In 1935 these falls were approved to become federal land. Ask why it never happened and you'll get three different answers.
Here's one you won't read on the sign at the trailhead. You very nearly hiked through a national park today.
The Colonel died in nineteen eighteen, an old man, and left his heirs a mountain they couldn't keep. In the early twenties they sold forty-eight thousand acres to the state Game Commission, and a good deal of it had already been cut. But the family held on to the piece that mattered: twelve thousand acres around the lakes and these glens.
Come the Great Depression, and Washington took notice. In nineteen thirty-five, twenty-two thousand acres around these falls were approved for purchase as a federal park. The National Park Service ran a Civilian Conservation Corps camp up here. Men were on the ground. Even J. Horace McFarland took an interest, the same man who'd helped set aside Niagara Falls, and who spent his summers up at Eagles Mere. Picture it, friend. Ricketts Glen National Park, ranger hats and all.
It never happened. And here's where it gets good, because ask three people why and you'll get three answers. The record says that in nineteen thirty-six the money got pulled and sent off for direct relief. The state will tell you the Second World War ended the plan. And a local historian will tell you it came down to the Colonel's son, William, who wanted about twice what the government offered and would not budge.
I can't settle that for you, and I'd be suspicious of anybody who says they can. What I know is how it came out. In nineteen forty-two, with the whole world on fire, the family sold the falls and the glens to the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. Twelve hundred and sixty-one acres. Two years later the first facilities opened, and that was that.
Now think on what that means. National parks get highways, and lodges, and crowds in a line. What you got today was a stone trail, a cold creek, and a sign telling you to wear good boots. It may be that one stubborn son, holding out for his price, did more for this glen than he ever meant to.
I've seen some mighty grand parks in my time, with their paved walks and their gift shops. I'll take the boots. Walk on down, friend, and listen to that water. It never did care who held the deed.
Photo: pickupimage · CC0
