Phil Elmore: Individual Authoring Services

Poconos 2003
A Travelogue

DAY THREE

We began Day Three as we did every morning in the Poconos -- with breakfast in bed delivered by a pleasant Jamaican fellow ("Just leave da trays outside when ya trew, mon") who drives a small cart to the various buildings each day. Forms for breakfast are kept at the front desk. Each day, couples choose from the available selections and even stipulate roughly when they would like breakfast delivered. My sister tells me that one of the delivery staff related some harrowing breakfast delivery stories to her husband during their stay at Pocono Palace. Apparently requests of the staff to take naked pictures of couples in their suites is not uncommon.

After breakfast we were off to Columcille, the "Megalith Park" that could be considered the "Stonehenge of Pennsylvania" (borrowing a page from the Bushkill Falls marketing department). Columcille is the labor of love of many supporters, chief among them a man named Bill Cohea. The Columcille website provides this information, amidst much more:

Columcille, Inc. is a nonprofit organization established in 1978 to promote transformation through inner and outer work. It has its origins in Casa Colum (Gaelic for Home of the Dove), a small house opened in 1975 by William Cohea Jr. as a ‘salon by the side of the road’ where ‘tired sinners and reluctant saints’ could drop by and share their experiences and ideas. Cohea had been inspired during a visit to the Isle of Iona to create an open space which welcomed people of all faiths and traditions interested in renewal and transformation.

In partnership with Fred Lindkvist and "Friends of Columcille," the original foundation grew and Columcille erected the St. Columba Chapel in 1979. The building took its name from Colum Cille, the 6th century Irish monk who founded a monastic community on Iona. Following construction of the chapel, the St. Oran Bell Tower was begun, patterned on eighth century Irish ruins. Shortly thereafter a stone circle was added, along with a small fresh water meditation pond. As more stones were set, the outlines of the present Megalith Park began to emerge.

Today, Columcille includes the trilithon Thor’s Gate, the Glen of the Temple, and numerous megaliths strategically placed on the land. The Park is constantly evolving. New megaliths added in autumn, 1997 bring the total to seventy standing stones, and work continues on the system of woodland trails and meditation sites set aside for men and women.

A beautiful, meditative site that I imagine is popular with local pagan groups, Columcille is truly inspiring and extremely pleasant. (I took a great many pictures and transformed more than a few into desktop wallpaper when I returned home.) We visited the standing stones, hiked through Columcille's plentiful trails (which are also dotted with small standing stone arrangements), and enjoyed the atmosphere for quite some time. Beth and I also visited the Sacred Women's Site and Sacred Men's Site, respectively. The site also boasts a pond stocked with beautiful colored fish (a couple of which are absolutely huge). My favorite structure was probably the St. Oran Bell Tower (click here for another view and here for the interior), but I also really enjoyed walking the meditative labyrinth that is part of a neighboring spiritual retreat.

Columcille. The heavy iron Infinity Gate is visible at left.

Manannan, the tallest standing stone at Columcille.

Thor's Gate, which stands taller than I do.
It leads to the walking trails and the labyrinth.

The meditative stone labyrinth. Small offerings, such as lockets
and coins and even a guitar pick, were evident on the centerpiece.

The grounds of Columcille, to which I hope to return often.

After loading up on souvenirs (guests leave money in a small box and are trusted not to take something without paying for it) we left Columcille full of memories of beauty and peace.

On our way back to the resort that afternoon we paused for something much more mundane -- a stop at Odd Lots, an outlet store of some kind full of all kinds of odds and ends. I very seriously considered smuggling one of Odd Lots' variety packs of do-it-yourself fireworks across the heavily fortified New York-Pennsylvania border, but thought better of it. I enjoy typing too much to risk any of my fingers. Odd Lots is, of course, situated next to a huge fireworks store. For all I know, they also sell mobile phones but don't sell motorcycle helmets.

That evening, after another dinner in the formal dining room, we walked the nature trail maintained at Pocono Palace. The resort is on Echo Lake. The woodchip-covered nature trail winds down through trees that border the resort property, along the lakeshore, until it takes hand-holding couples to the small marina that houses the resort's paddleboats.

It was dusk when we started on the trail. We had not gone far when Beth spotted something in the water. "Look," she said. "There's something there. No, maybe that's just a log."

"No," I said, "You're right. It's moving."

"It" was a beaver, who paused near us and then began noisily chewing on whatever it is beavers chew, as if to say, "That's right, folks, I'm a beaver. I shall now commence to do beaver things until you feel satisfied that you've seen the guaranteed nature on this nature trail." As we walked, the beaver paddled along beside us. We caught glimpses of him through the trees dotting the shoreline. He stayed with us for quite some time, heading towards the other end of the lake for whatever beaver purpose.

We hadn't gone much farther down the trail when Beth, whose night vision is far superior to mine, spotted what must have been an entirely family of raccoons standing on the trail ahead of us. I suddenly felt like a white explorer in deepest Africa, surrounded by possibly hostile aborigines watching me silently from the edges of the jungle.

"They're cute," I said at length. "Come here, little guy. Come here." One of the raccoons apparently heard me and started straight for us. It was adorable until I realized that he wasn't stopping. Fearing rabies, I decided it was time to get stern.

"Okay," I warned. "That's far enough."

Again as if he heard me, the raccoon turned right and stood with a couple of its fellows at the side of the train. The creatures watched us as we passed by. When we stopped and sat on a bench situated about mid-trail, I half expected them to visit us again (squirrels, for example, will come very close if you sit quietly for long enough), but they had apparently logged their time for the evening.

The nightclub entertainment was a show band called Area Code, whom I would consider palatable only if they were situated in another area code while playing. Beth and I had drinks again (I gulped down four White Russians in half an hour and developed a deep and abiding suspicion that the bartender wasn't actually putting any alcohol in them) and briefly watched a Mardi Gras-themed game in which couples transferred a ping pong ball through their mates' clothing and then transferred that extremely unsanitary ball to the next couple. The host for these games was a young fellow to whom Pocono Palace's daily newsletter referred to as "Eric" -- quotes and all. My wife and I theorize that he has not yet been with the chain long enough to earn a cool nickname, such as "Honest Phil" or "Dancin' Stan" (two very real employees of the Caesars chain). I spent our vacation referring to Eric as "Quote Unquote Eric."

We capped our evening by watching a videotape of Jennifer Aniston's The Good Girl on the television-VCR combination in our room. This is a strange film -- a somewhat soulless affair revolving around Aniston's rapidly growing collection of sexual affairs, on which she embarks because her husband is well-meaning pothead loser who paints houses for a living. I quite approved when one of the main characters chose to commit suicide. The highlight of the film was a fellow employee -- a young woman at the Retail Rodeo at which Aniston's character works -- who has a terrible attitude and actively antagonizes the customers.

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