The Crow’s Nest Walkabout
This story was passed down by my father, who had no problem in relating humorous tales about himself.
In the mid-1930s, most residents of Shaw Mines did not own automobiles. My father was no exception. Since Meyersdale was only about two miles away, walking there was a common necessity.
One autumn day, my Aunt Sadie decided to visit my parents in Shaw Mines. She would travel by train from her home, and my father arranged to meet her at the station in Meyersdale.
The fateful day arrived, and Dad set out as planned. He reached the station early and positioned himself on the platform.
The train arrived on schedule, and Dad began scanning the passengers as they disembarked. The first to step off was a young woman wearing a hat shaped like a turban. Not Aunt Sadie, he thought. Must be a fortune teller.
Next came a tall, thin lady draped in a fox stole. Not Aunt Sadie, he noted again, though he couldn’t help picturing her husband hunting and skinning foxes to fill out her wardrobe.
Then, at last, Aunt Sadie stepped onto the platform, suitcases in each hand, her hat an extravagant display of flowers and assorted trinkets.
Without missing a beat, Dad greeted her with his customary grin.
“Your hat looks like a crow’s nest” he said.
He was making a joke based on the anecdotal story about crows known far and wide: they are attracted to bright, shiny objects and steal them to add to their nests.
Aunt Sadie gasped. “Well, I never…!”
Sensing her indignation, Dad quickly offered to take her bags.
She clutched them tighter. “I can carry my own baggage, thank you very much,” she snapped. Then, glancing around, she asked, “Where’s your car?
“I don’t have a car,” Dad replied matter-of-factly. “We’re walking home.” Her face drained of color. “Walking?!”
Disgusted and defeated, she promptly surrendered her luggage. Dad filled his arms and slung his shoulders with her suitcases and started whistling his way home. Aunt Sadie trailed behind, her feathery hat bobbing with every reluctant step. As they approached Shaw Mines, a group of raucous crows that were lined up on the roof of the Powerhouse, began to “caw” loudly. Dad smiled.
© 2025 Clyde Housel. All rights reserved.
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