In my last post I made a side comment about an ice factory in Lewisburg, PA.
It was part1 of a conversation I was having with a Good Times ice hopper outside a sub shop on a steamy day:
(The freezer’s) questions reminded me of the sprawling cinder block facility down the street from Mom’s retirement apartment. It appears to be shuttered now and slated for renovation, likely a plumber’s garage or hip brew house. But it’ll probably be toppled.
Maybe you’ve guessed where today’s post is headed.
I pulled this basic history from a local paper:
The Ice House of Lewisburg was started in 1925 by L.P. Ilgen Sr., who stored meat. Three years later, he began making ice. The store was operated by L.P. Ilgen Jr. as the L.P. Ilgen Ice & Cold Storage Company and Meat Manufacturing Plant until Fred Colburn purchased the business in 1971. Colburn died in 1995 and his son Timothy Colburn, who died in 2016, managed and operated the business until about a decade ago.2
Now it’s a pile of rubble.
My mother, who has now outlived the property, is as ornery and cute as ever.
The party we threw for her 90th birthday last Sunday brought together my two brothers and a small assemblage of our kids. Driving into Lewisburg and being sure to look for the ice house, I wasn’t a bit surprised that my premonition had become a reality.
It reminded me of the bittersweet line my church proclaims each Sunday after we re-enact The Lord’s Supper:
He remembers that we are dust.3
Mom’s world is slowly shrinking (like all of ours, if we’ll admit it): Arthritis pain, short-term memory issues. But she received her party with grace and humor, even enduring a clamorous four-way FaceTime call with my kids on a roving iPad. That part of the party wore me out!
The cinder block ice house had been degrading for a long time and was never anything to write home about, but I always imagined it could’ve been made into a fantastic bike shop/coffee bar/pizza/brewpub/arcade/gallery sort of thing.
After Mimi’s party, we drove across the street to Jack Ass Brewery, a brand new joint that got a jump on the concept and is doing a fine job serving brews and grub on the Buffalo Valley rail trail.
On the way out of town, Becky and I stopped so I could photograph the demolition. On the periphery sat a lone ice freezer whispering to me:
It’s OK, Tom. We were all unhappy in there. And can you adopt me?
I kindly declined his offer, shot him a cool thumbs up, and jumped into our Subaru. We drove off into the humid, central PA sunset.
I nearly cut my mention of the ice house because it felt irrelevant to the post. But my gut said, “Don’t do it.” Or was it the freezer speaking?
https://www.dailyitem.com/news/former-ice-house-being-demolished-freedom-towing-relocating-its-business/article_c853fe48-2a3c-11ee-a706-6b6c93a65e74.html
Psalm 103.