Finger Lakes Outlook

The trip to Charlie’s Mountain

   My favorite stories to write have always been the ones of my Uncle Charlie.  I have written many stories of all his antics.  From his solitary confinement for his miss behaved sheep to his “Bus Stop” wooden bench out in the middle of no where.  He was always good for a chuckle or two.  One cold and blustery winter day I decided to take my snowmobile for a ride.  I stopped in at the Potter store for some gas then headed off towards Charlie’s Mountain.  That’s what Charlie called it but it was actually Northrup Hill Road.  It took a while to get through all the snowdrifts and white outs on the seasonal road.  It was a pretty steep up hill climb but I finally got to the top.
   As I looked down the long driveway to that big two-story house that set back against the valley below I saw peace and solitude.  On the way down the driveway I saw the “Charlie’s Mountain” sign with his hand painted letters on a piece of plywood.  There was the knock, knock, knock sound of the man cutting wood – a lawn ornament that caught the wind.  Then there were his signs on the side of the house.  MEN WORKING, BLOW HORN, NO SALESMEN. 
   I noticed Charlie’s old Ford pickup so I knocked on the door.  He was pretty surprised to have a visitor.  He invited me in, asked me if I wanted a cup of coffee and then pulled out a chair.  Walking over to his gas stove he lit it up, filled up the kettle and commenced heating up some water to make me one of the worst cups of coffee I ever had.  It was a warm cup of instant Sanka with some of that fake sugar and a dash of canned milk.  Gosh it still gives me the shivers.  But Charlie made it for me and as I drank it he began telling me some stories.  I have told of a few before.  One was of his parrot that called the dog home.  One was of the lightning rod salesman and another was of his argument over which tractor was better, a Ford or a Fordson.  On this day, as the small chime clock on the kitchen wall ticked away the seconds, he told me a few new ones.   

Take care of your mother
   
   One thing that I will never forget is when he told me exactly why he lived up in that big old farmhouse all alone.  It was sort of tied into why he was “engaged” for fifty years.  He began telling of all twelve Conley kids, working, playing and causing mischief up on the hill.  He told of all the long days picking potatoes by hand and storing them in the cellar.  It was hard work and his mother, Inez, pitched in with the potato harvest, the hay work and besides that she had a whole bunch of cooking and cleaning to do.  Charlie’s father, Roscoe, was pretty sick and he knew he was not going to make it so he made Charlie the man in charge.  As I watched him I could see him tell it like his father was right there in the room with us. 
   “Charlie, your mother has had it pretty rough.  You need to stay here on the farm for her and take care of her.”  Charlie repeated his father’s words.  And that is what he did for nearly thirty years.  He never got married, but he did have his girl, Ester, who lived on another hill.  Every night he would take a drive over to Shay Road for dinner, then head back home to his own house.  Charlie would not move in to her house and Ester would not move in with him.  He did what his father asked.  I have all sorts of respect for that.
  
There are Men on the Moon

   Technology was usually a few years behind up at Charlie’s house.  My visit on the snowmobile was in 1980.  That was the days of indoor plumbing, color TV’s, microwave ovens and phones with push buttons.  But for Charlie it was an old black and white television with one station, a piano, a victrola and a radio set to 850 AM.  That’s just the way it was and they did not mind a bit. 
   One day when he sat there watching the evening news there was the story of Neil Armstrong landing on the moon.  It was the biggest news event since the Hiroshima bomb.  His mother was getting up there in age so her hearing was not the best and neither was her sight.  She could not really watch the news, but they both sat there watching TV.  With the biggest chuckle he told me of the day his mother asked him, “What’s going on?  What’s the news?”  Charlie replied to her, “They just landed on the moon, Ma!”  Her reply was, “Yeah…..I bet they did.”  For the longest time she never did believe it.  

Behind the Curtain

   On many of our Sunday drives we stopped in with a picnic basket and had lunch out in the field beside Charlie’s house.  He was always up for company, but he had his limit on the number of kids he could tolerate at one time.  Normally we were told to just sit still on the couch while my parents were visiting and drinking that nasty instant Sanka.  The kitchen table was just around the corner and if we got a bit loud Charlie would turn the corner and holler in, “Hark!!”  We froze in place.   
   As we sat there the only view we had was of a big red dusty drape covering the doorway of a small room.  Nobody had ever seen what was in there.  It was just eating us up.  One of us kids slowly walked over and pulled open the curtain a few inches.  The report was that there was a big piano and a victrola.  I do remember Charlie coming in the living room, scolding us and pulling the curtain closed.  That just made it worse.  We had to get in there. 
   Finally on one visit he took us all kids into that drape covered mystery room.  Without saying much at all he started cranking up the Victrola.  He pulled a record out of a paper sleeve, placed it on the spinning table and dropped the needle down.  There was the familiar crackle of old time records followed by the sounds of some old 1930’s jazz band.  I don’t know what all the mystery ever was but I’d give anything for that old Victrola. 

   There are so many things about Uncle Charlie’s house that all us kids remember.  Everybody loved going there.  We all have our stories to tell.  From riding in Charlie’s hay truck to climbing the three stories of stairs past all the empty bedrooms to make our way up to the cupola.  When he finally passed away after a lengthy stay in a nursing home I made sure I took lots of pictures.  I went up to the cupola.  I visited all the barns and just sat there in the piece and quiet of his kitchen while the clock on the wall ticked the seconds away as it did that day I had that great winter visit. 

Wilson Simmons
Potter, NY