If you’ve seen this furry cat, please write to us. His name is Sprout and he’s been missing now from his home in Beaver for far too long. And his family and friends have been missing him.
Besides the sad news, we have some good news for you: Another edition of The Bridge is here, just in time for the holidays! This is officially our 7th issue, and officially one more year has turned the corner with the words of The Bridge echoing through the Valley.
You’ve probably wrapped up your holiday shopping for the season, but the wonderful little shops of our Beaver County towns are here all year long. There are many benefits to shopping local: It’s convenient, it’s good for the economy by reinvesting your money where you live. And it’s fun too. Besides, you can really find some unique things out there.
As always, we welcome contributions. So please, take out that dusty notebook and send your musings from years past. Or go to Pollock’s in Downtown Beaver and buy a new one, and start scratching. We like the sound that it makes, and so many others do too.
We wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Thanks for reading and supporting us again!
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In Town
Valentine J. Brkich
They tell me we’re in a recession, that the economy is down, that it hasn’t been this bad since the Great Depression. Okay, fine, whatever. Times are tough. That’s true. But until they tell me that the Nintendo Wii video game systems aren’t flying off the shelves or that people have stopped buying $3 lattes at you know where, I’m not going to hit the panic button. I have family who lived through the Great Depression – people who shared a bed with four siblings and were ecstatic to get an apple for Christmas. So maybe money is a little tight right now, but let’s try to keep this all in perspective.
It’s times like these when I reevaluate my spending. Maybe that means going to the library instead of buying that book I so desperately want. This is good for a number of reasons: (1) it saves me money, (2) it may save a tree or two, and (3) it reminds me of what a valuable resource we have in our library system here in Beaver County and that I should support it as much as possible.
I think there’s a lot of good that can come out of spending less. For one, maybe it will break this gotta-have-it attitude that we’ve been taught to live by. We buy something and a couple months later a new version comes out. Gotta have it! The TV tells us that this is the new style that everyone is wearing. Gotta have it! We live in a throwaway society where we’re told that nothing we have is ever good enough, that we have to keep buying new things to be happy. Gotta have it! But don’t take my word for it – check out www.storyofstuff.com and see for yourself.
Here in Beaver County, we’re used to tough economic times. We saw the collapse of the steel industry and lived to tell about it. We’ve even thrived in some areas, redefining who and what we are. I think tough economic times like these can actually help us reevaluate what’s really important and, in the end, can make us stronger.
For example, look at our downtowns. These unique, historic, charming business districts in Ambridge, Aliquippa, Beaver, Bridgewater, Midland, Monaca, Rochester, New Brighton, Beaver Falls, Freedom…these are real treasures. Unfortunately, a lot of them are struggling. Small business owners are the ones hit hardest by the struggling economy. We need to support them. We need to think of them first when we spend our money. Maybe that means going to your main street market for a gallon of milk instead of the big chain grocery store, even if you don’t get discounts on your gasoline. Maybe it means going to your town’s hardware store for those drywall screws, even if they’re a little cheaper at the home improvement super-center. Maybe it means going to your local gift shop, even if that means you have to park way down the block and – GASP!!! – actually walk a few extra steps to get there. Your local shop owners need your support. Without it, they’ll cease to exist. Without them, your town may cease to exist too.
So let’s all stand together during these tough times and try to find ways to help each other out. Let’s use this time to reevaluate things and change from a gotta-have-it, throwaway society to one where we appreciate what we have and realize what’s really important – our family, friends, neighbors and neighborhoods.
If you have other ideas on how Beaver County residents can support and help each other, let us know at contactthebridge@gmail.com.
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Old School Christmas
This Christmas will be “old school.”
After thirty-five years in faculty housing,
I retired from Westminster College;
We moved to a two-floor apartment
in the old Vine Street School,
the downstairs carved out of Brook’s kindergarten,
the upstairs out of Jimbo’s sixth grade classroom.
I expect to awaken
to cut-paper snowflakes
in all the windows,
construction paper garlands
in red and green swags
Hanging from the walls,
the smell of rubber boots,
wet wool, library paste
and the excitement
of generations of children
who knew that Christmas
was really about anticipation.
Copyright © 2008 by James A. Perkins
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The Joys of Dog Ownership
Hugh Harper
“Madison!”
It’s a crisp winter’s morn. The scent of burning wood clings to the air and white puffs of steam exhale from my mouth. Quiet. Madison is running at full speed – chasing down the ever elusive rabbit that has burrowed a hole between three neatly groomed yards, and…
Crash! Into the only thing preventing her from actually catching that rascally varmint – our chain link fence.
Of course, I simply can not find it amusing because it’s two freakin’ thirty on the coldest morning ever, and I am in my backyard with my eyes half closed, looking like a cross-dressing Eskimo, whilst my betrothed softly slumbers as warm as a baby nestled softly against her mother’s bosom. Meanwhile, my eyelids freeze into a gunfighter stare, and I am thankful that no one else is outside to join me in the madness.
On this fine morning, when the air outside of our cozy home is at balmy zero degrees Kelvin, “Maddie”, our rescued mutt needs to visit nature, which in my defense, she could very well have done earlier, like when I was awake. To be honest, next time, I may be tempted to simply let her hold it – or whatever. Surely, there would be the inevitable mess, and clean-up, but look on the bright side, she would more likely clean it herself.
Eww!
She would be the perfect dog and I mean it. Kristi and I both agree that she would be, if not for the fact that every inch of our house is covered with one inch blond hairs. Sticky rolls are a joke. And vacuum sweepers simply die off.
Maddie herself however is clean. She should be after all the nether-regional licking she performs.
At 35 pounds, Maddie is not a large dog, yet as my wife and I settle for the evening, tucked neatly into our bed, Maddie usurps the royal queen in its entirety, leaving us with a leaf’s worth of cover and 2 pillows. To this day, I still can not explain how she does this.
Mind you, owning a dog is not like an old black and white Lassie rerun, where that simpleton, panty-waist Timmy is rescued by Lassie, every single episode – no. But it is a privilege and I love my dog.
Well, it’s naptime. I am wearing black, and she is extraordinarily cuddly this evening.
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On The Shaky Bridge
Stephen Suggs
Thunderous trucks and
curious cars
stare just enough to see
who you are
Not far left
with every step
a fence protects me
from a tragic dea....
SPLATTER!
or SPLASHER!
those thunderous trucks
ride faster and faster
in my mind
they insult with laughter
carrying bags
laggardly i drag
on the corner of eyes
a known one past
i gasp
sitting down my strong bags
thinking, maybe a pick up
soon, THEY pass
at last,
across the bridge
half!
numbers count
each row i step
thunder clouds
we know i'm wet
still i stretch
and push
through the fence
i look
at a fatal fall
if the bridge is shook
off the hooks
nature of mother
rubs her
mighty breath
against my chest
either she likes
or not impressed
i think of death
burdens of all kinds
i think of jets
flying over a tall mind
i think of success
great mountains to climb
then, a call is cryin'
my sister, rings
phone dying
her whispers, scream
like a snipers beam
in order to combat
i have a dream
that Dr. King will come back
all the violence
would turn the other cheek
can't be silent
why leave our people weak
and i think
why are these cowards
raping little kids
the wind blows furiously
as i walk across
the shaky bridge
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Bikin’ in the Baltics
Nathan Peluso
What began as a whimsical addition to my trek through the Baltic countries – a bike – has taken over as the predominant theme, the countries a backdrop for the peddling and the pain. But I aim towards a balance, a solid Baltic/Bike ratio, in which each enhances with utmost degree the other.
Being run ragged in health, and beaten from above by the weather, I could be in better shape… meaning, things could be better… less lonely, less ailment, less existential extreme. What could one expect though in Northern Estonia where remnants of every Soviet smack-down are only one-upped by the constant gray, biting winds, and rain? You cannot imagine a better purgatory, or a more temporal plain of existence.
Without being decently fit from the biking trip with TimDog just a few months ago in Virginia, and the constant stairs of St. Gallen, Switzerland where I was working this summer, my minds willing of the body would have ceased working miles and miles ago. And so, through it, I’ve gotten here, though I don’t know from where it is that I write you… “Rakvere,” just isn’t it. I am disoriented, spinning, and about as far East in the West as could be gotten. Though soon I’ll go further, only then, to drop down through the land, and hope that there’s a landing.
…
For now, the borscht has saved me. It was a godsent, this “Russian Borscht”. Steaming a mystic haze to awakened eyes, revealing through its peppery scent and heat this country-style restaurant within I sit, tired beyond tired, and comfortable though not desiring ever again to move. Each piping sip brought to my winded lips through slow measured spoonfuls, raised and blown to “hot” rather than the “dangerous” scalding state of which after twenty minutes has barely tempered a degree. And as around I look, and see, the deep brown wooden tables, eclectic matrushka dolls replacing what would be amish-buggy paraphernalia back home, and a solid wooden bar, I grow contented, and with my new savior, warm.
It’s only me, and against the other wall, a cozy group of elder gentlemen, warmed too and even moreso by each others company. Despite my solitude, I rejoice with them, and in my own still silence. The motherly waitress appearing lush and vivid before me didn’t hesitate to recommend the borscht when I got to the soup page, callously asiding the dumpling and hand-picked mushroom soup as if it were made in Latvia.
Here, in Estonia, in Rakvere, in a comfortable place with happy music and two nice middle-aged maitre-dees, destiny demanded a clay bowl of Russian red borscht capped like a wintertime babushka, but instead of felt & fur atop that bundled head, it’s a puffy mound of croissant-like bread, holding back the steam and the taste, til finally it can be taken no more, nor figured any other way, and the spoon is plunged through the crumbling exterior right through to the moist interior, releasing a blast of peppery aromatic onion and garlic and beet steam that will and did make the eyes and taste buds rejoice.
The pure joy and essence can hardly be explained in a less wordy sentence. Too hot to eat, I ate it anyways, blowing air across the bountiful spoon, diving bread into the thick piping waters, and munching down in all its lusciousness, chucking spoonfuls of sour cream and mixing it around. A deep breath to the nostrils, healing, each spoonful a cornacopia of tastes fused complete.
I loved this borscht! There’s no other way to say it. And I think the two heavenly cooks loved watching me eat it, cause with earned respect in their eyes, they glanced at me and at one another, wholesome understanding glances, sometimes held, just long enough for me to show my admiration, and them theirs. And at times they giggled and laughed like kids because I too was reduced to a kid by their creation, or shall it be said, elevated. I was brought to a certain glory, and as life seemed dim, I could have asked for no better call from the heavens.
For more Bikin’ in the Baltic stories, email me at: npeluso@hotmail.com
- the Baltic ghost-
I seen a ghost out in the Baltics
On the Eastern edge of town
I seen a ghost out in the Baltics
Movin’, around
I seen a ghost out in the Baltics
And tried to understand
I seen a ghost out in the Baltics
I reached out my hand
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Bridgewater – A Brief Town History
Courtesy of the 1976 Beaver County Bicentennial Atlas
Bridgewater's history is closely associated with that of the Beaver and Ohio Rivers (and often much too closely!). The Great Path, or Tuscarawas Trail to Central Ohio followed the Ohio River from its forks, crossed the Beaver at Bridgewater, then veered to the northwest. When the Delaware Indians migrated to the Beaver Valley around 1725, their first village, Sawkunk, was located in Bridgewater, before moving to higher ground where Beaver now stands. Bridgewater was originally surveyed as outlets for the town of Beaver.
Settlement in the area was sparse until 1832, when the Beaver Division Canal was constructed from Rochester to New Castle (with subsequent extension to Akron and Erie). Although the Girard Locks were across the river, Bridgewater became the major terminal of the canal. Freight from river steamboats was reloaded onto canal boats headed north and west, and immigrants traveling down the canal tarried in Bridgewater while seeking passage westward on the Ohio.
Stone's Point, where the rivers meet, was the site of Stones Hotel, a noted landmark on the upper Ohio and stopping place for many river travelers. An island in the Ohio River was located here until obscured by flooding prior to the present century.
Bridgewater Borough combined with Sharon Village in 1868 (then part of Brighton Township). Sharon was the site of much activity in 1805, when a number of "Orleans" boats were constructed here to carry men and supplies to Aaron Burr's proposed colony in Louisiana.
Beaver County's first Methodist Church is believed to have been located here. In 1845, the Bridgewater Presbyterian Church was established, following a split in the Beaver congregation. In 1878, Professor Scudder Peirsol established an Academy next to the church after the Soldier's Orphan Home in Monaca burned.
As the rivers created Bridgewater, so did they try to destroy it. More than any other Beaver County community, Bridgewater has been ravished many times by floods. Reservoirs in the headwaters of the river have largely alleviated the flood problem, but the danger still exists. The lower section of town was most recently inundated by Hurricane Agnes in 1972.
Bridgewater (named for the city in England) had its own post office, called West Bridgewater (closed in 1959) which still creates much confusion as to the correct name of the town. The borough's theme for the future is "back to the river." The biggest industries in town are a barge repair facility on the Ohio (at Stone's Point) and Skyline Marina on the Beaver. The Beaver River, site of the annual River Regatta since 1975, is an ideal waterway for pleasure boats of all sizes. Riverside Park was developed as a community project in 1976. Currently Bridgewater is the home of many fine restaurants and small shops that enhance the community.
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WANTED: Bridgewater Stories, Pictures
Valentine Brkich of Bridgewater is currently writing a history of Bridgewater, and he needs your help! Val is looking for interesting stories about Bridgewater and its people. The stories can be about anything as long as they are about the town or one of its residents. Have an interesting tale about your grandparents, or maybe a treasured memory from your childhood growing up in Bridgewater? Val would love to hear about it. He is also looking for old photos of the town to include in the book and its online component.
If you have a photo or an interesting tale about the town that you'd like to include in the Bridgewater history book, please send it to Val at 223 Washington Street, Bridgewater; email him at contactthebridge@gmail.com, or call him at 724.775.9815, and he'd be glad to stop by for a visit.
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Bridgewater News and Notes
Downtown Bridgewater FOCUS E-Newsletter
Town Center Associates, publisher of the Downtown Bridgewater FOCUS E-Newsletter, is looking for e-mails of Bridgewater residents. If you are a Bridgewater resident and would like to receive the FOCUS newsletter online, send your e-mail address to maryellen@towncenter.info and you’ll be added to the list.
Bridgewater BookFest 2009
It’s bAAaaack! Bridgewater BookFest returns on Saturday, Sept. 12, so be sure to mark your calendar for this one of a kind literary event.
THIS JUST IN! Larry Watson and Scott Russell Sanders, have just signed on to be our BookFest 2009 featured authors! Be sure to check out the authors’ websites for more information on their many wonderful books:
www.larry-watson.com
www.scottrussellsanders.com
Stay tuned to www.BridgewaterBookFest.com for further updates. If you’re interested in becoming a sponsor or a volunteer for the event, please call Val Brkich at 724.601.0919 or e-mail us at contactthebridge@gmail.com.
Featured Bridgewater Business:
Emily's Unique and Traditional Treats
232 Bridge Street, Bridgewater, 724.846.8709
How many of you knew there was a bakery in Bridgewater? Well, there is, and it offers some of the best pastries and baked goods around! Emily's Unique and Traditional Treats (located next to the former Ella restaurant) offers cakes, cookies, pies, soups and more. Stop down to 232 Bridge Street and see what owner Emily Schneider is baking up for the holidays!
And Finally…
Be sure to check out the new Bridgewater Crossings development down at the mouth of the Beaver River. It’s just another great riverside attraction for Bridgewater!
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A Walk in Winter
Stephanie Higgins
I went for a walk in the snow the other night.
Mine was the only set of footprints.
Even though I had been alone in my apartment there were distractions.
The TV, my phone, magazines, books.
I just needed to get away from it all.
Really be alone.
I needed to re-connect with myself, clear my head.
I listened to the sound of my boots on the frozen snow...
Moving ahead, fighting forward.
I could feel the cool air on my bare face but my body was warm.
There was something comfortable and safe about opening up to myself.
I looked straight ahead for most of my walk but I was still able to see
Red berries on the icy branches...Christmas lights adorning homes...and smoke drifting up the chimneys.
When I’m presented with the wonder of these simplicities, I’m not sure why I continue to try to figure things out.
What I think is usually markedly different than the truth, so why is it so hard to just accept things for what they are, without trying to change them?
