WV and Western PA

How wonderful it was, after three and a half years, to return to WV and PA! It had been too long! I know it's funny that a southern gal like me should be so endeared to western Pennsylvania, but I feel such a connection to that place and its wonderful people. The best of everything is there: relatives on both sides of our family, genealogy and old cemeteries, and of course, Penguins hockey! We decided to make the drive and spend a long weekend visiting family, going to a game, and visiting the quiet little nearby towns where our Burtnett predecessors lived.

When I was a kid, we'd take this route through Virginia, passing Wytheville and Bland, going through the tunnel into WV, then around to Charleston, and on to Ashland, KY, where my grandparents had moved after my dad graduated high school. Now, my family takes a similar route, up through Johnson City, TN, through Virginia for about an hour, but once we get into WV, we drive from Bluefield at the bottom all the way to Morgantown at the top. I've always been crazy about my dad's home state of WV, and I lament not getting to pass through Charleston anymore. 

One thing I do get to experience is "Big Walker" in Virginia. My children get the same thrill I used to have in traveling through the tunnels cut through the mountains. Actually, it still is a thrill! It's not every day I get to pass straight through a mountain: 

If you are ever this way, it's worth a stop at the New River Bridge. I confess we didn't go to the actual bridge this time, as it was raw and wet that day, but we did stop at the visitors' center. It's nice to gaze down at the New River and behold God's glory. Next time, we want to go rafting. 

I like the West Virginia University Mountaineers because my grandfather, Jack "PeepEye" Burtnett, did. He was notorious for throwing his hat down and yelling at the tv when his team performed poorly. Like any serious football fan, he got especially emotional when attending the games. When we make this trip, we like to stop in Morgantown and drive/walk around. Unfortunately, the campus isn't easy to navigate, and the streets are very hilly. High Street, where  PeepEye lived, is downright frightening. I don't know how anyone moves a bed or sofa into the places up there; riding in a car is hard enough! My girls know High Street in Morgantown well, the "scary" street. 

The photos might not do the steepness justice, but I took these as fast as I could, because it was hard for my husband to come to a complete stop! In the top photo, the big brown building on the left is 692 High St., where my grandfather lived. It was once the Sigma Chi house, but is now the TKE house. Morgantown is about 90 minutes from Pittsburgh.

There is nothing like going through the Fort Pitt Tunnel and emerging into the splendor of Pittsburgh! I can't believe some people get to do that every day. We take for granted what's everyday for us. Friends who have visited us in western NC tell me they can't believe we get to see its mountains every day, and I remind myself often of this. Our country is full of fantastic places!

Pittsburgh as seen through the car window!

There's nothing like Penguins hockey in Pittsburgh!

I love seeing this sign: 

About ninety minutes from Pittsburgh, Summerhill is where my great-grandfather, Harry ("Pop") Burtnett, grew up. It's near Johnstown. When I study old census records for members of the Burtnett family, I find other tiny towns named Portage, Wilmore, South Fork, Croyle Township, and Beaverdale. All these little places run together in a remote, still, cozy area. Within the serenity of these hamlets lies the cemeteries where my ancestors are buried.

You may recall my fascination with Uncle Chester Burtnett. His story on this blog is worth a look back to 2016 when I first visited his grave at Mt. Olive Cemetery. This time, we stopped in Blairsville on our way and picked up some flowers for him: 

I wish his grave weren't so worn, but it gave me great pleasure to spend time there again. Uncle Chester was Harry Burtnett's brother who died tragically in 1906 at only age 22. His grave deserves to be visited and cared for. Unfortunately, this cemetery seems to be in a wind tunnel, and it's not easy to linger for long. The views, however, are breathtaking. Here is how the stone looks when I look at it from farther away:

And here is the view from the other side of the stone. I could gaze at this scene all day: 

Other nearby views: 

This is Summerhill, and you can see why I love it. It's not hard for me to picture what it looked like in "Pop"'s day, because it seems to remain much unchanged. I hope it stays that way.

Pop and Chester (and their many siblings) had a grandfather named Peter Burtnett. I had also been to his gravesite at Mt. Union Cemetery, also in Summerhill. We returned and also took flowers: 

This stone has been here since 1904. The poor man died on his birthday! He was born in 1822. The stone lies flat, and we're not sure if it once stood straight. The part that appears blank once boasted an intricate design that has worn off with the years, but we can see and feel faint lines, like part of a drawing. They can be slightly detected in this photo. Evidently there was once a church by this cemetery, Mt. Union Evangelical Church. Peter Burtnett was a "trustee" in his church, now a Methodist church in another location. 

Peter's son, W.K. Burtnett, was my great-great grandfather; he was Pop and Chester's (and the others') father. W.K. had a sister, Martha, who married Amos Plummer. Many years ago, I found a photo of Amos and Martha's family:

There is a post-it note on it (not pictured here) with reference to "Uncle Amos." I marveled at that magnificent barn, then something caught my eye. Do you see it? It seems to be painted on the side of the barn, possibly for the occasion of posing for this grand photo: "Amos Plummer, Nov. 25, 1896." When I noticed it, I couldn't believe my eyes! It was as if this family reached through time and handed me significant details: not only the date, but who this "Uncle Amos" was!

About eighteen years ago, I found someone on the Internet who was also related to Amos and Martha (Burtnett) Plummer. Amos's name appears abundantly in census and town records, and I discussed him online with another descendant. I believe I copied the photo and sent it to this relative, who in turn sent me a copy of one:

Imagine my opening that envelope that came through snail mail and finding this image of the same Amos and Martha, and seeing the young folks from the photo with the barn a little more grown up. How extraordinary! The back of this photo reads: "Amos and Martha Plummer Family. Left to right--standing: Orvil Plummer, Homer Plummer, Ona Plummer Curry, Lloyd Alpheus Plummer, Irving Plummer. Seated: Amos and Martha Plummer."

Amos and Martha's remains rest at Prospect Cemetery in Portage, only a few minutes from Summerhill.

I believe the "E" after Martha stands for Elizabeth. I couldn't resist the view from behind these stones: 

It's funny when people ask us why we like western PA, and we say for the hockey, family, and cemeteries! Can you see why? Prospect Cemetery is huge; full of interesting stones. The caretaker who was there said it takes him nine hours to cut the grass! I can't leave Prospect without showing you one more stone: 

I was touched by this sweet marker, crudely made for a lost little one by someone who loved him. Perhaps his father or grandfather lovingly shaped that stone, and personally carved in those words through tears of grief. God knows the details, and He loved young G.D. Smith and his family. What this person lacked in money to purchase a grand stone, he made up for in a touching tribute that withstood the elements to bring joy to our hearts when we saw it. 

Our last cemetery visit was to South Fork in Croyle Twp. Our reason for visiting was to see the Burtnett plot there, although I'm not sure how these folks fit into our family line:

These photos of South Fork depict the essence of these charming little towns:

What a blessing to visit this part of the country again! I love genealogy and family research, finding connections with other descendants. There's something thrilling about spending time searching to uncover tiny details, like a detective, rejoicing over the tiniest clue. Knowing our ancestors helps us to be known. I'm not always happy with information I uncover, but people have always been messy, and history is important. God writes each story; Christ is our "Author and Perfecter" (Hebrews 12). Each life matters; every cemetery stone represents a soul. 

Until next time, western PA! 

(Pittsburgh at dawn)