I’m thinking of a place…
I have a place in my mind’s eye, as I sit here in my office. Though I’m in my swivel chair, there is a hint of what my mind sees surrounding me in the wood paneling of my office walls. The place in my mind is Cook Forest. Let us be clear on the spelling. There is no s making it Cook’s Forest, a common mistake my kids like to correct each other on. I know this for a fact because I used to give Cook an extra s until the rustic timber signs, that grace this beautiful state park, caught my attention and corrected me as I got older.
Cook Forest is a place of history, including my family history. I was 16 years old the first time we went. Well, to be more accurate, I was 16 the first time my Mom and siblings went, leaving me home with my Dad, who had to work. Something about teenage attitude. “Whatever”. It’s been over thirty years that this forest has been welcoming my family for a week out of every summer.
Mom, Dad, and us 12 kids started in a single River cabin. I can still hear shouts of laughter mixed with the scent of popcorn as it softly rained outside, calling for game night inside. Eventually, we grew into family units of our own, needing individual cabins. When I started my own family, we moved to the Indian cabins. These tiny, single-room, log cabins with chinking, held us for a few years until the babies kept coming and I brought my growing family back to the original large River cabins on the upper tier. This is the best place to see if the Clarion River is full enough to go tubing. It’s amazing how laughter from the river can bounce its echo up into the trees, like a call beckoning us to come play.
There was one summer, July of 2004, when there were more tears than laughter. That was the summer my Dad died. Still, Cook Forest still gathered us in; hugged in her trees, bathed in her river, we held one another and remembered Dad.
My husband and I continue to join my siblings and their families annually, as we bring our seven children to these rustic cabins that ALWAYS smell the same. Each year, our vacation begins the same, with the kids running into the cabin, inhaling loudly and exhaling the words, “Coooook Foressst”.
Traditionally, our cabin is framed in majestic trees which open to frame bright clusters of stars at night while a campfire draws all of us together below. We number about 60 now and take up all the River Cabins and three quarters of the Indian cabins. You can imagine our campfire circles are pretty big. When we descend on the Cooksburg Café for ice cream, we often fill every metal table, log bench, and every inch of standing room. This is right next to the Café sign where the bats like to roost. Just a bit of extra fun.
Yes, I like looking at this wood paneling in my office. If I close my eyes long enough I can almost hear the whooshing of the wind that rustles through the tall trees in Cooksburg, PA. I know what you’re thinking…Cooksburg has an S. Just trust me on this…it’s COOK (no S) Forest and you should go if you get the chance. Listen for the screams of laughter up on the hill.
