The future of the valley of the upper Allegheny River was predetermined in the 1930s with talks of flood control. As time drew nearer for construction of Kinzua Dam, even the last protesters conceded their world was doomed. It was not the end of the world, but it was the end of their world, their way of life--for how can you infuse hope into the spirit of man when all is ordained to be taken from him?To those who intimately knew these times, perhaps the valleys are better known by what is gone than by what remains today. True, the past cannot be captured, but we may forever ponder the times lost--villages abandoned; farms without green fields; trees cleared and burned, as the fires set by the Corps rid the valleys and remote hamlets of the residue of human life.

For centuries the Allegheny hills acted as stewards guarding, perhaps falsely, the destiny of the inhabitants. Kinzua Dam held back the Allegheny River as everyone and everything previously known vanished beneath it. As some witnessed the extinction of a valley, others marveled at the engineering of a great dam--for as Cornplanter discerned--"upon the eternal scroll, time writes the passing."

The understanding of nature was Ralph Simpson's consuming passion, which he pursued with unmatched vigor and high spirits. In Grass Flats, 1890--1923, Simpson meticulously documents 218 species accounts of bird life in Warren County, Pennsylvania, including notes on other species observed at Presque Isle on Lake Erie. Simpson speaks of habitat preferences and population shifts, while at the same time offering a view of the natural world with a bit of whimsy, as in the following 1909 observations of the Screech Owl. I knew of an old Flicker's hole nearby, and on going past I saw feathers about the edges, so I investigated and found a Gray Screecher at home. She made no resistance, so I reached in and counted five eggs under her, petted her, and left her. Join this noted naturalist, as he seeks adventure birding in the virgin timber of Wild Cat Run, navigating a steep precipice in the wilds of Goshawk Basin, or climbing 70 feet up a giant Eastern Hemlock to peer into a Sharp-shinned Hawk's nest. From his exploits, Simpson learned early on that, with nature, every moment instructs. Simpson, with feet on terra firma, beckons you to his stomping ground--Grass Flats.

The future of the valley of the upper Allegheny River was predetermined in the 1930s with talks of flood control. As time drew nearer for construction of Kinzua Dam, even the last protesters conceded their world was doomed. It was not the end of the world, but it was the end of their world, their way of life--for how can you infuse hope into the spirit of man when all is ordained to be taken from him? To those who intimately knew these times, perhaps the valleys are better known by what is gone than by what remains today. True, the past cannot be captured, but we may forever ponder the times lost--villages abandoned; farms without green fields; trees cleared and burned, as the fires set by the Corps rid the valleys and remote hamlets of the residue of human life. For centuries the Allegheny hills acted as stewards guarding, perhaps falsely, the destiny of the inhabitants. Kinzua Dam held back the Allegheny River as everyone and everything previously known vanished beneath it. As some witnessed the extinction of a valley, others marveled at the engineering of a great dam--for as Cornplanter discerned--upon the eternal scroll, time writes the passing.

The understanding of nature was Ralph Simpson's consuming passion, which he pursued with unmatched vigor and high spirits. In Grass Flats, 1890--1923, Simpson meticulously documents 218 species accounts of bird life in Warren County, Pennsylvania, including notes on other species observed at Presque Isle on Lake Erie. Simpson speaks of habitat preferences and population shifts, while at the same time offering a view of the natural world with a bit of whimsy, as in the following 1909 observations of the Screech Owl. I knew of an old Flicker's hole nearby, and on going past I saw feathers about the edges, so I investigated and found a Gray Screecher at home. She made no resistance, so I reached in and counted five eggs under her, petted her, and left her. Join this noted naturalist, as he seeks adventure birding in the virgin timber of Wild Cat Run, navigating a steep precipice in the wilds of Goshawk Basin, or climbing 70 feet up a giant Eastern Hemlock to peer into a Sharp-shinned Hawk's nest. From his exploits, Simpson learned early on that, with nature, every moment instructs. Simpson, with feet on terra firma, beckons you to his stomping ground--Grass Flats.