The Town That Time Forgot

Through the back roads of Pennsylvania, large dilapidated buildings are scattered along the sides of the desolate highway, surrounded by tall white ash and yellow birch trees. Further along this road, a white-tailed deer grazes in a wide-open field with her fawn, seemingly unphased by the occasional passing commuter. With buildings beginning to fade into the background, massive pine trees overtake any available view from the car windows. Only miles away from the destination, familiar old homes start springing into view along with the 20-year abandoned market that once housed delicious soft-serve ice cream and an array of fishing bait. More familiar the land becomes as the tiny town of no more than 6 shops situated in antique style structures is passed through, and a peaceful at-home sensation sweeps over.

Situated in northern Pennsylvania at the east end of the Susquehannock state forest lies a tiny historic town of no more than 120 full time residents: Eagles Mere. The purchase of an old-fashion yet mighty home in 1950 brought to life a family heirloom, and her name is Oakcrest. Generations of new individuals spent summers within her walls as well as exploring the breathtaking Earth surrounding her. Ascending onto a giant wrap-around porch made of wood, the smell of vintage books and cedar appears as love-filled greetings are exchanged. An aged white door with red windowpanes along each side creaks open to reveal a large living space positioned between low white ceilings and antiqued wooden floorboards. Across the room a grand and squeaking staircase leads to the upstairs bedrooms, no two alike. Still placed upon wooden floors, the rooms seem to flow in a large circle with doors or bathrooms connecting them all, eventually leading to a long hallway lined with pictures of days passed. Nothing feels more familiar.

A half mile walk from Oakcrest lies the Red Arrow trail, shaded by an abundance of yellow birch trees with sweeping ferns covering the ground as far as the eye can see. Once through an umbrella of luscious foliage, large rock formations being to emerge, protruding from the ground and growing larger and larger as the trail progresses. Following red arrows marked on tree trunks and tops or rocks, the rocks split in half allowing spectators a way through the towering formation on either side. Soft and vibrant green moss lines each crack of the walls while also forming a thick layer atop the ledges, only visible once you reach the top. Once through the rocky gulf, birch trees reappear, now holding colorful mushrooms at their bases and moss among their branches. The subtle aroma of dirt fills the air as more red arrows take precedent, leading to an abandoned well that was once a source of water for a grand hotel that stood in the nearby field. With a decaying roof above and a trickling stream flowing from it, the eerie well signals that the end of the path is near.

Just off the trial, and only a few miles from Oakcrest, Eagles Mere lake introduces herself with lively beach goers and boat docks lined with un-mast sailboat poles. A grassy field turns to sand filled with colorful towels and sandcastles abundant as the scent of sunscreen can be recognized from several feet back. A wooded path encompasses the entire border of the lake, and a trail marker for the Laurel path appears from the dense trees surrounding the beach. A narrow dirt lined path bulging with tree roots and rocks takes form next to the marker as tall trees overshadow the trail with the shimmering lake poking her head through branches and leaves. A quarter of the way around the lake, a fork in the road appears with the possibility of continuing along the dirt path or climbing the steep hill towards town. Giving into the beckoning green immersion of the beautifully shaded trail, and knowing what lay ahead, the choice seems more than obvious.

Passing many towering trees with the tranquil mere following close behind, a curve in the route leads to the beginning of an old narrow wooden bridge. Atop the bridge surrounded by water below, a shallow pond full of pink and white lilies and lofty lily pads comes into view. The croaking of toads and shallow waves crashing onto the dirt shore are the only audible sounds, when the fresh floral scent of lilies fills the air: a place meant to be lived in for hours. Turning around to see the pink and purple sunset cover the lake like a cloak, the familiar scent of dusk serves as a gentle reminder to continue onward before the sun no longer illuminates the passage ahead. Walking into the impending darkness with trees fighting off the light as it tries to enter the path, a cool breeze sets over the mere and the rest of the trail is submerged in black.

Finally completing the loop around the lake and returning to the beach, the concept of time is nowhere to be found. All that is left to do now is plunge into the refreshing water that has been following closely behind throughout the day, cunningly gesturing for this moment all the while. Despite the brisk night air, the water has an indescribable warmth. Feet first into her majestic waters, and immersive chill runs through the legs and into the spine until it touches every nerve for a split second before becoming nothing more than a passing memory. Laying without gravity on top of the minuscule waves, the night sky is clearly stippled with spots of light. Suddenly, the milky way appears as an ebbing white stream across the galaxy. Here and now in the secluded waters of this old town fixed on top a wooded mountain side, time and space seemingly merge and the words being to take meaning; a town that time forgot.