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Allegheny Musings

A Blog by Susan C. Ramirez

Home Is Where the Moose Is
By Susan C. Ramirez March 12, 2025
I remembered the modest cabin of my girlhood. I remembered how at home I was there and in the hollow. I remembered how my best self lived in that cabin and in that hollow and that it was there I had received the priceless, immeasurable fortune for which financial opulence is a ridiculously poor substitute.
Clear Shade
By Susan C. Ramirez February 10, 2025
Like any wild area, it is an open haven, a clear shade from the woes of this world. Something I think we all need.
The Old Woman
By Susan C. Ramirez January 22, 2025
The old woman’s bones creak and crackle. Her voice is raspy and hoarse. She mutters, moans, howls, and shrieks. Her bitterly biting breath stings the flesh and can come in gusts forceful enough to jostle people, swerve moving vehicles, rattle houses, and fell trees.
Regular Old Traditions, Little Old Mountains, and Big Old Rocks
By Susan C. Ramirez December 15, 2024
It is a voice. The clearest, most calming, reassuring, encouraging, and honest voice there is. The voice of silence.
By Susan C. Ramirez November 25, 2024
A hard frost has finally visited the Alleghenies. I am smitten by the way it makes each fallen leaf, fading blade of grass, drooping fern, and other languishing ground covers common here in November stand out and look as special as they are.
companions
By Susan C. Ramirez November 12, 2024
Rust is associated with disuse and deterioration. While fallen leaves symbolize death. Yet, I cannot think of anything more utilized, growing, and teeming with life than rusty fallen leaves. Just as admirable, they’re fun.
October Leaves With Halloween
By Susan C. Ramirez October 28, 2024
October is the eye-popping beauty of leaves departing in a blaze of glory. As I watch them drop, I can’t help but wonder if they are also dropping a hint that their way of leaving is a magnificent way to go.
By Susan C. Ramirez October 4, 2024
Closer to the cabin, standing in between the back deck and the pond, is a shagbark hickory named Hickman. He is a lovely tree, but at this time of year, I consider him way too close for comfort. Because in the fall, Hickman typically releases the hundreds of hickory nuts he has been producing since spring. The nuts, encased in a hard husk about the size of a golf ball, hit the deck with a loud thud. Many a knock on the head I have had thanks to Hickman’s indiscriminate liberations. Many a sleepless night I have had thanks to his rackety emancipations.
By Susan C. Ramirez September 3, 2024
I would beg to differ. Because I find the Alleghenies fascinating. With their current images like squat, stoop-shouldered, wrinkled old grandmas and their dense forests veiled in shadows, there is something mystical about the Allegheny Mountains. As if they are the all-knowing keepers of ancestral wisdom. Within the dark shelter of their woods, hiding secrets we humans are not yet ready to learn.
Ember Walks With a Broken Ankle
By Susan C. Ramirez August 15, 2024
Bravery is not mine because I am one of the lucky ones who has never had to make the choice to be brave. I do not know if I have what it takes to make that choice. I do know I would be very afraid. Especially since something as minor as a broken ankle has frightened me.
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