Yesterday on my way to work I passed that soggy La-Z-Boy at the state line that I mentioned in my last post and thought that I should take a photo of it for the benefit of "my readers" or something pretentious like that. Since I was already past it and in the wrong lane though, I decided that rather than causing a high-speed traffic accident I'd wait till I was on my way home. So that evening, as I pulled off Sagetown Road onto 328 South, I disconnected my iPhone from the cassette deck, toggled on the camera app, rolled down the passenger window, and prepared to take a drive-by photo of the offending piece of furniture. But as I approached the speed trap where it had been sitting for the past week––up to that very morning––I was hit with a confounding realization: The soggy La-Z-Boy was gone.
This afternoon I went for a run up Coryland Road––right past Coryland Park and our deceased porcine friend who I mentioned a couple weeks ago. I can happily report that he is indeed still there, if slightly more bedraggled in appearance.
I have yet to figure out if his presence there has anything to do with the gigantic remotely owned Pine Hill Pig Farm that blights the side of Coryland Hill, destroys the road, and occasionally turns my runs into choking, vomiteous, life-threatening affairs when their manure trucks are out spin-spreading fecal matter all over the township, as they have been for the last week.
I made an interesting discovery about those manure trucks today: My jogging pace up the steepest point of Coryland Hill is embarrassingly close to their big-rigs when they take off with a full load. That makes for a rather awkward mile when we start uphill at the same time. If I didn't cut my pace, we would have just passed each other again and again until we reached Coryland Church at the top of the Hill and the ground levels out.
It seems that there's a bit of a storm brewing with Coryland Church. At least that's what it sounded like when one of my grandpas burst into our house yesterday.
"There's been chicanery!" he declared. I'm not entirely sure what that word means, or if I should be publishing it on my blog, but it seemed apt.
Now, this grandpa is far from the churchiest person in our family. In fact, I think he wouldn't be caught dead in one (quite literally). However, he does have a very strong and involved interest in protecting the sanctity and integrity of the old cemeteries that dot the countryside around our area. One of those cemeteries is the Old Coryland Cemetery––which is not actually the one that sits next to the church; that's the New Coryland Cemetery. The old one is some distance from the church, and has fallen into disrepair in recent years. My grandpa, along with some others, formed some kind of loose organization to try and protect it many years ago. However, when they approached the church for funds to repair it, the board apparently claimed that it wasn't their responsibility, and that it now in fact belonged to the organization that my grandpa and others had formed to protect it.
It seems however, that in the midst of the shale gas boom several years ago, when Fortuna and Talisman Energy's landsman were going door to door offering hundred thousand dollar checks for the gas recovery rights to parcels of land, that the church board somehow forgot it had disavowed responsibility for the little cemetery––and told Talisman it could address checks for it to them rather than the preservation organization that they'd previously claimed legally owned it. So yesterday, my grandpa found out that for the last four years the church has been collecting thousands and thousands of dollars that rightfully should have gone to the preservation organization. And furthermore, the board still has no intention of repairing the fallen headstones.
So there you have it. Scandal in Coryland PA.
I really have no idea if anyone will eventually fix the cemetery. Or if anyone will take the pig out of the park. Or who put the pig in the park. Or who put that La-Z-Boy in the speed-trap on 328. Or whether it was the person who put it there, or someone who took an eye to it, or the NYSP who were responsible for its mysterious vanishing yesterday.
But one thing in all this is for certain:
There's been chicanery.