We Had a Dream!

Ron and Kris Wenning

When we moved to Pennsylvania out of college 40+ years ago, we slowly began to discover and comprehend all of the early 17th and 18th century American and Pennsylvania frontier history surrounding us and began a lifelong quest to learn, love and preserve the roots of our history in the old books we found. In the early 1990's we began to put together a plan, along with a dream, to share these early, out of print books on this early American Eastern Frontier History that we had collected over the last 25 years. In 1994, our dream called Wennawoods Publishing was born and with it, our first two books in print: 1,000 copies each of The Indian Chiefs of Pennsylvania and The Indian Wars of Pennsylvania by C. Hale Sipe, in really beautiful Red Hardback books. Both sold out within 3 months and Wennawoods Publishing was off and running. Now we had 2 jobs, working 60 hours per week, running our main business called Knittle & Frey Ag-Center and the Bighorn Deer Store during the day to make a living, and working late into the night keeping Wennawoods Publishing afloat. The hours were long but our sense of pride and accomplishment was enormous! It was a labor of love and we were on our way!!!

West of Wennawoods Publishing - Where it all began!

Life on the ridge is fun; almost makes me feel like we are living on the frontier 300 years; but nights can be long, often cold up here and full of plenty of interesting sights and sounds.

All the more perfect for productive work: reading books about the time period we love; looking for those obscure facts and long forgotten titles, and yes, Kris shipping our printed babies out to the customers who love to read about the frontier.

West of Wennawoods' Blogging It - Looking Through Our Window

My workplace setting will help, taking me back into time. Sitting in my favorite chair, logs burning in the fireplace, my dog RUFF laying in front of that fire, with a candlelight burning in every window. A moment frozen in time; a picture of the past secure in my mind, with a sense of fulfillment prodding me on. Every now and then though, I look up from my book, my mind peering into the darkness, gently sliding me back into time. I turn my head to the left at the sound of the wind, fully expecting Ben Franklin to walk into the room; sadden that the reality of the night has slowly crept back into the room. None the less, I have to pinch myself, to get back to the task at hand, knowing that this certainly is the best place to do my work. Slowly I put my book down next to my chair and turn to walk from the room. As I rise, I am safe in knowing there is always a light burning in all our log house windows to safely lead our way.