There's a little path through the Orchard.

They're all these trees, but at the end of the Orchard was the largest oak tree in America.

How I was terrified to go to the store after dark.

My word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.

You don't remember the Stefano drugstore or Harold's market with back-y hardware.

Those were little shops that made up the village square of the town where I grew up.

This little group of stores sat on the main thoroughfare that split the city.

But there was a back road behind these stores called McClellan Drive.

It was the street where I grew up.

And it was always my job to run to the store. This was before supermarkets.

To get the loaf of bread to pick up the order that my mother had called in or to go up at night to the drugstore and get the prescriptions for the fame.

I used to love to go to the drugstore at night, go to the soda counter.

But it was never without fear and trepidation after the sun had gone down.

Because I get from my house to the store, I had to go through the orchard, greens orchard.

One of the scariest places in western Pennsylvania.

There's a little path, just a very narrow path, through the orchard.

There were all these trees.

But at the end of the orchard, blocked entrance to the drugstore, the back of the drugstore and the hardware store, was the largest oak tree in America.

And it was fine during the summer when its fearsome character was blunted by the foliage.

But in the dead of winter, when its branch has stuck out into the story night,

like huge gargituan arms that would come down and grab any little kid that ran through that wood.

How I was terrified to go to the store after dark.

...