses, plied the short, 4.5-mile, municipally-owned Newark City Subway. But the late-1990s signaled its own end when the trolley line was converted to a light rail one.

Having been the second of the last to operate over the network before it was withdrawn from service, it hibernated in storage for a decade until it was purchased by the Rockhill Trolley Museum in 2011.

Philadelphia Transportation Company Car Number 2743 is another product of the President's Conference Committee. Sporting a line of small, "standee windows" above the standard-sized ones, it offered increased acceleration and decreased interior noise levels over the older cars it replaced, operating with the Philadelphia Transportation Company from 1947 to 1993, a year after which it was acquired by the museum--although its five-foot, 2 1/4-inch wheel trucks had to be replaced with four-foot, 8 ½-inch ones before it could run on its tracks.

Capable of sustaining 70-mph speeds, and sporting contoured, bullet-shaped ends, Philadelphia and Western Railroad Car Number 205 is the "bullet car" in the collection. Manufactured by Brill in 1931, the aerodynamic-appearing vehicle employed lightweight aluminum, reducing structure weight, fostering increased speed, and requiring reduced power to propel, siphoning its electricity to run from a third rail and therefore not sporting the otherwise traditional trolley pole. Secondarily acquired by the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority, or SEPTA, it provided 59 years of service before nudged into the museum's growing collection.

Its largest car is the "Independence Hall" Liberty liner. Spanning 156 feet in length, the permanently-attached, quad-car interurban, designed by the St. Louis Car Company in 1941, features eight, 125-hp articulated traction motors, and served the Chicago North Shore and Milwaukee Railroad's North Shore Line along with its identical twin, attaining 90-mph speeds on the windy city-Milwaukee sector. Both were designated "Electroliners."

Subsequently bought by the Philadelphia Suburban Transportation Company after the twin city link had been discontinued in 1963, the refurbished interurbans, named "Independence Hall" and "Valley Forge" Liberty Liners, entered service on its relatively short, 14-mile Norristown Line, for whose curves and hills it was less than optimal, although its passenger-popular tavern car sold alcoholic beverages, snacks, and meals during the trip.

Acquired by the Rockhill Trolley Museum after it was offered for sale in 1981, it appears similar, although for larger, then the only rapid transit car in its collection, Philadelphia Subway Number 1009.

Manufactured itself by the J. G. Brill Car Company in 1936, it saw initial deployment on the Delaware River Bridge Commission's Benjamin Franklin Bridge Line, shuttling passengers between Philadelphia and Camden. Its City of Brotherly Love service was retained with the Broad Street Subway, which subsequently purchased it and operated it until 1984, at which time it was replaced by state-of-the-art Japanese cars and donated to the museum.

Track-plying maintenance vehicles also take their place in the collection. Philadelphia and Western Railroad plow Number 10, for instance, a "sheer plow" produced by the Wason Manufacturing Company in 1915, canted snow to either side of the track. Bought from SEPTA in 1988, it is the last snowplow trolley to have been used by any US transit system, although it is employed by the museum for the same track-clearing purposes.

Actual car maintenance and restoration can be viewed on shop and car barn tours, while six departures offer trolley ride opportunities on the 1.5-mile Shade Gap Branch of the East Broad Top Railroad, with which it closely coordinates, to Blacklog Narrows, passing the remains of the original iron furnaces, which are now reduced to skeletal brick walls and coke oven ruins. A single ticket accesses unlimited rides for the day, which take about an hour for the three-mile round-trip. Like the East Broad Top Railroad itself, which the trolleys usually meet upon return, the Rockhill Trolley Museum, open on weekends between June and October, schedules several seasonal trips, including those highlighting trolley equipment, fall spectaculars, and Pumpkin Patch, Polar Bear Express, and Santa runs. Its gift shop features a rail-related photographic collection.


Riding the Rails in Rockhill Furnace, Pennsylvania

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Friday, 18 November 2011

Collecting Antique Axes

!: Collecting Antique Axes

Edge tools are among the earliest tool forms, with surviving primitive axes dated to 8000 B.C.. Early axes were made by "wrapping" the red hot iron around a form, yielding the eye of the axe. The steel bit, introduced in the 18th century, was laid into the fold at the front and hammered into an edge. The side opposite the bit was later extended into a poll, for better balance and to provide a hammering surface.

The handles took on a variety of shapes, some indicative or origin, others relating to function. The length of the handle had more to do with the arc of the swing that was required. Felling axes took a full swing and therefore needed the longest handles. Early axes have their handles fitted through the eye from the top down and the handles remain in place by locking into the taper of the eye, so they can be removed for sharpening.

Later axes, however, have their handles fit through the eye from the bottom up, and have a wedge driven in from the top. This permanently locks the handle to the axe and was much preferred by American woodsmen. Many axes found today had been discarded because the handle was split or broken off. In most cases they can be bought at a fraction of their value and, with another handle, can be restored to their original condition. Most axe collectors have a stock of older flea-market handles that they use for this restoration. Like plane blades, axe handles might have been replaced two or three times throughout the life of the tool. As long as the handle is "proper," meaning, the right shape and length for its function, it won't detract that much from its value.

Pricing of antique axes runs the entire gamut from a few dollars to several hundred. Examples of well-made axes would include the Plumb, White, Kelly, Miller and numerous others. Beyond these were axes of sometimes lesser quality, but built to a price, and sold by the thousands. Exceptional examples might include handmade axes, possibly from the local blacksmith, or from a factory that specialized in the handmade article, regardless of price.

There are several types of axes out there such as:

SINGLE BIT FELLING AXE:

This axe is considered the workhorse of the axe family. It is a simple design, varying from a 2 ½ lb. head used by campers to the 4 ½ to 7 lb. head used for forest work. There are heads used in lumbermen's competition that are up to 12lbs.. With the advent of the two-man crosscut saw, and later the power chain saw, tree no longer are taken down by axes. The axe is more a utility tool for clearing branches off the downed tree, and splitting firewood.

DOUBLE BIT FELLING AXE:

Double bit axes always have straight handles, unlike any other modern axe. Almost all axe handles are hickory. Hickory has both strength and spring, and was found very early to be the best for axe handles. Starting in the late 1800's a number of axe manufactures adopted intricate logos that were embossed or etched on the head of the axe. Almost 200 different styles have been identified to date and these have also become an interesting collectible.

BROAD AXE:

The broad axe is not as common as the felling axe, and is a lot larger. It's purpose was to square up logs into beams. It used a much shorter swing that the felling axe, therefore required a much shorter handle. The identifying feature of many of these axes is the chisel edge, that allowed the back side of the axe to be dead flat. Because of that, it posed a problem of clearance for the hands. To keep the hands from being scraped, the handle was canted or swayed away from the flat plane of the axe. This is the feature that should always be looked for when buying a broad axe. If the edge is chisel-sharpened, then the handle should be swayed. As with the felling axe, the broad axe heads have a variety of patterns, mostly a result of geographical preference.

GOOSEWING AXE:

The goose wing axe is one of the most artistic looking tools out there, and it takes it's name from its resemblance to the wing of a goose in flight. It functions exactly as the chisel-edged broad axe, except that the American version has the handle socket more heavily bent or canted up from the plane of the blade. These axes are large and difficult to forge. Many show cracks and repairs and an original handle is rare. Signed pieces, particularly by American makers, mostly Pennsylvania Dutch, are considerably more valuable. Also of importance is the difference in value between American and European axes, the American ones being worth considerably more. A few well-known 19th century American makers whose names appear imprinted on axes are Stohler, Stahler, Sener, Rohrbach, Addams, and L.& I.J. White.

SHIPWRIGHT'S OR MAST AXE:

This axe is used for shaping ships' masts and timbers, and is usually ground on both sides. It varies in length base on local usage. The double pointed ears or lugs are common with this axe.

COOPER'S AXE:

This axe has a lighter handle socket, well canted and carries a very short handle. Although the general differentiation between an axe and a hatchet is that an axe is used with two hands and a hatchet with one, the cooper's axe is one of the exceptions to the rule. It was used mostly for shaping barrel staves, and was almost always used with one hand while the other held the stave.

COACHMAKER'S AXE:

This is an asymmetrical axe used for shaping coach parts in almost a paring manner. The heads vary in size, some styles taking on a "bearded" effect, hence the nickname "bearded axe." These axes are almost exclusively of European origin.

ICE AXE:

Back in the day, ice was harvested in the winter from ponds and lakes and stored in ice-housed for summer use. This was an important winter cash crop for many farmers. There was a whole family of tools developed to serve this industry, among them was the ice axe. Again, local patterns create a variety of styles.

FIRE AXE:

These are sought-after collectibles, because many of the older ones have the fire company's monogram on the head. All have rear pikes used for clearing openings or creating ventilation.

MORTISING AXE:

The blade on these axes are long and narrow to accommodate the size of the mortise hole it was designed to cut, most often for post and beam construction or for post and rail. Some have double bits, one bit sized for the length and the other for the width of the hole.

TRADE AXE:

Trade axes were originally brought over by the French and Spanish and later by the English and were traded to the Indians who held them in very high regard. They were poll-less and small enough to be carried at the belt and used with one hand. The larger variety were known as squaw axes and were used by the women for chopping wood.

TURF or BOG AXE:

Used for cutting turf and peat, these axes are not heavy enough to cut wood.

HATCHET:

Hatchets are small axes used with one hand.


Collecting Antique Axes

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Thursday, 3 November 2011

Finding Peace at Work Or My Cubicle As a Church

!: Finding Peace at Work Or My Cubicle As a Church

I walk around and look at stuff a lot. It's sort of my job, I think, and I'm a pretty lazy person so walking around staring suits me just fine. Today, on my way back from a healthy hike I saw a bunch of men from the phone company putting up a telephone pole. Haven't you ever wondered how they do that, especially in the middle of a city? Well, it's a very cool process let me tell you and I watched in awe of these guys, the guys who make everything run and work.

Thank God for them. Some days it amazes me that I wake up and there's electricity, running water, and heat. Think about everything it takes to provide these creature comforts! Years of thought, labor, fixing, and planning go into all the things we take for granted. If everyone wasn't out and about, doing their thing, the world would grind to a halt. Frankly, if everyone was like me, content to just wander around, we'd be back in the Stone Age. Not that there's anything wrong with "primitive" living, it's just not modern American culture.

I am grateful to architects, construction workers, engineers, electricians and most of all - God, most of all - plumbers. Raising three young men you can bet that well-functioning plumbing was a high priority and for the most part, everything has worked. I do sometimes have the occasional "disaster dream" where toilets are overflowing and roofs leaking like mad but in my waking state, 99% of the time it's all good.

We all need to do something. We need to stay busy and feel productive. Understand that productivity in and of itself is of no value. "Hard work" - which we idolize like a god - is just that, hard work; nothing more, nothing less. For some reason, we seem to believe that working hard to earn a paycheck is a good thing. For those of us who have worked hard let me speak up loud and clear, right now: there's nothing good about hard work, except how it feels when it's over. Once again the adage is true that the best thing about banging your head against a brick wall is how good it feels when you stop.

The Buddhists refer to our work in the world as "chop wood, carry water" - that routine work we do daily to sustain ourselves. They do not invest the work itself with any inherent value, except that the very act puts them exactly where they are at the moment. They do one thing at a time. It's a beautiful, peaceful philosophy about work. The value is not in the end result necessarily, but in the process.

My telephone guys were very focused in getting this huge tree-pole into a tiny round hole in the ground. They worked slowly and together and because of them, phones will continue to work. Apparently, to keep things running smoothly we all need each other. Telephone guys do good work, friends - both necessary and, in its way, important. Much of what we do in our work lives is meaningless. Is your job meaningless?

Once or twice a week I take a boxing lesson/workout with a guy named Rocky. No kidding, his name is Rocky and you can't even tell what that thing is in the middle of his face, it's been broken so many times. Rocky speaks real softly and is a funny guy but he kicks your ass for .00. He never inquires about things like your last name or health insurance. You never fill out a form or sign a waiver.

"Hey, you get hurt," he shrugs, "You were never here."

Rocky's job is to help people feel strong. That's good, and important. Some nights in his class there might be a nurse, a Navy Seal, a plumber, a detective, a teacher. We all come to learn from Rocky, and to laugh. This Navy Seal is built like the proverbial brick house and one night he was getting ready to leave for another training camp.

"You going to go to the war?" I asked innocently. He looked at me, not in a mean way but just quizzically. "War is my job," he said simply.

Everyone has to do something. Some people fight our wars, others unstop our toilets, clean the laundry, invest our money, teach the kids, file paperwork, make French fries. Some of us must love our work, feel it as our devotion and others just don't mind doing anything. I don't think it really matters so much what you do externally, but how you approach it and what your internal framework is as you go about your business. If you are working for the wrong reasons, or you act in ways that are destructive, you wear away at the fabric we are weaving. On the other hand, if you work with patience and virtue (yes, virtue) you make this stinky world a more tolerable place to hang out, whether you're an investment banker or a garbage collector.

As an attorney, I had a very hard time finding what the Buddhists call "right work." There was something about the judicial system that demanded incivility, harshness, fear, and often violence of words. The litigation process seemed built on a secret code of undermining the "enemy," hiding relevant information, and endless bureaucracy. Honestly? I didn't really like lawyers very much at all. And yes, I was one of them.

I left law several times. The first time was after twelve years of practice. I had developed some expertise in employment law and was hired by a fairly large corporation to work as a VP of human resources. Within three months I realized that although the corporate culture might be more civilized, it was just as vicious as the legal system. Also, I was like a babe in the woods in that climate. I couldn't understand the code words in meetings and who you were and were not supposed to talk to and why. This whole "chain of command" thing was enforced like the military and it seemed to me the CEO never knew what was really happening. I went to an awful lot of meetings. We met a lot. There were memos generated about the meetings and "mission statements" created. Fortunately, the institution was purchased, I was "downsized" (the opposite of super-sized) and I left wondering how anything gets accomplished in corporate America.

I returned to private practice in a particularly gruesome firm where there were ethics charges pending against several senior partners. When interviewing me, of course, they strenuously denied any wrongdoing. Two years later, the place fell apart - Peter and Paul robbing each other blind. Fortunately I saw the handwriting on the wall six months before the Blow Up, and had taken a job teaching high school English. When the Board of Education inquired why I would want to leave the practice of law to teach, the answer was easy:

"Take your worst teenagers," I said, "put them in suits. Give them power. Tell them whoever argues the loudest and longest wins. That's what it's like to practice law."

I taught for about two years and found it gratifying but exhausting. I never worked so hard in my life, and for so little money. I resigned, dedicated myself to my writing, and set up a solo part time practice to pay the bills. I've had several "careers" and this much I know: Working with people is really hard.

In the summer of 2004, I took what I thought would be a stupid, mindless position as a hostess in an upscale restaurant because I wanted to see what it felt like to have a job that didn't require intense intellectual energy. I had always embroiled myself in deep stuff - I was a high school teacher, a litigator, an author. It was like I craved a challenge, like I needed to show how smart and capable I was all the time, a pattern that took its toll on me eventually. So, the job at The Boathouse seemed perfect: I could dress up in little skirts, show my legs but not my brains, walk people around, listen to music and not have to impress anyone with my smarts. Little did I know that lawyers, teenagers, and restaurateurs are equally miserable.

Marcus rolled his baby blue eyes and looked at me with disgust because I had mixed up a seating arrangement in his restaurant.

"Do I have to spoon feed this to you Phyllis or do you think you'll eventually get it?"
The question about spoon feeding was far from the most demeaning thing Marcus said to someone within the last hour. Apparently, the owners of this joint studied Management by Degradation and they employed this stellar method ruthlessly. The first time Marcus spoke to me this way, I was dumbfounded. If I thought lawyers were uncivilized and mean, Marcus was about to make them look like a bunch of old ladies.

A restaurant is a microcosm of the universe, or more accurately, Dante's inferno. It's just various levels of Hell. The kitchen is definitely the Ninth Circle of Hell, the deepest and ugliest part in the bowels of the building. It's hot. There are screaming tortured souls hustling about in fear. Danger lurks everywhere - fire, scalding water, knives, blood, disease. Yuck.

The next level of Restaurant Hell is the galley/pantry. This is where the indentured servants (or the more politically correct term "wait staff") come to interact with the screaming souls in the kitchen, as well as each other. It's generally a long narrow space where people are forced to smash into each other while in a hurry to wait on obnoxious people in the lovely dining room. There is little light, space, or air here because the key is economic efficiency. The slaves have to work fast and hard to get the food from the Ninth Circle to the next level, which is the Dining Room.

Amidst the linen and heavy silverware, nicely dressed souls eat ravenously. It costs a lot of money to sit on this side of Hell and mostly white people are surely willing to pay, happy that they are not the "wait staff." While jazz plays lightly in the background, they are served by the slaves who will be screamed at as soon as they pass the boundary from Dining Room to Galley to Kitchen. If a customer complains or food is dropped or something breaks, the slaves will get a verbal whipping but never (or rarely) in front of the Customers.

So my meaningless summer fling job where I get to flirt and look cute turns into a hellish nightmare within three weeks. Gradually, I don't like anyone I work for or with. The other hosts annoy the hell out of me. They don't work hard or fast enough. They talk too much. One has this awful nervous habit of pulling at her clothing all the time. Get me out of here.

After one of Marcus' tirades I turned to a co-worker and said "I don't really need this for .00 an hour." Then I remembered that senior partners in law firms had abused me in the same way for a lot more money. I mean, I was making them 0 an hour (I received a fraction of that) and getting yelled at and it felt exactly the same. Did I have a particular hourly rate whereby it would be okay to take a verbal whipping? No amount of money could make it worthwhile to me.

Maybe the world is just a place where people yell at each other, or maybe I unconsciously desire abuse. Both are equally plausible. The world is a rotten place, no doubt. But if I'm writing this script, well that's a horse of a different color wouldn't you say? Could it be that I WANT to be yelled at so that I can be the noble victim? Then, I look like the long-suffering good one while everyone around me is vilified. This takes the heat off me. I'm good; they're bad. As an added bonus, I get to look courageous and noble by quitting! Works for me.

This world really is just like the kitchen, we simply manage to contain our rage and hatred and express it in different ways. There's almost something admirable about the outright hatred in a kitchen - the "f" word flies freely and people scream mortifying insults at each other. It's uncontained human rage. The pecking order from Executive Chef to Dishwasher is strictly enforced. Step outside the tiles and ovens and we do all the same things, only more nice-nice. Recognizing this, I know that quitting The Boathouse won't do much for me. I have to learn to find peace here. If I can learn to see things differently in this hell, then like the song says, "If I can make it there, I'll make it ANYWHERE..."

After years of hard work as a good citizen and soccer mom I eventually moved to Colorado, spending my days riding horses and skiing; at night I huddle on the couch and read. I am a recluse. After five decades of trying to be happy I'm began to see - with amazement and great humor - what a horrible ass my ego makes me. So I know that escaping to Colorado won't do much. Eventually, I have to interact with people again. As she dragged on a cigarette and tossed her bleach-blonde hair around, my best friend's mother used to say "you take your head with you everywhere."

After a hard day at the office, the school, the restaurant or wherever else I've encountered noise I have attempted to "peacify" my environment with silence, soft music, bells, whale sounds and organic food. All this new age stuff rarely works because eventually I sit next to some jack ass on the bus. It's pretty easy to be peaceful where the exterior world is gorgeous and you don't really have to talk to anyone. No wonder those Zen monks in the Tibetan hills are so....Zen-like. Okay, maybe they don't have many creature comforts (like running water or electricity) but they don't have to deal with humans, traffic, chefs, or people who pull at their clothing constantly. In my never-ending attempt to create challenges, this is how The Boathouse becomes a means for achieving inner peace. I'm sick of challenges, but here we go.

When Marcus yells at me I feel hurt and offended. This garners sympathy from everyone. Feeling victimized, I can repeat his outrageous remarks over and over and folks will tsk tsk and shake their heads and offer me support. What a long-suffering wonderful person I am, and that Marcus - a cad! A horror show! Being "hurt and offended" is great for me; it feels good to be kicked around. Why would I truly want love, peace, and acceptance when pity, scorn, rage, and chaos seem so much more comfortable? I keep finding myself in situations where I am abused because that's what I think I deserve and in fact what I want. If I truly wanted inner peace, I would find a way to create it and my external circumstances would reflect and manifest that desire. No kidding, this is how it works. Don't ask me why; I didn't create this ego thought system (or maybe I did).

People are enormously annoying because they don't do what I want them to do, which is to act and think exactly like me. Granted, if that really happened I'd be bored out of my skull and I'd find another way to create trouble but for now this is the facile scenario: you are different than me, therefore I don't really like you at all. Perceived differences create trouble and discomfort. I wonder if I can see Marcus as my brother - truly the same as me. Though he looks like a homosexual restaurateur with a rage problem, maybe we are the same. My co-worker with the nervous clothes-pulling habit? My sister.

In order to find peace in the Zen Restaurant I have to remove all barriers between me and everyone else. If no one is truly fat, loud, abusive, arrogant, obnoxious, crippled, humble, meek, strange, aloof, smelly, wrong-headed, black, gay or old then we are all the same. Do I want to remove all specialness? Doesn't the fact that I'm an old gay black man define me? Who am I if not that humble servant Mother-Teresa Type or the arrogant Jewish princess? Wow, stripped of our specialness and differences we are all Me.

I hate the people I work with because I can't stand myself. There is something deep inside me that has convinced me that I've done a very bad thing very early on, perhaps before I had any consciousness at all. The Catholics brand this uncomfortable guilty feeling "original sin" and then create a patriarchal system of "forgiveness" based on fear of retribution. It works well if you're into spiritual slavery but I was never simpatico with the idea of God as Ass Kicker. Really, who wants a God who demands sacrifice, appears to love random pain and requires learning only through a never-ending series of bad happenings? You can have Him.

If God is All Love All The Time, (like He HAS to be in order to be God), then He would not have created a world where everything suffers and dies. I'm sorry, it's not logically consistent to believe that a Being who is All Powerful and All Love/Good would think childhood cancer is a "lesson." It's not a "lesson" to watch a kid die - or anyone for that matter - it's a freaking scourge and horror, period. How many times did I have Catholic priests and nuns try to convince me that tragedies are just something we "can't understand" because there's some Mysterious Plan my pea brain can't grasp and God knows better yadda yadda. It never made sense, yet we continue to lay all this bad crap at God's door.

Back to The Boathouse. What does all my metaphysical rambling have to do with Marcus and me? Everything. This cranky, mean-spirited Separate Self seems to cause me pain and anxiety. There must be another way of looking at this so that it doesn't hurt so damn much just to be around people. Here's the way we usually cope with this endless ache: we drink, shop, find "a soulmate," have sex a lot (because that makes us feel joined and not separate, at least for about 30 seconds), work too hard, take up hobbies, collect crap, worship money. The list is pretty endless and nothing works. Nothing outside of my self will ever, EVER bring me peace or happiness. No man, no dollar bill of any size, no plate of food or orgasm extraordinaire will ever ease the pain of separation from each other.

I look at Marcus and see that he's sweating as he yells at me; his hand trembles a little. This guy is terrified. Apparently, he believes there's a lot at stake in the success or failure of this restaurant and fear compels him to scream at me or whatever poor schumck underling happens to be on his radar screen. Seeing him as compelled by fear, I get to feeling a little bit of compassion because I know fear. In fact, I think I invented it. I have spent my whole life on the edge of fear, afraid of falling into it completely. Fear of pain, fear of love, lack of love, lack of money; fear my kids will die or I'll die; fear of being hit by a Mack truck or bitten by a snake. Yet another long list. No wonder my mind is so busy conjuring up ways of staying safe. There is no safe place here.
Marcus is afraid that he won't be able to meet his monthly payables and then he'll be out on the street, mocked and scorned and hungry and no one will love him. This is why he screams at me, at least on this level of form. On another level - my deep unconscious - I have invited him into my dream so that I can blame him for stuff to make me feel better. It helps a little bit to begin understanding this. Although I can chastise my ego for creating this mess, there's nothing I can do to make my ego disappear. But I don't need to pay it a lot of mind and I can try to find another way of looking at this man.

On a practical level I can afford to develop some compassion for Marcus because I don't need this stinking job. My server friends in the galley, however, see themselves as stuck and "having to take it." I have been in the same position. As a lawyer and single parent with bills to pay, I often had to "take it." Need creates prisons; as long as I need anything - a job, a person, a feeling, an orgasm - I'm screwed. My response has always been to leave the abusive situation and I will leave The Boathouse too but I have to develop compassion for my perceived abusers/oppressors because in reality, it's all in my head.

Having fearlessly examined the ego-ploy that got me into this mess in the first place, I am ready to make peace with myself and Marcus and move on. The Restaurant, it seems, will always be a place of drama and chaos. I'm told that Marcus and his partner create insanity wherever they go; maybe that is their comfort zone but it's no longer mine. There is no sense in suffering through this for any reason, now that I understand why I got there in the first place. I give my two-week's notice, do my job well and with relief, and leave on good terms and with peace in my heart. That's the only way to leave anything, from a job to a marriage, to a place.

Your workplace is a fabulous classroom. You are there to learn about Your Self. I am sure you work with people who rub you the wrong way; really annoying, self-centered or arrogant folks. Who is the lazy one who never pulls his weight? Who is the "brown noser?" The Gossip? Isn't it hard to go to work everyday knowing you will have to deal with people who push your buttons? Yet, thank goodness for them. They are great teachers. Pick any one of your co-workers and go through this simple system of thought and you will find peace, I promise. I'll walk you through another example from my life, and then you try it.

When I was a teacher, there were several people who annoyed the hell out of me but one guy in particular made me literally want to run screaming from the room. He was big, burly, bald, and so loud. He talked about money constantly and he was, as Seinfeld would say, a close-talker. Loud and close, in-your-face and all about money. His eyes would bug out and he'd often point his finger for emphasis. When he walked into the faculty room, the first thing he'd do after announcing his arrival (really loudly) is fix his privates. Right there, in front of everyone, especially all the young women.

I'd like to shoot him, but I don't want to go to jail. Honestly, sometimes I think that's my only deterrent. So I desperately need to find a way to accept him so I stop crawling out of my skin each time I see him. Here's the key: whatever annoys me deeply about him is something I hate about myself. I need to repeat that: whatever annoys me deeply about him is something I hate about myself.

So, I go through my list of questions:

Q. Why does his behavior drive me crazy?
A. Because he's loud and obnoxious
Q. Why is he loud and obnoxious?
A. Because he needs to be the center of attention.
Q. Sound familiar?
A. Ouch. Very much yes. How many times in my life have I wanted so much to be the focus of everything, to have everyone listening to me and paying attention? OK so maybe I don't fix my underwear in public or talk loudly about money but I have certainly worked hard, often, to make sure all eyes are on me. Often, I do it in "good" and deferential ways. By being a stellar little worker bee or a good little Mother Teresa but the goal is the same: look at me! Aren't I wonderful? That's all he's doing.
Q. That longing to be in the mix, to be focused on, can you give it up? Can you forgive it in yourself?
A. Maybe. I want to. I hope so. That's what really bugs me about Fred. If I can forgive myself for my own ugliness, I'll surely look softer on him.

Honestly, folks, this little paradigm works. It is the path towards peace. You can call it "forgiveness" if you want, but that too often conjures up images of benevolence and that is dangerous. If you think of "forgiveness" as you being gracious towards some evil lout, "opening your heart" as the New Agers would say, and bestowing some sort of artificial kindness on another poor slob human, you are kidding yourself. That kind of "forgiveness" is pure evil; it is illusion, self-deception, and shall we say plain old bullshit. If I see Fred as in need of my forgiveness I am casting him as a victim, I am making him less than me and - there we go - I am creating differences. The only way to find peace is to see how absolutely the same we are both in our perfect Selves and trapped in our earth suits.

I don't need to forgive Fred his transparent need for attention, I need to recognize it in me, and forgive myself. What do I think I have done, that I need this attention? I feel small and lost, just like Fred, just like everyone else on this silly sphere. No need to worry about Fred's problems, I just need to remember where I came from and where I'm going and then I won't crave attention and affection anymore. When I see it in Fred, it then evokes compassion in me because I remember how lousy it feels.

This is the only exercise you need to make a part of your life. Forget jogging, going to the gym, and eating right. Honestly, those things apparently help to rally your bag of bones but they do nothing for your inner state of peace. Forgiveness, however, is a slam dunk. The process of recognizing in others what I hate about myself is the only exercise that ever made me truly healthy. The ultimate question is always the same: what, exactly, do I think I did that makes me so desperate, sad, and wrong? This is the hardest measure of self examination you'll employ on your spiritual path: admitting you feel miserable, guilty, and lost. It is so hard that we can't look at it, so we project it out onto others, like Fred. It's so much easier to see someone else's misery, ego, and obnoxious personality than it is to admit our own sniveling fear.

When a co-worker presses your buttons, when another person aggravates the hell out of you don't think for one minute it is about that person. Whatever he or she is doing at the moment is simply a reflection of some misery in yourself about yourself, something you find repulsive and unforgivable. Resist the temptation to blame, or worse, "forgive" them in the traditional religious sense. Ask only: what do I see that I hate in myself, and then go to forgive that. It is much harder to forgive yourself than it is to bestow that artificial religious forgiveness on another.

Work is about chop wood, carry water of course. It is about putting up telephone poles and serving garlic mashed potatoes. More than anything, though, it is about interacting with people in an ostensible effort to get something done. In the course of these ventures, our fellow humans will drive us crazy. This is where the real work begins. From this day forward, see your job as that kind of classroom where you are the subject of today's lesson. Use the wonderful opportunities your co-workers will undoubtedly bestow on you to cultivate self love and compassion. Your paycheck is nice, but ultimately meaningless if the work you do cannot bring you peace.

If you work in a place of chaos and drama and this does not suit you, leave. If you can manage to find laughter in the midst of it all, you are just fine. In fact, either way you are just fine. What we "do" here ultimately does not matter. Our jobs are truly meaningless, though we invest the notion of work with so much emotion and meaning. It doesn't amount to a hill of beans, friends. Whatever you do and wherever you go to work, look only for the spiritual opportunities to learn to love your Self and others.


Finding Peace at Work Or My Cubicle As a Church

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Tuesday, 1 November 2011

WORX WG308 6-Inch 5-Amp Electric JawSaw with Extension Handle

!: Shop For WORX WG308 6-Inch 5-Amp Electric JawSaw with Extension Handle Best Quality

Brand : Worx | Rate : | Price : $149.99
Post Date : Nov 01, 2011 17:24:26 | Usually ships in 6-10 business days

The WORX JawSaw electric limbing and trimming chainsaw is the perfect tool for storm debris or tough pruning jobs. The JawSaw takes the hassle out of using an ordinary chain saw, while making heavy-duty limb and brush clean-up safe, quick and easy. With the included Extend pole, the JawSaw is two tools in one! Forget the ladder -- the extension pole attachment, extends the JawSaw's reach up to 12-feet, making it perfect for pruning and cutting hard-to-reach limbs. The extension pole requires no tools to attach and can be removed in seconds. The WORX JawSaw is powered by electricity, so it produces no noxious emissions. Different from gas-powered chain saws, our electric JawSaw doesn't require you to mix oil and gas or deal with difficult start-ups. It also . It also features an automatic oiler that provides constant lubrication to both the bar and chain.

  • Electric pruner/chainsaw with extension handle for cutting extra-tall branches
  • 5 amp saw is powered entirely by electricity, with no gas, oil, or noxious emissions
  • Enclosed jaw guard around chain keeps cuts focused and fingers safe
  • Cuts limbs up to 12 feet high; easy-to-use single-bolt Auto-Tension system
  • Bar measures 6 inches; 4-inch maximum cutting length; weighs 11.7 pounds

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