Saturday, June 27, 2026

USA | Allegheny Mountains | Stonycreek Glades | John Croner Sr. | John Croner Jr.

Recently my thoughts turned to my ancestor, John Croner Jr. (Jan. 5, 1779–Dec. 17, 1848), who lived in the Stonycreek Glades just north of the town of Berlin, the Cloaca Maxima of Somerset County, Pennsylvania. According to one history of the Brethren Church in Brothersvalley Township, where the Glades are located, John Croner was a practitioner of herbal medicine:
It was said that he traveled all over the mountains and glades collecting herbs and flowers for his medicines. He was one of the two doctors in the area and was busy all the time in his practice. Not much is known about either Dr. John Groner (old spelling of Croner) or his father Elder John Groner.
While very little is known about Dr. John Groner, we know even less about the elder John Groner (Croner), and what we do know is confusing. Efforts to document his life are complicated by the appearance of what appears to be two different John Croners around this time. According to One Source:
When John Croner was born in 1753, in Pennsylvania, United States, his father, William Croner, was 20 and his mother, Dama Croner, was 18. He married Elizabeth Magdalene Speicher on 3 January 1774, in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, British Colonial America. They were the parents of at least 3 sons and 4 daughters. He died on 17 December 1806, in Brothersvalley Township, Somerset, Pennsylvania, United States, at the age of 53.

According to this chronology, however, he would have been only seventeen or eighteen years old when he turned up in the Glades as a settler. This seems unlikely. Five of his children are listed: Barbara Croner (1774–1841); Dr. John Croner (1779–1848; Magdalena Croner 1781–1866); Leah Croner (1783–?); and Abraham Croner (1785–?). Thus according to this source the John Croner named here was the father of Dr. John Croner Jr.

Another genealogical Account maintains, however,  that the elder John Croner was born “about” 1728 in Lancaster County, just west of Philadelphia. This would have put him in his early forties when he settled in the Glades. According to This Version of events he was not married to Elizabeth Magdalene Speicher but to two different women: Elizabeth (born c.1730), last name unknown, and then to Magdalene, last name unknown. It is highly suspicious that the wife of the first John Croner was named Elizabeth Magdalene, while the two wives of the second John Croner were named Elizabeth and Magdalene. In any case, since divorces were frowned upon, if not forbidden, by the Brethren Sect to which the Croners belonged, it seems safe to assume that his first wife Elizabeth mentioned in this account died and John Croner Sr. later married a woman named Magdalene. It is not clear from the account which of this John Croner’s wives was the mother of John Jr., nor how many other children they may have had. Although it would appear that we are dealing with two different John Croners, both are credited with being the father of John Croner Jr. born in 1779, and both reportedly died on Dec. 7, 1806. This leads to the conclusion that the compilers of the genealogies somehow conflated the two John Croners into one.


John Croner Sr., in all likelihood the one born c.1728, arrived in the Glades in either 1770 or 1771, when he was in his early forties. As we have seen the John Croner born in 1753 was married in Lancaster County in eastern Pennsylvania in 1774, further evidence that this was a different person. The second John Croner, probaby the one born c.1728, “built a log house over a small spring,” in the Glades in 1771, according to one account. Another account maintains, however, that an early settler by the name of Francis Philippi actually built the log cabin sometime prior to 1771, and that John Croner Sr. somehow, perhaps by purchase, acquired the dwelling and took up residence in 1771.

Jorg Frantz Phillippi, later Francis Phillippi, was born on October 1, 1729, in Alsace, France. On September 15, 1749,  he arrived in Philadelphia on the ship Phoenix and first settled in Lancaster County, west of Philadelphia. A French citizen when he arrived in the New World, he took an oath to the King of England and by 1753 was serving in the Virginia Militia under George Washington during Washington’s ill-fated march on Fort Pitt (current-day Pittsburgh). His religion is unknown, but he was probably not a Brethren, who were strict pacifists. This would soon get them trouble when they even refused to fight against the British in the Revolutionary War. In 1755 Philippi served as a wagoneer in the army in General Braddock, whose march on Fort Pitt also ended disastrously. Philippi reportedly was shot in the leg and escaped on his own across the mountains into what is now Somerset County. At some point between 1755 and 1771 he built a log cabin in the Glades. Like many who first settled in the Glades, included a contingent of Amish, he eventually moved south to the rich lands bordering the Casselman River, settling in the village of Casselman.  He returned to the bosom of Abraham in 1798 and was buried in New Centerville, four miles north of Casselman village. An inscription on his Tombstone says, “He was the first white man to see Somerset County.” This is almost certainly inaccurate. Hunters, trappers, and traders dealing with the Native population had penetrated into what is now Somerset County during the first half of the eighteenth century, and explorer Christopher Gist had passed through what is now southwestern Somerset County in 1749, the same year 
Philippi arrived in the New World. He traversed the Stonycreek Glades a year later, in 1750, as is well documented in his Journals.

Tombstone of  Francis Phillippi. An inscription on the tombstone claims: “He was the first white man to see Somerset County.”  

By 1773 the log cabin in which John Croner Sr. lived was also being used as a meeting house for local Brethren. His son, Doctor John Croner, born in 1779, eventually took over the cabin. While living here he also turned it into a doctor’s office. Here he kept the medicinal plants he gathered in the area. The doctor also practiced blood-letting or blood-cupping. The cabin eventually became known as “Old Schweppy.” The word schweppy derives from shreppa, which is turn is a corruption of the German word schröpfen, which means cupping, or drawing of blood through suction over lanced skin. In Pennsylvania Dutch (Dutch being a corruption of Deutsch or German), the language spoken by early German settlers, the standard German ö regularly shifts to e, and so schröpf would naturally become schrep in local speech. The final a in shreppa is a common Pennsylvania Deutsch feminine/neuter noun ending. Eventually shreppa was further corrupted into schweppy. 

An historian who examined the cabin in the late 1950s wrote:
In talking about it (Old Schweppy), there is an air of mystery cast about it. As well as this author can get its meaning, it seems to indicate that it was the doctor’s office or laboratory, or place for operations, or a place for “bleeding” or “blood letting.” It was here where the doctor kept his herbs, etc. The medicine cabinets are still in the walls.
The same historian gives a detailed description of the cabin as it appeared in the 1950s: 
In the] back of the house was the oven that baked the coarse bread. The basement once had a huge fireplace in it. There was an opening to the good spring just outside the wall. The water flowed through the basement. This was for protection against the Indians and wild animals. The wall is high and made of thick stones. The upper wall is logs with wide rough clapboards covering. The main floor is really the second floor with steep steps that indicated that they were once hanging. There on the west wall is the built-in cabinet for the medicine bottles and books and instruments. There are many ancient tools strange to this author. The windows are ancient in design and material. Heavy oak shutters once hung there with rifle loop holes in them. The sleeping loft is most interesting. One enters it from a ladder type stairs, also indicating that it might have been hanging. The steps or ladder was lifted up each night for protection. The interior is dark save for a small window at each end, high in the ends beneath the steep roof. Four candle sconces were in the room, one on each wall. There are flax “Skutching” machines and ancient flax spinning wheels much as they were left a hundred years ago, in the attic.
The cabin still existed as late as 1977, when one Local History claimed it was “the oldest remaining house in Somerset County.” The current owner of the property allowed the cabin to fall into ruins and now no trace of its remains. 

Old Schweppy, as of 1977 “the oldest remaining house in Somerset County.” 

Friday, June 12, 2026

USA | Allegheny Mountains | Great Allegheny Passage Bike Trail | Tick Season

Tick Season is upon us. I recently saw three ticks on the GAP between Deal and Sand Patch. 


For those who may be concerned about these pesky little critters I have cobbled together a report on ticks on the Great Allegheny Passage Bike Trail. See: Tick & Lyme Risk Field Dashboard · Somerset County, PA

As can be seen from from one of the graphs, June is the peak of tick season in Somerset County

Friday, May 29, 2026

USA | Allegheny Mountains | Fawn Season


Fawns are making an appearance:





Thursday, May 14, 2026

USA | Allegheny Mountains | Canada Geese

 Every morning between eight and ten o’clock a pair of Canada Geese fly south past my Retreat. Usually they fly quite low, no more than twenty feet off the ground. They are always honking, living up to their nickname of Canadian Honkers. I assume they are coming from the swamps along a creek a mile north of my retreat, a favorite breeding ground of waterfowl and a well-known haunt of hunters. I have seen what I assume is the same pair of geese grazing in fields south of my retreat. In the evening they fly north, using exactly the same flight path they used in the morning. I assume they spend the night in the above-mentioned swamps. 
The pair of love-birds that fly by my Retreat everyday

Not sure if this is the goose or the gander
This pair of geese has probably not hooked up for overnight flings. Canada geese are genuinely monogamous and pair for life in the vast majority of cases—although there are a few exceptions. Most Canada geese select a mate at age 2–3 through what biologist call “assortative mating”, tending to choose partners of similar size. Once paired, the bond is maintained year-round—not just during breeding season—which is unusual among waterfowl. Pairs that have been separated even briefly greet each other with elaborate displays upon reunion. Given that Canada geese can live 10–25 years in the wild (and reportedly up to 30-plus years), a pair can easily remain together for a decade or more. The bond is notably deep: one mate will stay beside an injured or dying partner even as the rest of the flock moves on. Surviving geese have been observed to mourn for extended periods after a mate's death.

There are exceptions. Failure to reproduce can trigger what researchers call "divorce“—pairs that fail to produce young may separate and seek new mates. If a mate for any reason dies, or is killed by hunters, the survivor typically does find a new partner—usually within the same breeding season, though some older birds that have been together many years may remain alone for a prolonged period or permanently. Also, a goose that lost a previous mate and paired as a "substitute" bond (rather than an original pairing) is more likely to be unfaithful—an observation documented by ethologist Konrad Lorenz, who recorded only three pair dissolutions in years of observation, and two involved the same gander who had lost his first mate. Males!

In short, Canada geese are among the most faithfully pair-bonded birds in North America. The bond is genuinely lifelong under normal circumstances—but "until death do they part" is more accurate, since widowed geese do generally re-pair rather than stay single forever. I can only wish a long and happy life to the pair I see pass by my retreat every day.

Sunday, May 10, 2026

USA | Allegheny Mountains | Ramps

Traditionally Ramps season was said to peak on Mother’s Day, which is today. Due to our Changing Climate, however, they seem to have peaked about ten days ago.

Ramps

Ramps

Ramps at their peak

Ramp bulbs

Ramp leaves

The appearance of the flower stem is usually a sign that the plant is near the end of its edible stage.

Spaghetti and Ramps. 
Steamed (not boiled!!!) Ramps.

Croatia | Istrian Peninsula | Pula

From Venice I wandered on down to Pula in Croatia.

Old Roman-era portal leading to the old town of Pula (click on photos for enlargements)

Statue of James Joyce outside a cafe he frequented when he lived in Pula

Square in the old town of Pula, which is a pedestrians-only area. It was early morning so there was no one about.

 
Temple of Augustus, built by Emperor Augustus (r. 27 BC–AD 14), said to be the oldest Roman monument in Croatia. On the right is a Neo-Pagan tree offering; a Christmas tree, in other words.

The most famous Roman monument in Pula is the Amphitheater built in the first century a.d. by Roman Emperor Vespasian (r. 69–79). The amphitheater seated about 20,000. Gladiators fought each other here (whether they fought to the finish is unclear), and also fought wild beasts like lions and tigers, whose cages can still be seen. Nowadays we have only the NFL. But James Harrison would have made a great gladiator!






By the fifth century the teachings of the Nazarene, a temple to whom can be seen in the background, had replaced the pagan beliefs of the Romans and gladiatorial bouts were outlawed. Nowadays the amphitheater hosts concerts, film festivals, and other cultural events. The Foo Fighters, Luciano Pavarotti, Plácido Domingo, Norah Jones, Alanis Morissette, Sinéad O'Connor, Elton John, Sting, Michael Bolton, Seal, Tom Jones,  Leonard Cohen, and Grace Jones, among others, have all performed here.

Turkmenistan | Ashgabat | History Museum

My initial interest in Turkmenistan was spurred by my researches into the Mongolian Invasion Of Khwarezm, the ancient realm straddling the lower Amu Darya River and its delta where it flows into the Aral Sea, in the winter of 1220-21. The territory of old Khwarezm is today encompassed by both Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan. I had earlier visited Khiva, Janpiq Qala (fortress), and Gyaur Qala in the part of Khwarezm now in Uzbekistan, all sites attacked by Chingis Khan’s sons Ögedei and Chagatai as the Mongols swept through the region. The old Khwarezm capital of Gurganj is in Turkmenistan, however, eight and a half miles from the border and thirteen miles from Gyaur Qala. The ruins of Gurganj are close to the city of Konye (old) Urgench, not to be confused with the new city of Urgench in Uzbekistan. I of course wanted to visit Gurganj, which had put up the fiercest resistance of any city the Mongols had up to that point in time encountered in Islamic Inner Asia, but since I had no Turkmenistan visa and only a single entry Uzbek visa I was unable to cross the border.

Immediately upon my return from Uzbekistan I launched plans to enter Turkmenistan via its capital of Ashgabat and travel north to Konye Urgench. I soon learned that travel by foreigners in Turkmenistan was not a stroll in the park. A visa could only be obtained after a government-approved tourist agency had obtained a Letter of Invitation from the Turkmenistan authorities and most if not all travel agencies will not get you the Letter of Invitation unless you arranged your entire trip, including transportation and accommodations, through them. So it appeared pretty much impossible just to wander about on your own.  I contacted a travel agency in Ashgabat and told them that I wanted to visit Konye Urgench plus a number of other historical sites, some of them directly connected with the Mongol invasion and others not, which had turned up in my various researches. They very quickly responded with a detailed fourteen-day itinerary including most of the places I had mentioned and a few which they thought might be of interest to someone like myself who appeared to have an historical turn of mind. I had not heard of some of these places, but since they appeared to be on the route to the places I was interested in I thought I might as well check them out also. Since it would be difficult if not impossible to visit all these place in fourteen days using Turkmenistan’s dicy public transportation system they suggested that I charter a vehicle for the entire fourteen day trip. The travel agency’s drivers, I was told, did not speak English, but since my driver would simply be taking me on the approved itinerary, with pre-arranged stops each night, they did not anticipate any problems.

Actually this plan appealed to me. I had used drivers in Uzbekistan who did not speak English and had managed to communicate with them using my very basic Russian. I expected that my driver would also speak some Russian, since Turkmenistan like Uzbekistan was once part of the Soviet Union and Russian was widely taught in its schools and still used by many segments of the population. If the driver did speak Russian we could deal with simple logistical matters when necessary but the rest of the time I could just sit back and indulge in my own historically inspired revelries and daydreams without the tiresome personal interactions required by the presence of a guide or translator. In short, I would be pretty much on my own, except for the driver who would also be acting as my government-approved escort. 

I emailed a copy of my passport, photos, and personal information to the travel agency and two weeks later received the much-coveted Letter of Invitation. I was to present this to immigration officials at the Ashgabat airport and receive my visa there. Since I was in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia at the time, I flew from there on the direct flight to Istanbul (there is a one hour stop  in Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, but you do not have to change planes). Surprisingly enough—at least to me—Turkish Airlines has two flights a day seven days a week to Ashgabat. After three days in Istanbul examining the recent acquisitions of my favorite Carpet Dealers and checking the  prices of spices in the shops lining the alleys just west of the Egyptian Bazaar (the best quality Iranian saffron is now selling for $925 a ounce), I took the metro to the airport for my 1:00 a.m. flight to Ashgabat. I would make my purchases on the return leg of the trip. 

When I arrived at the airport at 11:00 p.m. I was a bit disconcerted to find lined up at the business check-in counter forty or fifty people, mainly women, all with carts piled high with monumental mountains of baggage. My God, were all these people flying business class? It turns out not. They were small-time traders from Turkmenistan who had flown to Istanbul to buy goods for resale in Ashgabat. Since the business class check-in area was not much in use at this time of the night they had been herded here to get their heaps of luggage checked in.  I and some Chinese men flying business was shown to the front of the line and quickly checked in. The three-hour, 1570-mile flight from Istanbul to Ashgabat left at 1:15 a.m. It was sold out. Eight seats in the sixteen-seat business section were occupied by Chinese businessmen attending some energy-related conference. 

After about two hours we passed over the middle of the the Caspian Sea,  250 miles wide at this point, its inky black surface dotted with brightly lit offshore drilling platforms and gas flares. After another half hour we began our descent through heavy cloud cover to Ashgabat. It was raining hard when we finally touched down at 6:20 a.m. local time. Given all the rigamarole involved in getting an letter of invitation to the country, the procedure at the airport was quite easy. I presented my letter of invitation and was very quickly given a visa. There were no entry or customs documents to fill out and my luggage was x-rayed but not opened.  One of the women operating the x-ray machine said in English, “Have a nice stay in Turkmenistan.”

In the reception area I was met a young man from the tourist agency who whisked me away to my hotel. I had been told earlier that my room would not be available until noon. The plan was to stash my luggage at the hotel, have breakfast, then take a tour of the city in the morning until my room was free. I have very little if any interest in history which postdates the fall of the Ottoman Empire, and since Ashgabat is a fairly new city founded in the 1880s by Russian colonialists I doubted that there was much I would want to see.  The alternative, however, was to sit in the hotel lobby until my room was available. 

My driver, a young man in his twenties, spoke no English but as I had expected he spoke Russian. The rain was coming down even harder as we cruised down the wide multi-lane streets, mostly deserted at this hour of the morning. A bewildering array of huge white buildings reared up out of the rain and fog: the immense gold-domed Presidential Palace fronted with cascades of water; the likewise enormous many-columned Turkmen Parliament building; a vast Exhibition Center set in immaculately landscaped park complete with pools and fountains; the Academy of Sciences Building; the Carpet Museum, which according to my driver contains the largest handmade carpet in the world, duly recognized in the Guinness Book of World Records; a  children’s park containing what at first glance appeared to be a gigantic white candy life-safer but is actually the world’s largest ferris wheel (also in the Guinness Book of World Records); blocks of twelve-or-more-story luxury apartment buildings which seemed to stretch off into infinity; and much, much else. All the buildings seemed oversized, and all were white. The whole effect was almost hallucinatory. I had come to visit thirteen-century historical sites but seemed to have dropped into some futuristic city designed by a Turkic reincarnation of Albert Speer on acid. That I been up for over thirty hours and had guzzled a least half a gallon of coffee in the business lounge in Istanbul, on the plane, and at breakfast in my hotel certainly didn’t help my mental state. 

Having seen enough of Ashgabat for the moment I asked the driver to take me to the National History Museum, which I had heard contained an outstanding collection of 2000 year-old rhytons  and ostrakons from the ruins of the old Parthian capital city of Nisa located about ten miles west of Ashgabat. In front of the museum is a 436-foot flagpole which my driver claims is the tallest in the world; actually it’s the fourth tallest, after flagpoles in North Korea, Azerbaijan, and Tajikistan. 
Fourth tallest flagpole in the world (click on photos for enlargements)
National History Museum
I run through the still pouring rain and take refuge in the museum, which is very new, very elegantly appointed, and very quiet. I am the only visitor. I cannot help but notice that the floors, staircases, and immense pillars which hold up the central dome are all made of exactly the same kind of stone which I used for the countertops in the kitchen of my hovel in Mongolia. Someone here has good taste. 
Interior of the Museum. Love that stone!
The next thing to catch my eye is an immense carpet covering a large part of the back wall of the building. This is not largest handmade carpet in the world—that honor apparently goes to the specimen in the Carpet Museum—but this one comes close. It was made to celebrate the fifth anniversary of Turkmenistan’s independence following the fall of the Soviet Union. Thirty-eight carpet weavers worked from April 6, 1996 to October 10, 1996 to complete  the 43-foot by 68-foot carpet. It’s a beaut, no doubt. 
43-foot by 68-foot hand-made carpet
The main exhibitions showcasing findings from Nisa, Gonur Tepe, and Merv—all places on my itinerary—are on the second floor. I spend an enjoyable three hours poring over these artifacts and when I next look out the window the clouds have cleared and the sun is shining. It’s time to visit Nisa.

Saturday, May 9, 2026

USA | Allegheny Mountains | Great Allegheny Passage Bike Trail (GAP) | Flora | Yellow Violets

At least five yellow violets occur along the GAP. The three most common are the Early Yellow Voilet (Viola rotundifolia), the Spear-leaf Violet (Viola hastata), and the Downy-yellow Violet (Viola pubescens). First of all, why are there yellow violets? Shouldn't violets be violet or at least blue, like the Common Blue Violet found along the GAP? Actually the word violet names a lineage, not a color. All true violets belong to the genus Viola, a worldwide group of roughly 525 to 600 species. The famous Swedish biologist Carolus Linnaeus (1707–1778) first named the purple-flowered species of Europe, but the genus Voila turned out to be far larger than its namesake: as botanists catalogued relatives across the Americas and Asia they kept finding plants with the same floral architecture — five petals and a spurred lower lip, in colors of white, cream, multicolor, and yellow. The genus name stuck; the color palette diversified. Yellow, in particular, is not an accident. It reads well in the dim light of a deciduous understory, where early-spring pollinators—small mining bees, bee flies, the occasional mason bee—are doing most of the work. The dark purple lines on the lower petal of yellow violets are nectar guides, painted to steer those visitors in. On the GAP, this is why Viola hastata, V. rotundifolia, and V. pubescens, are fully legitimate violets despite their yellow petals. Same family tree, same fritillary host role, same spring woodland habit—just wearing the understory’s preferred color.


Early Yellow Voilet. 04.04.26

Early Yellow Voilet. 04.04.26

Early Yellow Voilet. 04.04.26

Early Yellow Voilet. 04.04.26

The Spear-leaf Violet has spearhead-shaped leaves. 04.13.26

 Spear-leaf Violet. 04.12.26

 Spear-leaf Violet. 04.14.26


 Spear-leaf Violet. The dark purple lines on the lower petal are nectar guides for the benefit of pollinators. 04.13.26

Downy-yellow Violet. 04.16.26

Downy-yellow Violet. 04.16.26

Italy | Venice | Palazzo Mocenigo

Wandered by the Museum of Palazzo Mocenigo, just behind the Church of San Stae on the Grand Canal. The museum also hosts the Study Centre of the History of Textiles, Costumes and Perfume. The museum and study center is housed in the former palazzo of the Mocenigos, one of the most prominent families in Venice for a period of several hundred years. Seven Mocenigos became doges: Tommaso (1414–23), Pietro (1474–76), Giovanni (1478–85), Alvise I (1570–77, Alvise II (1700-1709), Alvise III (1722-32), and Alvise IV (1763). There were two branches of family, one located here at San Stae and another further on down the Grand Canal at San Samuele. A member of the San Samuele branch, Giovanni Mocenigo, was notorious for denouncing irrepressibly hard-core pantheist and unapologetic Hermetic occultist Giordano Bruno to the Catholic Inquisition, which resulted in Bruno being burned at the stake in Paris on Ash Wednesday, February 17th, 1600.
Church of San Stae
Entrance to Palazzo Mocenigo
Costume Exhibit (click on photos for enlargements)
Costume Exhibit
Costume Exhibit

Costume Exhibit
Costume Exhibit
Book of perfume recipes plus raw ingredients for making Perfume. I was of course in Seventh Heaven here.