Volume 10 Issue 1 (Fall 2016)
"The unknown, the inaudible forces that make for good in every state and community—the
gentle word, the kind act, the forgiving look, the quiet demeanor, the silent thinkers and
workers, the cheerful and unwearied toilers, the scholar in his study, the scientist in his
laboratory—how much more we owe to these forces than to the clamorous and discordant
voices of the world of politics and the newspaper!” ~John Burroughs (1916)

Challenging Times
I think we can all agree that this has been one of the most stressful fall semesters that
we’ve experienced at LHU. I hope that this issue of the Hemlock will help ease tensions
by reminding us of our connection to the university, to each other, and to the natural
world. Might I suggest that a walk in nature does wonders to put problems in
perspective? Thanks as always to our outstanding writers for their contributions.
Environmental Historian Allen Dieterich-Ward
On Wednesday, November 9, at 7 pm in Greenberg
Auditorium, Professor Allen Dieterich-Ward will present
"Rust and Renaissance: A History of Pennsylvania's Working
Landscapes Since 1945." A native of southeastern Ohio, Dr.
Dieterich-Ward's research explores the intersection of
environmental, political, and urban history with a particular
emphasis on the cultural and natural landscapes of northern
Appalachia. An Associate Professor of History at
Shippensburg University, Allen currently serves as Vice
President of the Pennsylvania Historical Association and as a
member of the Pennsylvania Conservation Heritage
Project. He is the author of Beyond Rust: Metropolitan
Pittsburgh and the Fate of Industrial America (University of
Pennsylvania Press, 2016).

The Old Red Oak
~Joby Topper (LHU Library Director)
The Old Red Oak at the south end of the University Commons is one of my
favorite trees on campus. Earlier this year, I was worried that it would be torn
down along with Sullivan Hall. I mentioned it to several friends and was happy
to hear that others were already making sure the tree would be protected.
Project manager Len Meckley and President Michael Fiorentino had issued
special instructions to the Sullivan demolition crew to spare the Old Red Oak.
Thank you, gentlemen. It is much appreciated.
The Sullivan Hall demolition revived my interest in figuring out just how old the
Old Red Oak really is. Hoping to get an approximate age (and then tell my
friends and show them how smart I am), I decided to reach deep into my
memory and use some of my Cub Scout knowledge. I measured the oak tree’s
girth (at about chest height) to find its circumference (185 inches), divided that
figure by 3.14 (pi) to determine its diameter (58.9 inches), then multiplied the
diameter by the growth factor for red oak trees (4.0)—and got a result (about
235 years) that I knew could not possibly be correct based on what I’ve seen in
old photos here in the Stevenson Library Archives. My guess is that the odd
shape of its trunk defies my Cub Scout technique of learning the age of a living
tree. Also, experts tell me that the precise growth factor of any tree depends in
large part on where it is growing—in the center of a college campus, for
example, as opposed to in the woods.
I’ve contacted Professor Heather Bechtold of the biology department. She and
her students are willing to take a core sample of the tree next spring in order to
learn its age. With that said, we have not yet asked permission from Facilities
Manager Keith Roush. We don’t want to do anything that might harm the tree.
This is just an idea and not yet a plan.
While we’re waiting for real scientists (as opposed to
former Cub Scouts like me) to give us an answer, I’ve
pieced together a pictorial history of the Old Red Oak—
albeit one that leaves tantalizing gaps—from photos in
the Stevenson Library Archives. I hope you enjoy it.
Photo #1: The Old Red Oak in September 2016
Here’s our starting point: the Old Red Oak as it looks
today on the south end of the University Commons.
Ulmer Hall and North Fairview Street are in the
background, and the new amphitheater is in the
foreground.

Photo #2: The Old Baseball Field in 1890

This photo of what is now
the south end of the
University Commons was
taken in 1890 from Normal
Hill, also known as “Price
Knob” in honor of the
original owner of the hill and
the surrounding area, Philip
M. Price. The photographer
stood somewhere close to
where North Hall stands
today and gave us a bird’seye view of the school’s first
baseball field. Do you see
the centerfielder? Sullivan
Hall (demolished just a few
months ago) stood just behind him. (The road behind him is Glen Road; the
road to his right is North Fairview Street.) If the Old Red Oak were alive at this
moment in history, it would be standing somewhere between the centerfielder
and leftfielder—and there’s nothing there but grass.

Photo #3: View of University Commons from Highland Cemetery Gate in 1897
By 1897, the baseball field
had been moved to where
Durrwachter and the tennis
courts are today. You can
see the field (with its new
grandstand) in the center of
the photo in the distance,
next to the railroad tracks.
The dirt road in the
foreground is Glen Road.
Today, Price Auditorium
would stand in the lower
left. Our new amphitheater
would be in the lower
middle of the photo. The
Old Red Oak, if it were
alive, would be standing
near those two men with their tractor and rake, at right—but it is not there.

Photo #4: Aerial View of the Campus in 1931

I haven’t yet found a photo of the Old Red Oak between 1900 and 1930. I’ll
keep looking. At the moment, this aerial view of the old campus in 1931 is our
first known glimpse of it. North Fairview Street runs horizontally through the
lower middle of this
photo. At the far left,
you’ll see a two-story
house on the near
side (east side) of
North Fairview.
That’s the old
President’s House.
From the President’s
House, look directly
across North Fairview
and you’ll see the
“old” Red Oak about
midway up the lawn
next to a narrow
access road. The tree
looks to be about 20 feet high. Do you see it? (This photo also gives us a view
of the many other trees in the center of campus in 1931. The landscape has
been altered dramatically since then.) The rectangular bare spots at the left
edge of the photo are tennis courts. They were removed when the library (i.e.,
Sullivan Hall) was built in 1938-39.

Photo #5: The Old Red Oak and the New Library, Winter 1938-39
Here you see the Old Red
Oak, at right, in front of
the brand new library.
This library became the
administration building
and was renamed Sullivan
Hall when the current
library was built in 196970. With the addition of
the library and the
auditorium at this end of
campus in 1938-39, the
Old Red Oak begins to
appear (more or less by
accident) in more campus
photographs, which make it much easier for us to track its growth.

Photo #6: The Old Red Oak and the Library, Spring 1949

The Old Red Oak (at right, next to the steps) grew
higher and stronger in the ten years between 1939
and 1949 (while World War II raged in Europe,
North Africa, and the Pacific.) The man walking
beneath it gives us a sense of scale.

Photo #7: The Old Red Oak and Russell Hall in 1960
This is a good view of the tree in 1960
from the Sullivan Hall side, looking
toward Russell Hall. Russell Hall was
built in 1952-53, so it was relatively new
at the time. As in the last photo, the
people give us a sense of scale. Russell
Hall was torn down in 2015; Sullivan
Hall was torn down early this summer
(June 2016). The Old Red Oak has seen
a lot of buildings, trees, and people come
and go.

Photo #8: The Old Red Oak and the Old Bell in 1968

Here is our tree in 1968, with Russell Hall in the
background and the Old Bell in the foreground.
The Old Bell was set up as a memorial in front
of Sullivan Hall in 1961 by the graduating class.
(The bell was originally in the clock tower of the
Old Model School from 1911 to 1952.) The
students would ring the Old Bell after big
victories in wrestling, baseball, basketball, etc.
The Old Red Oak prefers peace and quiet, so it
was happy when the bell was moved to the
Milliken Bell Tower in 1982. The Milliken Tower
stood just behind the stone sign at the entrance
to Campus Drive. In 2008, the Old Bell was
hung in the tower of the Durrwachter Alumni
Conference Center, where it remains today.

Photo #9: The Old Red Oak in 1985

Here’s a good view of the tree and
Sullivan Hall in the winter of 1984-85.
Some of the large branches in the photo
have since been pruned. I wish the
pruners could have spared one or two of
the central branches so that the tree
would now have a rounder, more
balanced profile—but this opinion is
coming from a former Cub Scout, not a
dendrologist, so take my complaint with a
grain of salt.

Conclusion:
Photographic evidence suggests that the Old Red Oak is about 100-115 years
old. Assuming it is healthy, it could live another 100-150 years.
As much as I enjoy drawing attention to this tree, I want us to also pay
attention to the hundreds of other trees on our campus—the old, the young,
and the in-between. All of our trees, whether in the center of campus or in
Ulmer Memorial Forest, are quietly providing us with shade, oxygen, and
beauty. Let’s show some gratitude and be good stewards.
Also, as we gather information about the Old Red Oak and other campus
trees, let’s keep that information on file—preferably here at Stevenson Library—
as a resource for the current LHU community and for posterity. If it hasn’t
already been done, I would love to begin an ambitious research project to
identify and describe (and photograph) all of our trees. We could start with the
trees in the developed parts of campus, then consider tackling Ulmer Forest.
Who’s with me?
The Place Where You Once Lived
~Earle Layser
From space the nighttime Eastern Seaboard appears like anastomosing nerve cells
radiating white light. Cedar Run, Lycoming County, Pennsylvania, the idyllic place of
my youth, remains an unlighted pocket within the conurbation. From its deeply rural
environs, it is still possible to clearly view the night sky stars and satellites.
Mountainous and heavily forested, it once epitomized Puritan minister Cotton Mather’s
“howling wilderness.” When Lewis and Clark were making their way west along the
Missouri, it still remained deeply backwoods defying European settlement. Not
agriculture, but late 19th century lumbering and tanneries conquered this wilderness.

Transported by spring freshets and narrow-gauge railroads, its timber built Eastern
cities, while bark tannin from its ancient hemlock trees served to process hides into the
leather belts powering the steam-driven Industrial Revolution.
The fury of the assault on the
area’s forest resources literally
laid the mountains bare, a great
biological unraveling. Bleeding
centuries of accumulated
organic rich topsoil, the
plundered denuded forest land
was considered economically
worthless and acquired by the
Commonwealth for a dollar an
acre. The area remained a
sparsely populated economic
backwater for nearly a century.
Gradually, resiliently, albeit diminished from the original grandeur, forests and wildlife
returned. Today, surrounded by a densely populated urban environment, the public
mountain land has become increasingly valuable for open space and wildlands---an
outdoor recreation Mecca attracting urbanites seeking the sanity of nature, if no more
than through the windshield or on a bike trail.
But stasis is illusionary and elusive. Subjected to contemporary ecological assaults, the
habitat is changed and changing: acid rain, pesticides, climate change, Marcellus shale
development, second-growth logging, recreation homes set within the floodplains, and
a host of nonnative pests, pathogens, and invasive species---American chestnut blight,
Dutch-elm disease, beech bark disease, emerald ash-borer, hemlock wooly adelgid,
gypsy moth, Asian long-horned beetles; the list goes on--- eons of forest evolution and
species adaptation silently wilting before the onslaught; followed by invasion of
thickets of nonnative species: common barberry, multiflora rose, Russian olive, tree of
heaven, and Japanese knotweed---aggressively marching across meadows and
streambanks; a vast and rapid monoclonal supplanting of biodiversity and
productivity.
Is nature as we know it being deposed by “weedy species,” sensu David Quammen’s
Planet of Weeds? What passes for nature is no longer natural. Frequently unintended and
random, the ecological narrative reflects an arrogantly assumed human ability to

control or manipulate all aspects of nature; an Anthropocene supposition, arguably
Industrial Age myth.
Beyond geographically, does any place nowadays remain unchanged except within our
minds? For people who only occasionally visit the area, and tend to perceive the forests
and thickets simply as amorphous green background, it may make little difference.
And Neo-environmentalists argue that while man’s activities are destroying habitats,
we are also creating new ones. However, for those who may have historical knowledge
or an intimate memory of the prior environs---the land uses, natural vegetation
patterns, habitats, and species--- it can be more personal and profound. Like the passing
of old friends we knew and enjoyed, we mourn the loss of diverse landscape patterns
and once familiar native species.
Hollyhock Ballet Troupe
~Guy Graybill (Photographer/Editor)

West Branch-Beaver Creek
~Susan Rimby LHU Dean of the College of Liberal Arts & Education)
Sentry on the campus edge
I catalogued her moods.
When lonely, she found
Comfort in the company
Of joggers. On trying days
She walked until she shed
Her mood like snakeskin.
As she settled in, she came to see
My many wonders. She sauntered
Past the art students sketching
Autumn’s palette. Gazed with
Awe at flight maps of bald
Eagle parents. Introduced
Two frisky dogs to lounging
College students. Photographed
The seasons with her lover.
Drove the rented Chevy to
My levee. And now she
Grieves at river’s edge
With leaving on her mind.
“Take solace, friend, for where
You go, we share the same river.”

Flowing past her house
I see her pausing on the deck.
Wistfully she conjures up
The memory of colleagues past
Who walked upon your levee bank
Or pushed a jogging stroller.
Her mood as soft as twilight’s fall
She drinks it in, the neighborhood
And sees my many wonders.
Children playing on the swings,
Flaming leaves at creekside’s edge,
A heron gliding overhead,
Empty nester sparrow parents.
The Boston Terrier nudges her,
Smells and wants the evening meal
Simmering with her lover.
And still she wishes she could wander
One more time upon your levee,
Basking at the river’s edge.
“Come walk along this creek, my friend,
Look north and know that in this place
We share the same river.”

The Hemlock 10.1 (Fall 2016), page 10

Hemlock Hike: Eagleton Mine Camp Trail
~Bob Myers (LHU Director of Environmental Studies)
We have featured short hikes from the Eagleton Mine Camp Trail (ECMT) in previous
issues, but it seems like a good time to revisit the ten-year-old trail. On October 9th the
first Eagleton Mine Camp Trail Challenge was run, and in preparation for the 25k/50k
race, local volunteers did an outstanding job of trail maintenance. This hike is a twomile, fairly flat loop that should take you about an hour to walk it. At this time of the
year the leaves make it a great introduction to the ECMT.
To get to the trailhead, go west on Route 120 (Fairview Street) for exactly 7.1 miles. On
the left you’ll see a brown wooden sign for the Eagleton Mine Camp Trail. Follow the
gravel Eagleton Road for 3.4 miles—at 2.3 miles you’ll pass one of the trailheads for the
ECMT, and at 2.7 miles, the ECMT will cross the road. At the second crossing (3.4 miles
from Rt. 120), park off the road on the left.
Follow the red-blazed trail to
the left (south). Almost
immediately you will reach a
powerline—a brown plastic
marker indicates that you
should follow the powerline
to the right (west). In a
hundred yards or so, another
plastic marker directs you
left, across the powerline,
where the ECMT enters the
woods. From here the trail is
a pleasant meander through a mixed-hardwood forest. It’s mostly flat because you’re
on top of the plateau. You’ll loop across a dirt road several times, but just keep
following the blazes until you reach the gravel Eagleton Road—turn right and follow it
one mile back to your car.
The EMCT was created in the Sproul State Forest in 2006 by the PA Department of
Conservation and Natural Resources. In the October 2008 Hemlock Robert Zakula
discussed the history of the Eagleton area: “The EMCT was formerly the village of
Eagleton, a secluded, yet productive, mining community that operated from roughly
1845-1870. The original EMCT was part of the Eagleton Railroad system, which
traversed along the West Branch of the Susquehanna in the Tangascootac Valley, and
connected many other industrial towns to the small mining village on the Allegheny

The Hemlock 10.1 (Fall 2016), page 11

plateau. The Eagleton Railroad, at that time, would have been considered an
engineering feat for such a rural, underdeveloped region; the innovative railroad grade
climbed seven switchbacks until it reached the top of the plateau where the village was
located. It is also alleged that Prince Farrington, a notorious bootlegger during the
prohibition-era, had built a still on top of one of the ridges near the mining camp. At its
peak, Eagleton’s production was heavily focused on coal and iron ore, and rarely, if
ever, ventured into other crude and laborious industries. Like the other mining towns
in the region, Eagleton curiously vanished with no sign of reviving a quickly dying
industry.”
Environmental Focus Group
Bob Myers (Chair), Md. Khalequzzaman, Lenny Long, Jeff Walsh, Barrie Overton, Todd
Nesbitt, Jamie Walker, Steve Guthrie, John Reid, Lynn Bruner, Elisabeth Lynch, Kevin
Hamilton, Keith Roush, Elizabeth Gruber, Joby Topper, Ray Steele, Michael
McSkimming, Susan Rimby, Stephen Neun, and Scott Carnicom. The committee is
charged with promoting and supporting activities, experiences, and structures that
encourage students, faculty, and staff to develop a stronger sense of place for Lock
Haven University and central Pennsylvania. Such a sense of place involves a
stewardship of natural resources (environmentalism), meaningful outdoor experiences,
and appreciation for the heritage of the region.