Who was Permeanius Brink?

Who was Permeanius Brink? That was the name on this photo I found on the Liverpool, Pennsylvania web site, in its gallery of historic photographs. This old gentleman, in his fur hat (muskrat?), lived on a simple house boat along the shores of the Susquehanna River. The flag on his cabin looks like it has 48 stars, which would make this at least 1912. The barge beside his floating cabin seems to be full of fire wood. The wood probably feeds a wood burning stove, evidenced by the stovepipe sticking out of the metal roof of his little house. He has a small skiff for fishing and getting around. And, on his houseboat, there is what looks like a small animal trap on the bow of Mr. Brink's boat--waiting for a new hat, or perhaps tonight's dinner?? Braised muskrat anyone?

North Pole on the Potomac

This shot of boats moored on the Washington Channel of the Potomac River was solarized to emphasize the frigid weather and ominous sky. One boater with seasonal spirit incongruously erected a candy-striped "North Pole" on his bow.

On the Susquehanna River--1839

I found this reproduction at a flea market of an 1839 engraving of men working the canal boats on the Susquehanna Division of the Pennsylvania Canal. After it was completed about 1830, the Pennsylvania Canal prompted the initial growth of Pennsylvania's anthracite coal mining region, but in the mid 1800s the state's canal system was swallowed by the Pennsylvania Railroad. The engraving is a steel engraving, hand-colored, drawn by the English illustrator William Henry Bartlett and engraved by H. Griffiths for an 1839 publication entitled American Scenery. The caption says this is a view at Liverpool. Liverpool is a small picturesque town on the west bank between Sunbury and Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. The river here is still very wide, but small mountains jut up on each shore. Liverpool is now separated from the the river by Route 15 and a railroad line. Remnants of the old canal and its tow path still parallel the bank.

Cranes are waking

Peter Matthiessen, in his book Birds of Heaven: Travels with Cranes, creates breath-stopping pictures in words. One of my favorites sketches cranes roosting in an icy Japanese river at daybreak...

Beyond the bend, the white forms hunch in icy mist. At a place where the soft and deep dry snow descends to the very edges of the ice, the still shapes create a black and white barrier across the stream.

The cranes are waking. One preens a little, but the rest seem to await the first rays of sun before starting to shift and move about in the black riffle of unfrozen current. Though not in danger from mammal predators (the wolves and tigers are extinct, and the bears hibernate), the cranes of Kushiro still roost in streams; few if any are caught by the ice, though they sometimes fly up banded with ice anklets.

Mallard ripple

A female mallard cruises the Washington Channel of the Potomac River, a liquid mirror rippling round her.

Dogwood blossoms

The National Arboretum is bounded on one side by the Anacostia River. The ebb and flow of of the flowers, plants, and trees in the Arboretum is a rhythm fed in part by that river. Here, dogwood blossoms from last spring, rich in contrast as their tips begin to brown, are now gone, long since fallen, adding their substance to the earth, feeding the next generation.

Susquehanna endangered

I've been feeling very nostalic about the Susquehanna, then I run across a report naming it as this year's #1 Endangered River by the conservation group, American Rivers.

Now that I think of it, I remember Monday mornings on the shore at Shady Nook, when masses of bubble scum came floating down the river in mid-morning. Grandma used to say it was the soap bubbles from everyone in Sunbury doing their Monday morning wash. I wonder if people in all the other little towns along the lower Susquehanna also did their laundry on Monday morning, spewing more and more foamy wash water into the stream until huge bubble islands eventually floated into the Chesapeake every Monday evening?

Skipping stones

On the way back home from my grandmother's funeral two years ago, we stopped at the Millersburg ferry crossing on the Susquehanna and skipped stones. There's an art to picking the right kind of stone--smooth, round, flat, not too small, not to heavy. And there's an art to skipping the stone--three, four, five clips in a wide arc before it slices beneath the surface. Of course, the North American Stone Skipping Association explains that it's also a science.

Summers on the river

I learned how to row a boat before I learned to ride a bike. When I think of growing up, I remember summers at my grandparents' cottage on the Susquehanna. I lived from summer to summer to be on the river. It was wide, dotted with islands, stone shallow in many places in the summer, with deeper green channels where barges used to run.

For many years, two paddle-wheel ferries crossed the Susquehanna at Millersburg--the Eagle and the Falcon. This crossing carried a Mennonite family.