Octobers Never Change

It's that time of year for another Burlington memory harvest. The sights, sounds, tastes, aromas, and feelings are as fresh as this year's apple hrvest.

When an early autumn walks the land and chills the breeze

and touches with her hand the summer trees,

perhaps you'll understand what memories I own.

There's a dance pavilion in the rain all shuttered down,

a winding country lane all russet brown,

a frosty window pane shows me a town grown lonely.

In October 2008 I wrote the first of many revised editions of the story of the annual October closing of my family's "summer place" in West Virginia. It was nestled in the Patterson Creek Valley about twenty miles south of Cumberland, Maryland, and just under a three hour drive from my home in the Washington suburbs. Those who follow this blog likely know more about the Burlington campground than most current residents of that village. Still, it's an important story in my formative years and it's worth repeating, especially with revisions. The most recent change has been the loss of the magnificent two-story cedar pavilion that stood for nearly a century as the focal point of the property. For over 90 years it served as a Burlington landmark and with its loss a place that created so many memories has itself become one. And speaking of memories:

Repairing flood damage at the pavilion - classic outfit

In late October my mind floods with wonderful memories. From birth through my 27th year, the date marked an important event in my life. The story descends from my dad's membership in the Uniform Rank of the Knights of Pythias. The URKP was a military-style company within a fraternal organization born out of the search for national reconciliation following the Civil War. Every good military organization needed a campground with lodging, mess hall, recreation pavilion, and parade. The URKP built theirs in the small village of Burlington, West Virginia. It also served as a regional park, complete with playground, ball fields, and swimming in the creek. It was often rented for the day for family reunions, company picnics, church functions, and other large gatherings.

It was legal...and tasty, about 1966

"Camp" at Burlington was paradise for a young boy. A creek bordering the camp offered hours of fun. You could explore the woods and fields forever. The frequent social events made the playground a great place to meet new friends. But "camping" at Burlington was by no means a wilderness experience. We were lucky to have a cottage that offered every comfort of home. There was a drive-in theater next door where I enjoyed the snack bar as much as the movies. Across the road was a small airfield with a few Aeroncas, Taylorcrafts and Piper Cubs, and a hangar that gave birth to many "homebuilts" over the years. I can say with confidence that Burlington was never boring. The drive-in and airport were owned and operated by Dave and Georgia Baker, an entertaining and endearing couple I came to love and respect as family.

Today, the sycamores along the river may be a bit taller, but they still explode in yellow this time of year along with my favorite walnut tree. And the young maple I climbed as a boy has matured into a massive Fall fire tree. In 1950, I watched when the men brought in their bulldozers to shape a new channel and level the bank of Patterson Creek. The stone beach they built was much safer for the generation of bathers who enjoyed it, but creeks have a way of remembering affronts. By the mid '70's, the creek's waters restored the original course and bank to a scene my grandfather enjoyed in the 1930s. Although time changed the place I called "Camp" it will never erase the memories of this childhood paradise.

1959

Hulling walnuts, 1967

Through the summer of 1974, I spent many annual family vacations at "camp" and in later years, several weekends of "cold camping" in the off-seasons where I wrote many college essays including a graduate thesis. Opening the cottage and grounds for the summer though exciting was not especially memorable. Freezing temperatures lingered into May, so the campground usually opened on Memorial Day weekend.

When it's 48 degrees at noon in a pouring August rain

On the other hand, winterizing the place was like saying "Goodbye" to an old friend. Thoughts of family, friends, the big - or small - fish, fireworks, that scary movie, the old biplane, all those memories accumulated over the past six months filled your mind. Amid the blazing gold sycamores, brilliant fire oaks and maples, the smell of wood smoke, and a harvest of black walnuts, we went through the years-old closing procedure until the last item - pouring anti-freeze into sink traps - was checked. At that point, it was time to load the car, proceed with all those repetitive tasks one does "just to be sure," then close and lock the big red door until Spring.

Radical days with Marti, 1970

As American society changed, the URKP fell out of fashion. Lodge members grew old and passed away. In 1974, the lodge itself and all its assets dissolved. I haven't locked that big red door for 48 years now, but I still have the key and a remarkably detailed mental picture of the cottage and landscape that I loved.

Closing weekend, 1972

In many ways, Burlington is with me every day for my experiences there helped shape my values, and define my career, hobbies, and general interests. The impact has been so profound that I have asked my children to do their best to provide the same opportunity for their own families.

1949

In weaving all of the memories about this weekend, I ask you, my readers, to do the same: Find a nearby paradise and escape to it often while your children are young. And when they are older and have children of their own, they can join you and make even more vivid memories. There will be no sorrow there.






Sources

Illustrations and Photos:
all photos from the family archive

Text:
song title, "When October Goes", and opening quote, "Early Autumn", lyrics, by Johnny Mercer, Johnny Mercer, The Complete Lyrics of Johnny Mercer, edited by Kimball, Day, Kreuger, and Davis; Knopf 2009