Halloween in Bull Run a. k. a. Skunk Hollow (PA)

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

HALLOWEEN IN BULL RUN A. K. A. SKUNK HOLLOW (PA)

My Favorite Halloween

Diane Cipa

This post was received in response to the Beanery Writers Group weekly prompt:

• Write a journal entry about the best Halloween you’ve ever had. Tell what you did, when you did it, where you did it, who you did it with, and why you enjoyed it, and any other pertinent information.

OR

• Some schools are banning Halloween celebrations because of the religious roots of the holiday. Do you agree or disagree with such a ban? Write a two-minute speech arguing for or against Halloween celebrations in the classroom.

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    In the center of the neighborhood sat the great old church. Across the street and up on a hill stood the cemetery, over which the moon shone down, emblazoning the tombstones.

   We, the children of the neighborhood, walked up and down the street, clutching our pillow sacks or little plastic pumpkins, terrified. One eye was always on the cemetery. This was All Hallo’s Eve, and we knew that meant the dead were stirring and God help us if they arose while we were still out and about.

     Bravely we moved from door to door, joyously inhaling the smell of candles and burning pumpkins. Just how much candy could we accumulate before that dreaded hour? The hour —unknown to us though certain we were of it—in which the souls arose from their graves like

Chosen from the Pumpkin Patch

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

CHOSEN FROM THE PUMPKIN PATCH

Jan McLaughlin

     Here I am laying and sunning myself in the garden, snuggling with my siblings. Sometimes it rains on me (us), that feels good too.

     OH NO, what’s happening? Why is that guy chopping me from my vine? He’s doing it to all of us. OH NO, now I’m for sale.

     Oh good, a little girl bought me and is hugging me. We’re going for a ride in the car. I wonder what will happen next?

     OW! Her dad is cutting off the top of my head. OW-OW-OW. Now he is scooping out my

The Chicken Soup Myth

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

THE CHICKEN SOUP MYTH

Miranda

     A long time ago in an enchanted forest of Africa, there were many different types of animals that lived among one another. They included hippos, giraffes, chickens, frogs, snakes, zebras, goats, and lions. Every animal was caring and lived happily because they were helpful to one another. Every animal but the chickens at least. The chickens held a grudge because the tree frogs were chosen as the leaders of the forest.

     One cold winter night, a new baby zebra was born among them. Every animal danced in rejoice for the new addition. There was going to be a celebration and a feast to honor the zebras, so each animal group was assigned a certain thing to bring to the feast. The hippos were in charge of bringing the big black cooking pot for the feast soup, the giraffes were to bring decorations, the snakes were in charge of spreading the news, the goats were to bring

Idlewild Amusement Park Memories

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

IDLEWILD AMUSEMENT PARK MEMORIES

Patricia Orendorff Smith

     Many of us have visited Idlewild Park in Ligonier Township, Pennsylvania. I asked my friend, Jackie, to recount her memories in the late 1950s to the 1970s.

     “Since I was a baby, my dad attended Rockwell Manufacturing, Inc. picnics at Idlewild,” Jackie said. Her family has slides of their time spent there. “I wonder if I remember the occasion or if my memories come from the pictures.”     

     Jackie’s first memory at four years of age revolved around the roller coaster. She thinks she was too young to ride the tall ride.

     “My sister and I always wanted a gold fish at the Goldfish Pond,” Jackie said. “My sister got one.” Jackie was determined to get a goldfish. She saved money and when she was eight, she won a goldfish. “I had to walk around the park all day (carrying it).” On the ride home, Jackie remembered

River Song: Part 3

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

RIVER SONG Part 3

Tim Landy

     Tim’s story is posted in three parts. To read Part 1, click on: River Song: Part 1 .  For Part 2, click on: River Song: Part 2

     Revisit the Beanery Online Literary Magazine to read the final post of  River Song. Or, for your convenience, subscribe to this site by typing your e-mail address in the SUBSCRIPTION box in the upper right hand column of this site. You will receive a return e-mail asking you to confirm the subscription. Your e-mail will not be publicized.

          The subject of this article is a fascinating woman who lives on the line between nature’s chaotic and man’s organized worlds.

      After graduating from high school, Joan matriculated at Pomona College, a small college in California established to educate westerners in the New England liberal arts tradition.  Here she majored in sociology and art.

            After completing her degree, she and several friends went to Europe.  Eventually she settled in Paris for two years, where she studied etching at a private studio.  Having finished her course of study, she decided to stay on for two more years, working as a secretary in the American Consulate.  When her job was upgraded to that of personnel assistant, she was able to take a position with the State Department in Germany.

            Finally returning to the United States, she soon met her future husband, Charles, a native of Western Pennsylvania.

            “After I married, my focus was on my family,” she says.  I wasn’t ready for a career in art.”

            These days, having reared two sons and two daughters, Joan has more time to

River Song: Part 2

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

RIVER SONG Part 2

Tim Landy

     Tim’s story is posted in three parts. To read Part 1, click on: River Song: Part 1 . Revisit the Beanery Online Literary Magazine to read the final post of River Song.

     Or, for your convenience, subscribe to this site by typing your e-mail address in the SUBSCRIPTION box in the upper right hand column of this site. You will receive a return e-mail asking you to confirm the subscription. Your e-mail will not be publicized.

          The subject of this article is a fascinating woman who lives on the line between nature’s chaotic and man’s organized worlds.

            While most gardeners despise the ubiquitous weeds, Joan welcomes these unwanted guests with open gloves.  Smiling, she says, “Everything was a weed at first.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a garden of weeds!  When I go out in early spring, I see everything bare.  I start to plant seeds and I can feel the weed seeds saying, ‘We were here first!’”  

            Her present reading list includes Weeds of the Northeast.  But unlike the authors, who wrote the text to help readers identify and destroy unwanted plants, Joan uses the book as a field guide, locating one of her favorites, the Pennsylvania smart weed, which, to her delight, has taken over the pumpkin patch across the road from the farmhouse.

            “When you give a weed a name, it acquires

River Song: Part 1

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

RIVER SONG Part 1

Tim Landy

     Tim’s story is posted in three parts. Revisit the Beanery Online Literary Magazine to read the coming two posts that complete River Song.

     Or, for your convenience, subscribe to this site by typing your e-mail address in the SUBSCRIPTION box in the upper right hand column of this site. You will receive a return e-mail asking you to confirm the subscription. Your e-mail will not be publicized.

     The subject of this article is a fascinating woman who lives on the line between nature’s chaotic and man’s organized worlds.

            When friends stop by Joan Patterson’s weathered farmhouse in late summer or early autumn, more than likely she’ll be in her garden, puttering with her perennials or picking vegetables or resting in her favorite spot: a shadowy bower at the end of a winding path.

            For Joan, this dome-shaped shelter, formed from bowed saplings and cloaked in spiraling bean plants and morning glories, is the center of her miniature Eden.  The garden, in turn, is the

Manuela’s Mission Part II

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE
MANUELA’S MISSION Part II
Kathleen Clark

The Beanery Writers Group extends congratulations to Kathleen Clark, who won Second Place Award in the 2009 Short Story Contest sponsored by the Works in Progress Writer’s Workshop in Somerset, Pennsylvania. Her story will be posted in two parts. To read Part I of Manuela’s Mission, click on: Manuela’s Mission Part I

     Father Angelo knocked loudly, insistently. Well acquainted with the older priest’s temperament, Father Santiago opened the office door. Leaning heavily on the silver-footed cane, Father Angelo limped to the desk side chair and sat heavily. “What is going on?” he spoke without preamble, his square jaw set in a hard line. 
     “The incident is under investigation,” Father Santiago replied. “It’s too soon…”
     “Unforgivable!  Disgraceful!” Father Angelo interrupted, his slate-gray eyes flashing.  “Reportedly, it’s a

Manuela’s Mission Part I

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE
MANUELA’S MISSION Part I
Kathleen Clark

 The Beanery Writers Group extends congratulations to Kathleen Clark, who won Second Place Award in the 2009 Short Story Contest sponsored by the Works in Progress Writer’s Workshop in Somerset, Pennsylvania. Her story will be posted in two parts. Visit the Beanery Online Literary Magazine on Monday to read Part II.   
     Shivers skittered down my spine. Goosebumps peppered my tawny-brown arms.  Sweat beaded my forehead. This horrible thing couldn’t be happening! I wouldn’t let it!  Saint Joan, help me!  I crossed myself.  With my mind already working like a tumbler lock, I set to scheming. Telling Father Santiago would be easy; but would he believe me?  Every night, keys dangling from his waist, he securely locked the massive front doors.  The arched windows were about eight feet above the ground, except one, beneath the staircase leading to the bell tower.
     I’d overheard a disturbing conversation between two unknown men, where from the back of the church, I knelt praying the Rosary for my ailing sister, Rosa. 
     “Soooo. . . this is the legendary crucifix!  Hummm!  Exquisite, eh?  Mere words are an injustice!” I turned, quickly glanced at the men.
     “Providin’ it’s authentic, it’s well worth a fortune!” Commented the lanky man.   
     The scruffy guy whistled, “Fine piece for

Little Ears Are Listening

BEANERY ONLINE LITERARY MAGAZINE

LITTLE EARS ARE LISTENING

Fran

     “I want to be a body tool when I grow up!” little Jerry told his mom.
     “A what?” the very surprised mom asked.
     Jerry looked her square in the face and said, more loudly, “I told you I want to grow up to be a body tool just like daddy.”
     The young mom was at a loss for words. Daddy was an ad executive who occasionally did ad work for tool companies, but to her knowledge the little boy had never seen any of them. And the last thing she wanted was for her son to