DAY 3 Revisiting our childhoods in Pittsburgh. Saturday, 9/12/26

Outside the house on Old Clairton Road,
when the pine tree was still small.

We wove our way through the lush Pennsylvania hillsides out to Somerset County. These were the highways we took to get to Seven Springs Ski Resort, a bunny-hill of a ski spot compared to the mountains in our Utah backyard. Here is where I learned to dig the edges steeply into the icy snow just to stay afloat on the slopes. Learning to ski on ice makes it surprisingly difficult to ski on powder.

Probably the age I was when I learned to ski, maybe 14 or 15.
That's Mom behind us.

Today there is no snow. It’s late-summer warm with a refreshing breeze. An hour and a half on the road and we turned up onto the hillside marked Flight 93 Memorial Site. We decided to give this day to honor the dead whose last mortal acts preserved them in patriotism and courage.

The passengers on Flight 93, knowing they had been hijacked by terrorists, made a democratic decision to resist, committing to do all they could to keep their plane from becoming a weapon. Because their flight had been delayed, they had received news that the Twin Towers had fallen by weaponized planes. This set a group of forty passengers and crew members on a journey with no return. What we know of what went on during that flight has been pieced together to tell the story of courage, creativity, mutual respect, and unity. It’s well documented and well worth a couple hours of pause, study and reflection because the best in them stands to ignite the best in us.

The road we travelled took us first to the Tower of Voices, a cement edifice standing 93 feet high, surrounded by conifers of trees. The tower houses 40 large aluminum chimes, one in honor of each passenger and crew member aboard that flight. Attached to each chime is what looks like the flap on an airplane wing which, when it catches a breeze, moves the chime and emits a mournful tone. 

Each chime carries a unique pitch, the collection of which conjures beautiful harmony and dissonant discord. To hear those earthy pitches ringing against the silent country woodland is more reverent than it is eerie. We walked in silence. My sisters both shed tears.

A local woman named Robin took this photo of us. She had been mowing her lawn 25 years ago and saw the plane flying too low, then heard the explosion and saw the smoke. She is a musician and finds comfort in this musical memorial to the victims.

Further up the road a sobering black pathway leads along the debris field in a wide, sobering path to the crash site. A large boulder sits out among what is left of a grove of hemlock trees. The names of those who died are carved into granite walls. At the base of each section are small shrines made of flowers and tokens. We walked in silence, speaking in hushed tones when needed. A soft moist breeze pushed us along. It felt ironic, remembering the heat and speed of the tragedy of that day twenty five years ago. A nearby schoolteacher remarked that it was an ordinary, beautiful September day, with a brilliant blue sky. A massive black plume broke the blue, carrying souls to their final resting places, scattered in the winds of Pennsylvania.

Because we were there one day after the 25th anniversary of the crash, there were many tokens left by family members who had come the day before. This photo was taken by a farmer just after the crash occurred.

A large boulder sits in a grove of hemlock trees where the impact occurred. It serves as a headstone. Only family members are permitted onto the crash site itself. If you zoom in you can see flowers and other tokens set atop the stone.

The visitors center is designed to follow the flight path before impact.
It's beautifully done and full of tenderness and symbolism.

There are 40 marble walls with the name of each passenger and crew member who died. 

On the drive back to Pittsburgh we revisited what we had seen, what we had felt, and our personal memories of that day a quarter-century ago.

Stopping, by insttinct, at an antiques mall in Somerset, I purchased a celluloid Santa and Reindeer for my collection, as well as small glass mugs for something I'd like to create for neighborhood Epiphany gifts.

Arriving at the house in Mt Lebanon, we embraced our Kate who had driven to meet us from her house in Youngstown NY.

The evening brought the greatest joy as we met up with Dave’s little sister, Chelle for a delightful dinner at the Grand Concourse Restaurant. The setting was spectacular, the company divine, and the food OK.

On the staircase at the Grand Concourse in Downtown Pgh.

After a photograph on the stairs of that grand old building we went over to Mount Washington and rode the Duquesne Incline, looking out over the sparkling city as that old railcar cranked us up the steep hillside and back down. The night was rainy, but paused enough for us to partake of sights, which was generous of the city that has been overwhelmed with rain this past year.

A worker at the incline said the Steelers crew had come and decorated the cars before their first game that weekend. That's a giant Terrible Towel hanging on the ceiling. Go Stillers!
(aren't we a partying crew?)

Atop Mt Washington at the top of the incline overlooking the Point, where the Three Rivers meet in downtown Pgh.

Two of my favorite people: Dave and his little sister, Chelle.

It was a misty rainy night...

...but still the city sparkled.
Look down the tracks at the other incline car coming up as we go down.
They counterbalance each other.

Weaving through the narrow streets of Route 51, we finally made it "home", exhausted but happy. 

I sit in our bed, with Dave sound asleep beside me, the night sounds of our hometown sifting through the screen in the bedroom window. I struggle to stay awake to record the events of this day, reminding myself that If I want to remember details, I need to write them down. But my eyes are just so heavy... Zzzzzz.