ADIOS, TRAIL BOSS Living in a small community means that anything that happens to anyone is significant. On the way to work Wednesday, I discovered that Bill Summers, one of the nine full time residents living in the Duhring Valley, passed away. Bill rode his 4 wheeler out to his shop in the morning to do what he always did best, work hard every day. I imagine he died the way he wanted to - working on some project. Bill's family came to the valley after the war. His father and some other men formed a gas and oil company and for years worked leases covering more than 3000 acres in the area. When Bill's father retired and moved to Florida, Bill stayed on to maintain the homestead. As I rode on to work, I recalled some of the exciting activities that Bill created in the years since I moved into the valley. Dates escape me but sometime in the mid 1970's, Bill organized a barn raising with the neighbors and friends he made over the years. I went up early on the Saturday and looked at the cement block foundation where the barn was to be built. We, Bill, his family, neighbors, guests, friends, and some people just passing through for the weekend, began with the floor joists and in just hours they were in place. Fifty people nailed planks down for the floor. Larry O'Rourke, Bill's son-in-law, was the ground foreman. I was up on the beams. Board by board, as fast as I could call down figures and Larry could cut them, hands hoisted each piece into place and other hands nailed them down fast. By the end of the day, we not only completed the floor but also had the rafters made, nailed up, and ready for the metal roofing. After we were done for the day, close to a hundred of us piled into the CCC campground mess hall and ate a feast prepared for us by a great gathering of women. What a day to remember! Shades of the Witness, but Kelly McGillis wasn't there. Shucks... Every summer in July, the "Trailboss" would lead the Allegheny Trail Ride through the myriad paths in the national forest. Once I counted more than 100 horses on the "Big Ride" led by Bill passing by my home. He rode proudly out in front of the string of the riders who came from as far away as Indiana, New York, Ohio, West Virginia, and New Jersey. Next to Max Crise, I never met anyone who could improvise like Bill. His wagonwheel mailbox holder is still one of my favorites. Bill took an old wagon wheel and mounted all of his neighbors' mailboxes on it so that when the "mail lady" stopped in Duhring, all she had to do was spin the wheel around and put the mail into the boxes. The wheel still stands out in front of Bill's home and I imagine it will for many years to come, a testimony to his creative genius. Years ago when the Perry's still lived in the valley, Bill, Mrs. Perry, her sister, Berty, and I worked all day making apple butter. Now, if any of you've ever paddled butter, you know how important it is to keep the sauce moving to keep it from burning. Bill rigged up an old gas burner that made it possible for us to control the heat just right so that it was nearly impossible to burn anything. We made nearly 100 quarts that day and savored it for nearly a year. Letha and Berty were right pleased with Bill's set up and told him so over and over again. And boy, what good apple butter we made. Even when Bill's health began to fail, he'd muster up enough energy to go coon hunting with Mr. Perry, his son Ronald, and me. We'd run around all night long, chasing the masked bandits, and swap stories until daylight sent the coons to bed, and us too. Andy Perry and Bill claimed similar roots. Both were originally from Wild Wonderful. As a much younger man, it was a treat for me to tag along with these older warriors and listen to the many paths they traveled in their lives. Both came from hardworking families, and the lines in their faces showed they learned the lessons taught by their forefathers that hard work produced results. Bill was instrumental in founding and became one of the first presidents of the MACA club. He worked with others in the community to fund and build the Marienville Medical Center. He was a Jenks Township road supervisor. I'm not sure if he was ever a county commissioner, but when I first moved to the valley it seemed that everyone knew him. In fact, when I told people in my hometown that I moved to Marienville, Pennsylvania, many would ask me if I knew Bill Summers. When I told them I lived just down the road from him, they would laugh and say, "Yah, I know the old house along the railroad grade. It's about a quarter mile from Bill's." The first time I ever met Bill was in the winter of 1970 two years before I married Cheryl, and moved to Duhring. We came up on a Saturday afternoon in the dead of winter just to ride around in the "Big Woods." At the time, I owned a Jeep CJ-5, but I was trying to sell it and like a fool drove a rear wheel drive Chevy II down to the Lamonaville corners. Cheryl and I got stuck in a snow drift. After some time wandering around, we finally ended up on Bill's doorstep and asked if there was any way he could help us. In his quiet way, Bill said he just might. He got his clothes on and drove us into Marienville and then back out to the corners. The back road was covered with deep snow so we couldn't use it. In a few moments, we were out. I wanted to pay Bill for helping us but he wouldn't accept anything. Years later when Bill went into a diabetic coma while out working on a gas well, I was able to return the favor and rush him along with Helen, his wife, to Kane hospital for emergency care. Bill came out of that experience okay. On the way home, after nearly dying up on the hill, Bill wanted to go back up to the well and shut things down. I told him I'd do it for him, but he insisted. Together, we shut the well down and then he went inside to get some rest. At least a decade and a half ago, Bill had open heart surgery. While he was recovering, I visited with him on his porch. He was in good spirits and was planning for the trail ride even though his stitches were just beginning to heal. At the time, I was in the habit of riding my bike back and forth to Youngstown once or twice a summer. Bill said to me that he wished he had the legs to ride that far. I laughed and said to him, I just hope that if I ever faced the kinds of physical adversities that he did nearly every day of his life, I'd have the spirit to even dream about long bike rides. In the last few years, the cold winters were too much for Bill and he and Helen wintered in sunny Florida. He talked about the nice place they had in the Sunshine State. But he never seemed to me to be really enthused about the place as he was about his home in the Duhring Valley. I believe Bill's life ended the way he wanted it to, working around his home, surrounded in the nearby community by his children and grandchildren, and as far away from a hospital bed as any man or woman in ill health could hope to be. You may not have had my legs, Bill, but I surely hope that when I am your age, that I possess your extraordinary spirit to overcome whatever life throws at me and continue to ride, walk, or crawl forward until it's my time to move on to the next lifetime. I just hope the good Lord has a well-stocked workshop ready for Bill, because he's not one to sit still for very long. Goodbye, neighbor.