The simple words of a title can’t always capture the passion that inspires a story or even come close. Several weeks ago my short and sweet post titled Glamping would break the ice and provide a tiny background into my love of camping. In my desire to seize the moment and hurl myself into the realms of nature all else can fade somewhat. The words must wait as I chase the daylight across the sky. For there is intense energy in the poetry of motion and the magic that waits for us in the great outdoors. It’s as much a part of me as anything. As for the title of this post the words are borrowed. They will forever belong to a man named Wally Byam. I borrow them with respect for they truly resonate within my inner spirit. Who was Wally Byam? He was the creative energy,passion,and founder of the Airstream Company. You’ve no doubt see their signature travel trailers as you journey the highways of North America. Their metal hulls instantly recognizable and truly unique.Why my sudden interest and connection to Airstream? The story is much deeper than even I realized until today. It wasn’t until I visited the Airstream home page and read the story of Wally Byam that I could truly appreciate my connection to his words. Wally’s Creed. Powerful and meaningful to me.It sends a shiver up my spine and adds fuel to a fire that has always burned. As for the video Airstream created it’s remarkable! Check it out! The camera footage of vintage tow vehicles and travel trailers alone makes it worth watching! Why the sudden interest in the Airstream story and Wally Byam? I will need to back up for that one for a few paragraphs. Traveling was not a big part of my childhood or adolescent years. We never owned a travel trailer or even camped.I was the lover of camping! The thousands of acres surrounding us provided ample space for me to explore. Books and magazines connected me to far off destinations. Historically speaking, I have always secretly regretted not being born in the 1800s. Tales of explorers and fur trappers out on those wide expanses of America would trigger my imagination. Western novels of the old west as well. Ranches and cattle drives. Alaska and the frontiers of fortune. Our mom loved to travel but it was hard to get our Dad to vacation so our Aunt Betty Washburn traveled with us! We toured parts of upstate New York and the New England states as far up as Maine. Great memories that time turns hazy as years pass and the decades run together. After our Mom died our father eventually decided that we needed a family vacation around 1978. We left in a giant Ford Mercury. A boat of a car! Two weeks on the road would take us to Arizona and back. The Grand Canyon,the Painted Desert, and the Petrified Forest baked into my memory in the dry,arid lands so very different than home. I loved the experience although towards the end I was rather burned out by the daily long distance itinerary. Miles and miles of travel. Motel rooms and sometimes sketchy restaurants that challenged the digestive tract!But I’ve always treasured that road vacation as it was the only one we ever did together. Our Father’s job,the farm, and my sister’s entrance into college were all factors in lives dictated by time. By work and schedule. Overall the trip broadened my horizons considerably. On the roads we passed the Airstream trailers. “Sardine Cans” our father called them!Fast forward many years. 2012. The Alaska road trip towing a used travel trailer with a new Ford 3.5L Ecoboost power plant. I’d never lost my imagination or desire to travel and with the approach of my birthday it was time. Age 50 was one I’d be taking seriously. Time and travel had been grabbed in small pieces until that 5 week road trip.The trailer was sold in Alaska and never replaced in the frantic years that followed. But retirement in November 2017 changed the game. Zane and I threw ourselves in camping and hiking in the Adirondacks. I met Jennifer.A woman who’s love of travel equals if not surpasses my own. We’ve discussed traveling many times. We’ve experienced some fabulous family vacationing in the Adirondacks and once in California together. The drive to branch out and head off to new places has intensified since the events of 2020 forced restrictions that halted long distance travel.This year we began to seriously consider purchasing a travel trailer or Rv after I sold my home of 6 years. Hours upon hours of research. Endless reviews complete with purchaser horror stories. Indecision began to steal the fun from the moment. Buy new or used? Which brand? Certain ones were impossible to locate and would require waiting almost a year if one was ordered! We found a decent used one that we decided would work this year. We’d order our new one and have it in the spring in time for summer travel. But the deal feel through suddenly and without warning much to my dismay. I began to search once again. I looked at a few new ones here in the St. Law. Co. area but nothing felt right. No offense but there are some rather disposable travel trailers out there. I recently read that the average life of some travel trailers is a mere 15 years! Yikes! Not a good investment considering the cost. I wasn’t thrilled with any of the used travel trailers we located near us. It was a very disappointing moment for me! But the energy of the universe works in mysterious ways. I suddenly began considering an Airstream for the first time. Call it that gut feeling we sometimes get. I previously had felt that an Airstream was beyond our reach as a sensible investment but as I researched every aspect of them I decided that we should try and find one! There were several key factors that factored into that long term investment of features, and quality.Finding one proved somewhat difficult however. But I was not easily deterred once I decided that an Airstream was the perfect fit for my long term vision of MOONTABS. My search led me to Colton Rv in Orchard Park, New York just outside of Buffalo. They had 4 used Airstreams for sale so I made the 4 hour plus trip down on a Tuesday morning just planning to look. I had never stepped into an Airstream despite my researched familiarity with their floor plans and accessories. I ended up buying one! The experience deserves a more detailed post. There’s an energy that lead me there having never read Wally Byam’s words until today. I need to ponder it and try to get the story right! The dream of MOONTABS can be found in the life of Wally Byam and what his company has represented since 1931. Honestly, I still haven’t totally gotten used to the fact that we now own an Airstream and it’s parked in Jennifer’s yard being prepped for a trip! The time spent researching a travel coach purchase is behind us. The open road is there ahead of us! We’re proud of our decision and all it represents for the MOONTABS dream!Watch for an upcoming post showcasing the life of Airstream founder Wally Byam,Colton Rv, and the Airstream family of travel coach’s! It’s inspiring to say the least! As for my connection to Wally Byam? My word’s as a young boy quoted back to me by our father eerily and similarly echoed in a quote of his. They were penned by me in November of 2017. My story is called “The Other Side of the Hill”. I leave you with Wally’s quote: “Keep your eyes on the stars,and the stars in your eyes…see if you can find out what’s over the next hill, and the next one after that.” (Does that give you a shiver or pause to reflect?)I feel I made the right choice without even knowing why. Spirit energy? Or simple coincidence? I chose the energy every time now. It’s going to be a wild ride my friends!✍️
Author Archive: Greg Washburn
Horsing Around On The Obx
We’ve just returned from a whirlwind trip to North Carolina moving Jennifer’s daughter to the Durham area. We were so close to the coast that we decided to spend a couple days there exploring and seeing the sights. The roads and highways in the Durham area are quite busy but as we ventured towards the coast the traffic thinned and we enjoyed some beautiful country scenery. Our route took us through several small villages where prosperity or lack of it was rather obvious. Only with investigation could we ever know the true story of life in these small towns or the people who call them home. There was a rigorous amount of agricultural activities which were good to see. Fields of sprouting corn, grain, and things unknown to us from the windows of the truck. Eventually as we neared the coast the land became very low lying with swampy sections of mixed forests and water filled ditches. We began to spot numerous turtles sunning themselves on logs and bogs. We reached an access road leading into the Alligator River Wildlife Refuge and decided to take a back road tour of it. Apparently black bears live here and we kept a watchful eye on the thick brushy ditches and open maintained clearings. A local kayak adventure company does tours here we learned on some of the coastal waterways within the refuge. We eventually grew tired of seeing nothing but turtles and endless watery ditches so we began to seek a way out. The dirt roads were quite well maintained and decent to travel with only a few other vehicles out there with us. As we neared the intersection that would that us out to our paved destination we spotted a stopped van. At the same moment Jennifer spotted a black bear in the road in front of the van. It was rather thin and gangly in appearance though. Not the robust hardy sort we might encounter occasionally back home. We guessed it to be rather young . We watched it for some time as it foraged along the road. We wondered if people had left food or something for it. Illegal in New York State most definitely. It obviously had a large sanctuary to roam in this huge refuge that’s for sure. We continued our travels leaving the bear to his(her) snacking and felt grateful to have seen it. The traffic picked up as we neared the coast and we crossed a large bridge with beautiful coastal scenery in all directions. We stopped at the Roanoke Island Visitor Center for a brief break gathering brochures and maps of the OBX. The staff were friendly and knowledgeable! I mentioned driving up to see the wild horses of Corolla and they offered sage advice. The highways of the OBX were busy and brisk as people were moving about on the Memorial Day weekend. We found our Airbnb easily with the truck’s navigation system. Paired with Jennifer’s phone travel was rather simple with few complications. Jennifer is a first rate navigator always! Her planning and attention to details is unmatched in my opinion. I drive and she navigates. Perfect!Our cozy Airbnb was tucked away in a residential section of Kill Devil Hills. The owner stepped out and exchanged greetings with us. I asked about the wild horses and he offered tips for driving the 4wd drive stretches of beach where we might encounter them. “Deflate your tires or you may get stuck” was his final tidbit of advice. One I chose to ignore despite the signs along the route recommending it. My 2021 F-150 has a special transmission setting for sand and deep snow. I chose to test it out although honestly I was a little anxious about my decision to not deflate. We followed the signs that were bringing us closer to Corolla where the pavement ends and the sandy driving beaches begin. We liked the small town of Duck with its abundance of shops and restaurants. There is little undeveloped land however with beach houses, motels, and gated communities covering the landscape. The roads were packed with vehicles and travel was slow but steady. A driver must remain ever vigilant here. We reached the point of no return and engaged the 4wd and transmission setting. Onto the land stretches of beach with a variety of other vehicles. Large groups of people were set up partying and enjoying the sun. It was a bit of a free for all atmosphere with T-charged young men racing through the deeper sections of sand with obvious abandon. It was rather thrilling actually and I took the truck right to the oceans edge and drove the smooth wet sand. Some sections next to the surf are off limits and we were forced into the deep dry sand for some bumpy 4wd fun! The truck handled well and my fears of being stuck left me. The wild horses were absent from the frantic human activities of the beaches. No surprise there. We spotted a couple of the wild horse tour trucks and decided to follow them. They lead us off the beach onto narrow sandy roads sprinkled with numerous beach houses. There were no signs for the most part and we continued to probe deeper. We began to spot piles of dry horse droppings but still no horses. We hit a couple of dead end streets where no trespassing signs warned us away and made for tricky turn arounds.We lost sight of the tour truck but eventually spotted two others back on the beach and gave chase. They once again led us from the beach and eventually our efforts paid off when Jennifer suddenly spotted a pair feeding on a lawn next to a beach house! We watched them for some time and resumed our search. We spotted a few near an inland canal but couldn’t get very close. But our persistence paid off and we encountered about a dozen or feeding right beside the road. They paid no attention to us and we actually had to get too close to them in the process of turning around. Mission accomplished! We tackled the deep sands of the beach and returned to the paved roads of civilization. We found a crowded restaurant and enjoyed some yummy Mahi Mahi tacos.It was almost chilly sitting outside but we enjoyed our meal away from the crowded interior. We stopped at an abandoned real estate office parking lot and watched the sunset. Beautiful and red. The perfect way to end our day of adventures. Safely tucked into our rooms we studied the facts of the wild horses of the OBX. Descendants of Spanish mustangs they once numbered 5000 -6000 in a survey conducted in 1926. They now number a mere 100 -110. It seems they were a nuisance and considered feral by the National Park Service as the Cape Hatteras park was created. A bounty was placed on them and they were destroyed. Now controlled and monitored closely they live in a roughly 7544 acre compound of public and private lands. Reading of their demise was disturbing and sad for us. Human sprawl and development. The need for space.Something as tourists we were part of to some degree. One can only imagine what this landscape offered once. But we felt privileged to have gazed upon them and watched their carefree roaming. They are said to cover roughly 15-20 miles per day sometimes grazing on their specialized diets. We hope to return and view them again sometime. Our final day on the OBX was a busy one! We hit a local donut shop called Duck Donuts for yummy breakfast treats. We toured the town of Roanoke on a leisurely and relaxing stroll. Stopping to tour the lighthouse and gain some historical knowledge of the location. Our next stop was incredible! The dunes of Jockey’s Ridge State Park. Free and open to the public. The highest dune complex on the East coast. Truly remarkable in its vastness. It’s a bit tiring walking in the deep sand and made for some comical moments. Those times when Jennifer and I checkout. Living and laughing in the now. Free and unencumbered by anything. The dunes are a must see if you are in the OBX. Our next stop was the eastern side of Kill Devil Hills where we strolled the beach enjoying the surf and gathering seashells. Later we experienced a wonderful dining experience outside at the Blue Point Restaurant in Duck. I highly recommend it! We returned to the dunes of Jockey’s Ridge to watch the sun set on our day. We rose early and headed out to a local breakfast shop called Biscuits and Porn. No clue there as to the name but it was worth our time stopping. So we left the OBX with special MOONTABS and know we will return again. After all, we barely scratched the surface of all that awaits a visitor. But that’s the magic of travel and adventure for those who crave it. The sun sets for us in new and exciting locations. I chase those sunsets with my lovely companion and enjoy a most special life with her. It is but the beginning of a much larger story I pray. For blessings are mine and I humbly acknowledge them. To share our story and all we learn.Dollars well invested in life and experiences. That’s the message. Wander wisely and reap the rewards. The Great Wander looms with hopeful imagination. It’s always been a dream of mine. To see what lies over the next hill. I’ll try to tell the story well.
Bugs,Brush,and Brown Gold
It starts with that first find of the season and grows into a weekly obsession as the warm days of spring bring that most special of treasures into our home. What is this special treasure and why does it deserve a blog post? The morel mushroom! It’s reputation is world renowned and for good reason. It’s earthy,almost nutty flavor and exotic shape make it prized as an addition to fine cuisine around the globe. Know for it’s good taste and rareness it’s a valuable commodity that drives morel hunters into the forest in search of it. For a boy growing up in the hills of Macomb,N.Y. it was nothing more than another excuse to run wild across the pastures and through the forests. I spent hours hunting morels as a boy. A brown paper A+P grocery bag would carry my finds back to the farmhouse where a visiting aunt would pay me a dollar if I had a good quantity to deliver. Like a good many other country pursuits of mine it was never really about the money anyway. Today finds that mindset well ingrained and well grounded. I never really knew all that much about morels until recently. My father had taught me what they were and the basics of locating them but little more. Little more was needed anyway. But I have read more about them recently and even joined a couple social media groups dedicated to the morel mushroom hunters of the world. It seems that I am part of a special clique as a morel hunter! Not everyone is so fortunate I’ve read. The morel is the star of the mushroom world!For many will search and not all will find them. Those skills and good fortunes that we often take for granted truly do represent a status symbol to certain groups of people. As I get older I realize that the rural heritage that I enjoy without really thinking about it is something that can’t be purchased easily. It doesn’t give me an ego trip or anything like that. It’s more of a reminder of the blessings my country upbringing bestowed upon me as a way of life was lived. Being a forager was a part of that upbringing. As was being a hunter and trapper. Fisherman to a certain degree as well.The different seasons of northern New York offered a variety of foraging opportunities for a boy of Macomb. The first forage crop of a north country spring is the leek. Some call them ramps or wild onions. They emerge from the layers of autumn leaves as the sun warms the ridges and valleys. They make excellent flavoring for spaghetti sauce, burgers, or as pickles. We’d also forage a green called cow slips. They resemble spinach when cooked down. We’d gather in low wet locations typically next to runoffs and small streams. The month of May belonged to the morels though. Also to the swarms of biting black flies that plagued our time outside for a few weeks each spring. Ticks are a problem now that we didn’t have years ago. We spray our clothing for them but they are a constant and potentially dangerous threat to our health. Post gather tick checks now as part of a normal outing. The 1970s were a morel hunters dream in upstate New York but not for a good reason. Dutch elm disease was killing our elms in sickening numbers. The morel mushroom enjoys a symbiotic relationship with trees but on our farm they grow without question next to dead elms most of the time. It is the red elm that they truly favor for some unknown chemical balance that they seem to derive from them. Find dead red elms in May and you will find morels at some point most springs. The wide open cow pastures and ridges were blanketed with dead elms when I was a boy of 12. We harvested them for firewood and some farm grade lumber. Morels came easy and I never needed to search too hard. I didn’t eat them however. I didn’t care for them! Boy did that change! I didn’t hunt them much for quite a few years but would notice them from time to time around the farm doing spring fence repairs. Fast forward to more recent times.2019.. We still own the farm property of my youth. A 14 year old Zane has developed a love of foraging. Leeks mostly. But a friend asked us about getting a few morels after a turkey hunter mentioned he saw some on our farm. So Jennifer and I headed out to the farm to search for some. We harvested a nice gather next to a red elm stump where we had cut the large tree the fall before. Our friend cooked them up and we were hooked! It turns out my adult palate found them delicious! So the love of the hunt returned after many years of hiatus. Zane was totally into the hunt and enjoyed eating them as well. We enjoyed a late but productive season and vowed to try harder in 2020. The spring of 2020 was very dry and morels were difficult to locate. We covered a lot of the farm finding almost nothing. Around May 19th we located a few but were terribly short of enough for a decent meal. Our hot spots of 2019 were dry and barren except for a few small ones. We continued to search and were about to call off the effort for good that afternoon. There was a clump of vine covered dead red elms on a rocky outcropping beside a small meadow of ours. Surrounded by thick thorny brush we call prickly ash. I suggested that Zane should do a quick scout since it’s difficult terrain had kept us out as we searched easier spots. As had become his fashion he dropped to all fours and scurried under the old rusty barbed wire fence. He crawled through the impenetrable brush like some type of predator in search of prey. He disappeared from sight eventually as I waited in the scratch free,safety of the meadow pondering our meager harvest. Zane’s excited voice carried down to me from his invisible perch above me. “Dude you’ve got to get up here! This place is loaded! I smelled them before I saw them!”. (Calling each other Dude is an excepted manner of addressing each other). I found a less brushy route and made my way closer to Zane. Sure enough there were morels all over! The thick brush forced me to my knees as well as I began to harvest a variety of different sized morels. Zane and I continued our search in a epicenter type circle around the original finds. Satisfied that we had plenty we returned to the side by side to count them up. We had collected 70! Not bad! They made a superb addition to a dinner with our friend once again.We once again vowed to make the next season even better.Spring 2021 would find us searching earlier than normal in hopes of finding a few morels but the weather remained a little rainy and unseasonably cold. Despite that I continued to check our previous hot spots but it wasn’t until May 4th that I finally had any success. At Zane’s hot spot location of 2020 I found a few small ones poking out. I decided to leave them until he could join me on the hunt that Saturday. I searched other prior spots but found nothing. I thought about a location where I had spotted dead red elms while collecting sap in March and April. When I arrived there I was rewarded soon after with a nice morel. More would follow as I broadened my search pattern. I find Zane’s drop to the knees method highly effective and use it all the time now. My count ended at 69. A couple quick messages and a dinner was planned on short notice with morels as the featured appetizer. We enjoyed our first taste of the season immensely! Dip fried breaded morels with hand crafted dipping sauce. We’ve returned to the woods in the weeks that have followed gathering as many as we can find. Our harvests have met our needs and we’ve enjoyed the morels prepared a couple different ways now. So if you desire to hunt these members of the Morchella genus welcome to the club! They’ll be found sometimes where you least expect! Post forest fire locations in the western states and Canada. In groves of pines or Iowa river bottoms. These highly sought gifts of the forest truly are brown gold. For me the thrill resides in the time spent hunting them with Zane and Jennifer. Eating them is the tasty bonus that foragers of the wild embrace in our ongoing connection to nature. We seek the symbiotic relationship of spirit and earth. Under large and open skies on property that we are blessed to own. Quiet and comforting in the passage of time and season. The echoes of our happy yells as we make that bountiful find of a new morel patch will last forever. They are ripples of harmony and balance. Who knew such power existed in a simple fungi of the forest? Or that we could find such peace so close to the very ground itself. The hunt for morels is more than just a hunt. It is so very much more. The secret lives in the seasons themselves within the circle. Can one enter and never leave? The question that time may answer.
Glamping
I have spent many years camping since my early boyhood adventures shortly after we moved to the farm around 1970. My first campsites were primitive but carefully chosen for their rock formations or views. The locations scattered across the one hundred plus acre of the farm. Little or no evidence remains of those sites these days. Maybe a few fire circles crafted of gathered rocks that nature continues to reclaim with each passing year. Some day to transition back into their former state of wildness. They will only exist in the hazy depths of my memory. I show some of them to Zane on our many wanderings in Macomb. As a well seasoned camper since his earliest memories they hold little allure to him as actual camping destinations. He’s conditioned to mountains and waterways where more abundant activities abound. But as boy I didn’t have the benefits of those distant locations. My father wasn’t a camper but encouraged my love of it. None the less I enjoyed many adventures within walking distance. I learned to prepare and pack for an overnight trip where I would need to prepare dinner, build a fire, and try to escape the hordes of biting mosquitoes. My trusty basset hound Hush Puppy would often be my only companion although as I got older my friends began to join me. As for my shelters they varied from simple leanto structures constructed with an old canvas tarp and poles of wood to a small pup tent I got on my 12th birthday. 46 years later I still possess that tiny shelter of countless memories as only a hoarder type can enjoy. In time my wanderlust expanded and with a driver’s license,bigger tents, and added camping equipment the destinations crept out to new terrain. My friends joined in and we had some pretty crazy times out there. The tempting warm days of spring where mornings would cover the landscape with blankets of frost. Blistering hot summer nights where it was almost impossible to sleep with hundreds of buzzing mosquitoes attempted to breach the tent screen. Chilly fall storms and freezing temperatures would find us hunkered by the campfire. Offering silent prayers to the sky that morning would find us dry. But I remained ever passionate and true to my love of the outdoors. The wet gear was dried. Dirty clothes and bodies washed clean. The discomforts would be forgotten and the next adventure would take form in the mind.Many stories live within this story and probably should be written in time. Years passed and I became a more experienced and well traveled camper at any rate. It wasn’t until 2012 that I would enter the world of I call “glamping”. We purchased a used 19 ft travel trailer and a new truck for an extended road trip to Alaska. That too is a unique story. I took to the life of a camper traveler quite quickly actually. Not without a serious and stressful learning curve! I survived the trial and made the 4600 mile to Alaska safely with family intact. After a 2 week stay we made the decision to sell the trailer in Wasilla after our friend’s dad said he’d help us accomplish that objective. That would end my ownership of a travel trailer every since. But that brief life of adventure has never left my heart or my mind. It tugs like an invisible magnet and lifts my inner spirit. The road calls and many of my questions I offer into a sleepless night may be answered out there somewhere in those vast and wild expanses. It is my life long passion to wander and seek the unknown. That story is written in my short story “The Other Side of the Hill”. I have no reservations about placing it in my first book. It’s tied to everything. I wander far within this post itself and apologize for the length of it! But here I sit outside a rented travel trailer in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York with a calm lake awaiting our paddles and sunny skies beckoning. What would you do?Sit and tap out a blog or take off? A day waits for us out and a new story waits as well. I am the happy camper once again. Or should I say Glamper? A little of both but I will explain that later. Sorry no time for edits! Teachers grab your red pens!
Gone Central:Part I
The weather Friday night at Camp Chaos was rather frightening at times! The wind shifted and driving rain pounded the cottage from the north for hours as the pellet stove rumbled it’s heat producing rhythm with a comfortable backdrop. I had a sudden realization about my dependency on its mechanical continuation and constant hunger for the pellets I load into the hopper once or twice a day. It numbers as one of my pieces of “tired iron” that I coax along with a practiced gentle hand. It’s fickle controls would madden the less inured perhaps but I never expected to need it daily as the first of May waits for me to turn the page of my kitchen calendar. Lake living has been interesting as the chilly weeks of April continued to slip past with the new routine dictated by the move from Hill House. Summer will come! We’ll add our memories of this unusual spring to our collection of MOONTABS and revel in the deeds of our ever changing now. It follows the motto we followed on our quest for the Adirondack 46 high peaks. “Never settle for the path of least resistance”. Zane likes lake living and the rough charms of its rustic interior. We have everything we need really and what we lack we tolerate with a stubborn mountain man mentality. My goals remain simple here but progress seems painfully slow at times. Camp Chaos will return to being Camp Edith at some point before summer. It’s easy to blame the weather for our moods and dips in positive energy. Quite honestly I know the blame is mine to own if I use the weather as an excuse to procrastinate and delay certain tasks. My lack of drive can simmer in my consciousness like a forgotten pan on the stove. Eventually it will boil over if left unattended and unstirred. The weather Friday was not conducive to outdoor task so I spent my time researching writing projects and tossing blog subjects around like a platter of chopped up soup ingredients that never actually ended up in the crock pot. They become a byproduct of potential creativity and are packaged for another time. Hopefully not frozen and forgotten in the back corner of the freezer. Unfortunately I fear some will never see the table in this ever changing now of circumstances. A late call from Jennifer Friday saying that it was snowing and accumulating quickly brought me to a startling conclusion about our as yet to be determined outing for the weekend. I slept fitfully as the rain/snow mix beat it’s drumbeat on the camp roof. Dawn arrived frigid but somewhat sunny and my determination to salvage the day was decided with some strong coffee laced with dark, robust maple syrup. Jennifer and I still had no definitive plans but I packed an overnight bag just to be prepared for what my mind was percolating into a potential adventure brew. I arrived at Jennifer’s to snow covered steps and lawn. She was dressed,waiting, and ready for suggestions for the day. I had a sudden impulse and recommended something we had discussed recently thinking that the warmer days of spring would find us. I suggested we take our chances on the road and head to the Old Forge area on a reconnoiter. I also suggested that we spend the night despite the chance of rain or any weather that we might encounter. She agreed immediately and without question headed off to pack while I played in the snow with the dogs. I quickly searched for an overnight accommodations and found most were unavailable.I sent out a request to book a hastily chosen cabin and we were off on our adventure! It was sunny and cool but I felt an inner warmth from our spontaneous decision. Warmed by the fact that we were off on a new adventure together. Modern technology has its moments and a chiming email rang in saying our booking was declined. Jennifer tackled this new dilemma and quickly found us another location. A booking request was quickly sent with no delay as I continued driving East towards the blue line of the Adirondacks. It’s strange to ponder our new age progression into cyberspace where you never actually speak to someone or actually pay them in person. It all occurs with tapping fingers and a super efficient exchange of codes and currency sent silently with practiced ease.We continued our journey and the booking confirmation arrived with a familiar comforting tone. We relaxed into the drive and offered thoughts on our potential outing once we arrived at our destination. Traffic was light as we entered the Adirondacks headed towards Sevey’s Corners on Route 56 and we enjoyed the scenery around us. I can’t say that this winding road is one of my favorites but I know it’s features well and enter the turns with confidence ever watchful for wild game. Turkeys are the biggest daytime threat typically but the occasional whitetail deer will surprise you at times. We traveled quickly and the towns of Piercefield and Tupper Lake fell behind us. We stopped for a small shopping spree at Hoss’s General Store in Long Lake. It’s an Adirondack browser’s mainstay of books,clothing , and gadgets. Refrigerator magnets in the candle section where balsam permeates the air and triggers the desire to hike in freshly snow soaked forests. We decided that we couldn’t leave the Long Lake area without a trip to Buttermilk Falls. We were not disappointed and it had warmed up nicely as we explored and took pictures. We found sunny spots and easily avoided the other spectators as we walked together. I began to truly enter that magical place of peace and blissful oblivion that the Adirondacks bring to me in the awakening of the five senses. The mysterious sixth sense followed as I took Jennifer’s hand and saw her smiling face light up. Her eyes alive with happiness and her laughter blending with the roaring water. She is truly the ADK Girl in this moment and I am happy with our decisions that led us to this place of powerful moving water. The cost of this moment had been almost free yet priceless in its gifts. These are the moments that dwell in so many of my words and deeds as we live out our daily existence. I chase them with Jennifer every chance I get. Zane as well but he doesn’t always get the chance to join us. They are the MOONTABS of our time together and forever ours to hold within our hearts. A bright star in the heavens to view with hopeful eyes when darkness overtakes us and guide us forward with positive energy. One that lifts the burdens of grief, challenge, and adversity. I moved closer to the rushing water and a gentle spray washed my heavy thoughts away. We left secure in the now and bonded in silent security. We share much but we respect the other’s silence of what was thrown into a set of falls each time we find ourselves next to them. We don’t always know exactly what troubles a person next to us at any given moment (if anything)but we can always offer a strong hand to grab if they need it. Or take their offered hand .We resumed our travels and soon reaching the Eighth Lake State Campgrounds. It was on our reconnoiter list in the central Adirondack region. We drove through the grounds and walked some as well. It’s a destination new to me and a possible summer camping location. The sun remained warm and inviting but the day was passing so we traveled onward to Old Forge to check into our Airbnb rental and stow our gear. Jennifer and I are similar in our mutual desire to familiarize ourselves with our accommodations well before dark if possible. It serves us well and we will usually discuss possible dinner options. It’s a planning thing and Jennifer is the mistress of preparations!No arguments need ensue there.We secured our bedtime destination and found ourselves with ample daylight remaining so we drove East from Old Forge towards Inlet to scout the Limekiln State Campgrounds. We had spent a wonderful series of camping days there in July 2019 and were hoping to book a site there this summer. I could write an entire blog post on the NYS campsite booking procedure as it has existed since last year but will simply say that’s it’s somewhat flawed at the moment. Limekiln is a lovely lake for paddling and exploring. They provide large metal “ bear boxes” for storing food and supplies at your campsite. Our day would wind down touring the campsite and taking notes. We are rather particular campers as we bring watercraft and like to launch from our campsite rather than engage in the continuous daily transport of them.We were disappointed to find the Screamen Eagle Pizzeria was closed in the hamlet of Inlet but got a good meal at Tony Harper’s in Old Forge. It’s a busy place on a Saturday night! You order your drinks and food at the bar,pay, and are given a number to place on your table. A server brings your meal and attends to you after that. It works and the food was good but it was rather loud. Prior to his death in 1972 Tony Harper rented camps in Racquette Lake and had a home in a roadside building. A family who had rented from Tony purchased the property and started a small pizza/sub business around 1973 in Tony’s home. ( they called his home a shack with humerous respect I am guessing). They named the business in his honor and have since expanded to Old Forge and Lowville, N.Y. Why do I add this information.? The menu shows a picture of an older gentleman dressed in Adirondack fashion but offered no explanation so I had to research Tony to satisfy my own curiosity. Perhaps I can gather more information and facts at a later date. Jennifer and I concluded our day of adventures with a drive to find Nicks Lake State Campround just as darkness overtook the hamlet. There was no time for exploring but in typical fashion for the “Paddling Pair” (as we sometimes call ourselves) we had secured the location for Sunday’s adventure. We returned to our cozy room and spent the remainder of the evening reading our new books and studying maps. It had been a wonderful day and we had been successful in our escape from the energy draining snowfall of the night before. We were well fed,warm, and safely in for the night. Together and making MOONTABS. I must leave you here in the living room! The coffee is ready to brew for my morning ritual but I forgot my maple syrup! You won’t wish to hear me snore the night away. I sincerely hope you are not snoring right now trying to follow the story but if you did I suppose my words can serve multiple purposes. I write them for you. I write them for me. I write them for all of us. I dedicate this post to all who wander and seek to explore the unknown with a tenacious passion born of the struggles of life.Our destinies await in the haze of future days that will often begin quite ordinary. It is in the days of ordinary that the extraordinary may be found. In nature I am free and lost to an energy that words will never describe. MOONTABS are more than just memories. They are my spirit energy full of hope,dreams, and love for chasing the path of the sun with reckless abandon.There are no finer moments or finer blessings for those who seek to be lost outside. I leave you with my personal quote: The answers to all questions, in nature can be found. Never to have asked them, uncertain future bound.
The Invasion and The Battle of Evermore
Choosing titles for my blog posts is a fun and entertaining part of the process for me! I feel my rambling muses deserve witty titles of descriptive creativity that truly represent the subject matter I toss at my readers with a careless disregard for preordained writing techniques. My titles are as raw and honest as the emotions that fuel my simple words each time I grab my tablet to begin tapping out a post. Ask any of my work friends about a day on the job site around me years ago! It was often filled with movie lines and quotes that I found inspirational. Music lyrics and rhyming poem lines. A full on misfiring of synapses and the constant changing of topics. Physicians have a term for my affliction these days but I prefer to call it Taz energy. It never bothered me all too much as a student as I recall. I was quite a loner and somewhat shy. I was rather quiet actually although most people wouldn’t believe that now. A lover of books and reading. My daylight hours spent running through the woods like some semi-feral animal. On horseback I was equal parts reckless and skilled at the same time.School often felt like a cage to me. Outdoors I felt free and unencumbered by responsibility. Years later certain work projects would invoke a similar feeling but I had trained myself to accept the harness and pull the load that I had chosen. What’s this got to do with an invasion? Very little up to now. Consider this portion a continuing introduction of my background and history. I grew from simple roots and my stories reflect upon them.Let’s begin with the second portion of my title. In 1971 the band Led Zeppelin recorded the song The Battle of Evermore. It appeared on the untitled album most people refer to as Led Zeppelin IV. It’s haunting melody was sung as a duet and featured a mandolin. It’s an interesting song and I’ve always admired the lyrics. I suppose I interpreted it as an illustration of something eternal. Enter the invader to this story. Not human or animal but a simple bush. It’s called wild bush honeysuckle.An invader from Asia brought here as an ornamental bush to decorate gardens. I will leave all further research as to it’s origins and path of invasion to you. I will tell you that it’s a master of spreading by growing its leaves early and shedding them late resulting in fast growth. It’s numerous berries aid its progress across a landscape. I can’t say with any certainty when we first discovered it on the farm or even noticed it anywhere else for that matter. My father mentioned it once after it had begun to choke our fence rows. We had battled wandering juniper over the years but we had easily kept it under control. Not so with this invader. We didn’t get too concerned at first honestly. It blended in with the other bushes of summer and was quickly forgotten most of the time. So for years it continued to spread without us ever really getting concerned. Sometime after my father’s death someone explained to me that this strange new bush on our farm was an invasive species and that it needed to be controlled.I began to look closer when I walked the farm. Once I trained my eyes to recognize it I became increasingly alarmed! It was growing unchecked everywhere I looked on the farm and all around the north country! People seemed oblivious and unconcerned to its presence just as I had been before becoming informed. It’s worthless for firewood or anything for that matter so it goes unnoticed. Enter the warrior of sorts. Me.Armed with a tractor and loader. Chainsaws and logging chains. I began to target them anytime I was out working in the forest gathering firewood. They rip up easy so the tractor loader was the perfect weapon. Despite my best efforts though I knew we were losing the war against our new adversary. I began to target the larger ones as they produce more seeds each season. The piles of destroyed wild honeysuckles grew larger but still they continued to spread. Two years ago I found a location near our line fence that I began to call Ground Zero. The size of the bushes could only be described as old growth. It appeared that our invader had entered our property from our neighbors pasture lands years ago. No longer grazed they were the perfect staging ground for the invader. I attacked ground zero with the tractor and loader spending hours ripping up huge bushes. Last year I continued ripping them up all over the farm in a desperate fight to hold them back. The 2016/2017 die off of our sugarbush hasn’t helped. The plentiful sunlight in the formerly shaded locations aids our invader’s growing season. Zane has joined me in the battle now. Jennifer has suggested a quadrant by quadrant approach that we may implement eventually. But right now its sporadic ground skirmishes on all fronts. I destroyed about 20 bushes yesterday but it’s a small win. Call me the romantic fool comparing our battle for supremacy of the farm fields and forests to a war. But that’s how I perceive it now. We won’t ever stop ! Zane tells me that with youthful enthusiasm and hope. We are winning he believes. Who am I to question his resolve or dream of saving the farm from being overrun? We are planning to bring in the heavy artillery at some point and wage a month long battle against them. Together with two machines. Hydraulics and human technology. Fire and huge flaming brush piles. Yes it all sounds a little crazy perhaps. But get informed and help rid our beautiful wild spaces of this unwanted invader. This is the Battle of Evermore I fear. One we must fight or walk away with shame at doing nothing to save our farm.
Of Highways,Hikes,Hills,and History: Part 2
Wow! I really took you off my intended path yesterday! I’m worried now that there’s some lost readers in the forests of the Taz Grand Wilderness in need of rescuing! Maybe they will chose to hide and never be seen again rather than being rescued. Who knows?I think I’ll blame Jennifer’s daughter. She may not read the post tonight. She introduced me to some coffee pods called “Electric Buzz”. Are you getting the picture? Me. Nicknamed Taz. Busy gulping maple syrup infused coffee called Electric Buzz while tapping out a blog post?Questionable and possibly a dangerous combination! Today’s coffee spin wore off hours ago so I think I can get you back on the path of Saturday’s interesting adventure. I left you on the Low’s Lower Dam headed to the trailhead. I’ve known about this trail that leads to a pond on the other side of the dam for many years. I always intended to hike it someday but never bothered to take the time or research the pond itself. It’s actually a lake I recently discovered called Big Trout Lake. One of some size in fact. It’s also been called Big Trout Pond as well. Sometimes simply Trout Pond. Jennifer recently bought us the book titled:Hiking The Trail To Yesterday Volume 2 by William C. Hill. We enjoy reading volume 1 by the same author so she purchased volume 2 without question. He’s an author from the Edwards,N.Y. area and injects his stories of trail wanderings with fascinating history. Once I read his description of the trail to Big Trout Lake and what we’d find there I was hooked! The factional information that I am going to share mostly goes to his credit alone. It comes from his research of the Low’s Dynasty as it’s known.I was very familiar with the story of A.A.Low and his Adirondack enterprises. He dammed the Bog River in two locations, generated electricity,built camps, ran a large maple syrup business, and built a rather impressive list of other accomplishments. In time his family liquidated his holdings and the state of N.Y. purchased much of the land. The two dams remain. The lower one the subject of my post and the upper one upstream that holds back the water of Low’s Lake. As I previously mentioned it’s a favorite paddling destination of ours. Beautiful and wild with nature reclaiming the ruins of A.A.Lows empire. I never knew until recently however that the Big Trout Lake area had been part of that empire. Knowing that there were historical ruins to explore proved too much for my curiosity. I felt that a hike back to the lake was in order regardless of any trail conditions we might encounter. Mud season can be tricky but it’s been a fairly dry spring so I hoped the trail would be fine. Here’s the part that might confuse you however. I had only gleaned through the book without making field notes or bothering to consult a map. I left the book home and didn’t bother to read it again before deciding on the hike as a destination. It’s that thrill factor that some explorers crave. I am not immune to seeking thrills. It gets people into trouble sometimes usually because they fail to prepare properly. We didn’t fit that mold Saturday. There’s no mileage sign at the trailhead like some areas of the Adirondacks. Just a wide well trodden path leading up a small grade. Off we set! The trail traveled through a mixed forest of maples, birch, balsam, and spruce. The occasional hemlock graced the forest as did a few white pines but the deciduous trees dominated most of forest. The leaves are just now forming and the woods have an open feel. In shaded groves patches of recent snow lingered but was disappearing fast as the warm sunny day gained heat. There were only a few flies here and there to annoy us as well. The trail continued to rise in elevation and was pleasantly dry most of the time. This changed however in one section and we rock hopped across small cobble stones or sometimes even left the trail . The brown layers of last seasons leaves crunching under our feet were flattened by the winter’s snowfall. Their fragrance earthy and organic to match their plain coloring as they begin to return to the earth. Jennifer and Garrett stopped frequently at points of interest along the trail. There were funky shaped trees covered with many different species of decomposer fungi. Rocks,burls,and a large erratic boulder that I felt compelled to climb. I grew very warm after and needed to shed a layer. Stowed into the day pack after a few sips of water during the break. The trail continued to rise slightly but a break in the trees told me that the land was about to fall away. I figured the lake would greet us as we summited the small ridge but there was only a forested valley below. My companions looked at me for guidance as to the lake’s location but I had nothing to reassure them about the amount of distance remaining. A quick glance at my phone for the time prompted me to make a decision. I decided to leave Jennifer and Garrett behind while I ran ahead to see if I could find the lake. I feared they might wish to turn back if I couldn’t give them tangible evidence of the lakes’s location. The trail turned left in a long sweeping descent of the ridge. Very dry and smooth it was great for a forest jog. I covered some ground quickly and soon reached a place where the trail began to descend rather quickly. I still couldn’t see any lake! I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and decided to ascend another ridge that was directly beside me. It was the highest ground around and with the absence of leaves would give me an extremely good vantage point. I reached its small summit looking East over the much lower ground. Nothing! No lake! I turned 180 degrees scanning the forest for the lake. At first I saw nothing then suddenly it appeared on the far horizon. Water of some magnitude. It had to be the lake! Words can fail to describe the sudden rush I felt. It’s that moment the explorer chases with a tenacious attitude and resolve. It was that moment of seeing something for the first time and the buzz that follows. It reminded me of a pair of beautiful green eyes that had held my gaze some time ago for the first time. Intriguing and deep with mystery. Exploration of another kind had ensued. The brain would buzz and the heart would stir. Very soon the lips would fail to remain silent and utter simple words filled with all a heart might contain or ever hope to contain. There lies that place of peace that beckons through the trees. The sun disappeared behind a cloud and a sudden chill brought me back from my romantic muses. I quickly gauged the distance to the lake and raced back to Jennifer and Garrett. Pleaded the case for continuing the hike as we were painfully close now. They agreed and we continued on with a renewed sense of vigor. The trail remained dry as we continued our descent to the lake. It became more visible through the forest. I suddenly noticed something off to the side in a stand of white pine. A folding camp chair on a primitive camp site below us.A closer investigation revealed old concrete piers also. This had been the location of a cabin or some structure. Some old car parts littered the ground as well. Rusty and unidentifiable. We continued on towards the lake and encountered additional concrete piers. There was a more intact foundation with more loose metal debris scattered about. An old hubcap. A rusty bed frame. Misc. leavings that you’d expect around an old building site. The lake was close now and wind tossed waves slapped the somewhat low shoreline. Floating logs were washed up and pinned into the shallow sandy bottom. The lake surface rolled with small white caps and the far end looked to be close to a mile in the distance. 157 acres of lake I later read. We scouted a small waterfall coming off the ridge. I searched for more building sites but found only a second primitive camp site and a well hidden canoe. I’d later learn that there were once 19 buildings at the end of the lake. Their remains are in a somewhat swampy section that we didn’t scout. It was time to head out and I really didn’t want to leave the peaceful lake setting. We had it all to ourselves. On the descent to the lake I had noticed what I suspected had been another road. I followed it’s downward curve and suddenly spotted an old vehicle! It’s worthy of its own post once I research its timeline. The remainder of our trip out was uneventful but pleasant. My mind full of questions and happy thoughts. I heard the most wonderful sound suddenly. Laughter in the sunny forest. The sound of a happy ADK Girl lost in the moment in this beautiful,pristine place. I offer these memories to you. These MOONTABS and all they truly mean. These are the finest moments one could possibly experience. We came to find a lake. I found so much more. I dedicate this post to Jennifer and Garrett for placing their trust in me once again. For going the distance. Over 15 thousand steps give or take a few. I will be back with Zane to find the ruins we missed. Another story for another day.
Of Highways,Hikes,Hills,and History: Part 1
Friday’s post was a little cloudy and saturated with emotion. I sprinkled you with emotional rain. I hope I didn’t leave you badly soaked! Perhaps today’s post will dry you out! I received several positive comments and one thank you after posting Stalled Out. That’s perfect! I wrote it for one. I wrote it for everyone. Nature teaches us that life can be difficult and heartbreaking. But also joyful and full of hope. Things occur quickly and without warning. Change is a constant of our lives. We must adapt to survive. It’s nothing new or some sudden revelation. It’s a fascinating study of mine. How life has evolved and flourished on our tiny planet. The balance of nature and steady cycle of season. Death and new life. We as modern humans still exist in a struggle of survival. It’s all about love and passion. Dreams and strength. Enough said. I followed through on my message Friday. I headed out with simple goals and a few tasks to complete. I picked Jennifer up at her house. Grabbed the dogs and we headed off to purchase ourselves some badly needed hiking boots. My trusted Merrill’s had logged many muddy Adirondack miles and were ready for honorable retirement. I keep them until there’s nothing left using them around the farm. Jennifer and I enjoyed a simple lunch in Malone. Frozen dog treats for Stella and Max!Yum!We then proceeded up through the Owl’s Head area. I like this part of the Adirondacks so feature it sometime as a travel destination for curious explorers. The remainder of our day was spent traveling around the Adirondacks. A quick stop at the Meacham Lake State Campground for awhile where we enjoyed a quiet abandoned setting. It was one of those carefree days Jennifer and I often enjoy. The road. The Adirondacks. A stop and go joy ride. Turn here! Wait! I just saw something. Go back! A real estate cruise through Saranac Lake then Tupper Lake. Conversations and the sometimes heavy topics that need to be shared with each other. The movement of the vehicle and rhythm of the singing tires frees them at times. The day follows the movement of the sun as do the subjects. The need to stem my steady flow of words and listen closely. Or just enjoy a comfortable silence together. Jennifer might say there’s rarely a comfortable silence around me! I probably shouldn’t drink coffee! She didn’t give me the nickname Taz without a reason! I create an energetic spin that’s a little too intense sometimes. Not always a blessing but it gets us into some interesting situations! Our day closed with a walk through the Higley Flow State Campground. Why all the exploring of campgrounds? Four reasons. Number one: scouting possible camping destinations. Number two: off season means minimal people. Number three: choosing to hike hard durable surfaces during the mud season. Number four: beautiful destinations that are easily reached. If I had to summarize Friday for myself I’d say objectives accomplished! The stalled out attitude gone and the tank was filling with enthusiastic energy. A good rest Friday night would usher in a coffee fueled morning for me. I exited Jennifer’s house while she woke up hoping to spare her from Taz energy for a bit as I tackled some lawn work and played ball with the dogs. The sun rose and the promise of the day showed itself as we completed our short list of tasks. We grabbed Jennifer’s nephew Garrett and headed out with two excited dogs pointed towards the Adirondacks. I had chosen our destination with a gambler’s decision to throw it all on the table as our day would be decided by it.The sun was warm and inviting on our drive as I divulged all that I knew about our hiking location and what we might encounter there. I hadn’t done a lot of research deliberately as I don’t always wish to dissect an adventure with every last detail. I like the buzz of the unknown. My companions asked about the mileage and trail conditions but I had few answers for them. I simply said that I felt it was well within our abilities with our daylight safety margin acknowledged. Zane and I had managed to safely complete our ADK 46 High Peaks quest in September of 2020 learning many things while experiencing those adventures! I was comfortable yesterday with my companions preparedness and abilities. I had chosen the Bog River area near Tupper Lake as we were all familiar with the location. We were forced to park at the locked gate near the access road to the Low’s Lower dam. It’s off bumpy Route 421 alongside Horseshoe Lake.The Low’s Lower Dam site is a favorite paddling destination of ours and is featured in an earlier blog post of mine. The locked gate meant that we would need to walk further to reach the trailhead I sought. It added .75 miles to our hike I later learned. But I felt we needed to complete this hike before black fly season hit in May. Last year our paddle up the flow in mid-May found us under the constant onslaught of biting black flies!Yuck!My reasons for choosing this destination were two fold. A double dip exploration and research outing. I had recently read a DEC notification about the lowering of the water behind the dam to complete necessary repairs for a breach of some sort. Having paddled it so many times in the past I was curious to see what it would look like with less water. Jennifer was interested in this as well as she loves our paddle outings up to Hitchin’s Pond and the upper dam. So the hike would also serve as a scouting mission for a future paddle sometime this year.Jennifer suggested we eat our lunch before heading out on our adventure. We basked bug free on some boulders in the sun while the dogs frolicked and enjoyed their snacks. There’d be less to carry and we would be well fortified prior to walking.We packed waters and some chocolate. We were dressed in season appropriate layers. We were ready!The gravel road beyond the locked gate was dry and easy walking. The scent of balsam teased our nostrils and never fails to draw me into the moment. We could hear the roar of spillway long before we reached the dam. Not before I heard a drumming ruffed grouse however. A sure sign of spring! The DEC had started their work and we found the water level about three feet lower than normal as we approached the dam. We spotted some paddlers up the flow and were reassured that a paddle could still occur at a later date if we desired. I remarked to Jennifer that I am going to need to make the paddle and see what’s become of our beaver friends up there. Just how will they react to the dropping water level? Will they suddenly feel the need to dam the river in a location that’s always been deep with no need for dams? But that is another story and I have no answers yet. Jennifer and I share a special connection to these beaver and this beautiful place. We made wonderful memories here together. As solid as the dam that hold the water back. Ours forever now. The writer in me holds these memories in my heart and in time I will open the gates and release them downstream as stories. The water isn’t meant to stay in one location nor can the dam hold it all back. The water flows with powerful energy and if I am the dam do I need repairing so the sanctuary can remain? Much like the dam I age. The flowing waters of gathered years erode and threaten my strength.It’s a perplexing thought and floats me far from my intended message. A side tributary of the original story that enters behind the dam. One which provides a calm and safe refuge against what could otherwise be a raging set of falls. The pond is deep but never meant to be frozen solid and trapped in eternal silence. The real story of yesterday’s adventure must wait until tomorrow. I’ve simply led you down the gravel road to the dam. I humbly ask you to stand there a moment and get lost in the roar while you search for the rainbows in the spillway spray. The path waits for you on the other side. But you must cross the dam first to see it. This new day can’t wait and tasks must be tackled before the setting sun drops in the west. Part two of this story lives in MOONTABS already secured. The dam will hold it back only briefly. That is the nature of flowing water and flowing words.
The Goldilocks Story of Recent Events
We’ve all heard the old saying time flies. It certainly has for me! My writing has fallen behind in the past few weeks especially the blog. We have been busy with the maple syrup season in a crazy series of abnormal weather events. A Goldilocks spin of too warm or too cold. Some days were just right and we produced some high quality amber rich grade. Then the swing to dark robust. Full flavor and signaling the progression of season. We had hoped for one more day of jug worthy syrup but Saturday’s boil produced only commercial grade. A sweet and bitter brew with a biting aftertaste. The trees have begun to grow their buds in the sunny,warming days of spring. Frosty nights can’t bring the sweet syrup back now. Even our 50 new taps that ran clear sap couldn’t produce sweet syrup. We decided to begin filling one of our stainless steel barrels although we don’t expect to fill it. They hold 30 gallons. It’s no big deal honestly. We’ve enjoyed a more leisurely season with the goofy weather. None of the mind numbing days and nights where a type of exhaustion would prevail. It was an on again, off again sugar season. During the off days we stayed extremely busy though packing and moving from Hill House. Zane and I have lived there the past 6 years. I sold it to a family from northern Virginia recently after trying to sell it for almost two years. It was the Goldilocks story of real estate. No one wanted to buy it. It was too remote. Too rocky. Too whatever. A couple low offers but nothing I would consider accepting. Jennifer had suggested that I keep it listed on Zillow. A free site that gives you updates almost daily. There were lots of views and saves in my stats profile but other than a few random questions no one had ever stepped forward. That would change last Xmas eve however. I received a text from a man asking more questions. I didn’t take him seriously at first but he kept contacting me asking questions. We eventually spoke on the phone and had an interesting conversation that lasted a long time. About that time a fellow from Pennslyvania also texted me. It had happened. An exodus of buyers was causing an upsurge in real estate in the north country. The Xmas eve buyer requested a showing. I didn’t have a realtor so I would be showing my own property. The Pennslyvania individual also requested a showing through a local real estate agent. To make a long story short the Virginia person whom I will simply call Scott toured the property with me in January. We spent most of the day together. We shared a lunch with him that Jennifer had made in a gesture of northern hospitality. These days we treat strangers with a different attitude. The pandemic has altered our mannerisms. Scott said he wanted the property pending an inspection. I politely turned the Pennslyvania fellow away. He was not happy with me! Scott returned in February with his wife and one of his sons. The house and property were just right! The Goldilocks event had occurred. The handshake agreement of January had led to an accepted offer and we were moving to a closing. Things were moving quickly and we began to pack with an urgency that bordered on obsession.I plowed out the farm driveway as there was a lot of snow at the time. It took some time and effort. I rented a storage box that we call a convex in construction. Twenty feet in length and eight feet wide. Later a second. They’re sturdy,dry,and rodent proof. We started moving out and loading the conex boxes. All this in winter. Not an easy time to move. We dug out our cottage at Black Lake and stored things there as well. March 1st marked the beginning of the syrup season. Now we were both sugaring and moving. It became a little hectic at times with a closing deadline looming. Wow! We owned a lot of stuff! Not surprising I suppose when you enjoy several different hobbies that revolve around a four season location in the world. Spring clothes. Summer clothes. Fall and winter clothes. Footwear for every season. Books and collectibles. Zane’s belongings. You must be catching my drift if you’ve ever moved! Scott and his wife agreed to let us stay ten days past the actual closing on March 17th. A super generous gesture of new found friendship. March 27th found us moved into our small Black Lake cottage. It’s usually called Camp Edith (after my grandmother).She and my grandfather had it built in 1927. They owned a farm in the area and several other lake properties. They actually lived in the cottage at least one winter after a fire destroyed their farm house. A large wood stove heated the cottage then. They only had four small rooms and a covered screen porch. An outhouse. A hand pump from a hand dug well. It must have been cozy living and challenging at the same time! Especially with all the children! I had built on to the cottage in 1995. Added a bedroom,bathroom,and utility room. Indoor plumbing modernized the cottage to a degree. It’s pretty much stayed the same since. One room was removed and the kitchen area was expanded several years ago. Upgrades to electrical. Insulation and some new windows. So here we are in April. Moved into a fully crowded cottage I now temporarily call Camp Chaos. Every day finds us more settled. It gets chilly some nights when the pellet stove can’t keep the cold at bay. I miss the large wood stove but it had become unsafe. We carry our water from the lake for the toilet and washing dishes. We shower at my sister’s house adjacent to the cottage. Some mornings I sip coffee in front of the warm pellet stove with the lights off. I muse on the similarities of my present time to my grandparents time. Very different but connected in some ways. There’s a friendly energy in Camp Chaos that will bring Camp Edith back to full glory. It lives in my determination. To rough it for a few weeks. Rough it? We have a roof over our heads. A flush toilet. Electricity and appliances. Heat. There lies the positivity. Why do we sometimes fail to see what we have and not always wish for more?Our time at Camp Chaos may humble our neediness.Why say it’s too small or too cold?Why not say it’s just right for now? That’s how I think I will approach these days of living in the cottage. The days grow warmer and lake living will get even better. We will end the sugar season this week sometime. Move forward with the cottage transition. Move forward with adventures and travel. Move forward with the blog and my writing. We will approach life with the attitude of saying it’s just right. Try to avoid the negative. What we find lacking we can attempt to change. In the meantime it’s nice to have moved on from Hill House having found the ideal new owners. The move is towards simplicity. Another story for another day.
Home Is Where You Hang Your Hat
A March cold snap has postponed our maple syrup season momentarily so my thoughts run in a different direction today. Yesterday I wrote of the freedoms of having a blog site to basically write whatever subject matter seems pertinent at any given moment. While my blog is heavily nature themed most of the time there are other topics that invite pragmatic muses. A while back I wrote a post titled It’s About Time. I mentioned Hill House where we have lived for close to 6 years now. I have been wanting to sell it for almost 2 years but despite two different realtors efforts nothing happened. Just a couple totally ridiculous offers that I refused. On social media recently I have hinted around about being busy and making apologies for being a bit behind with my blogging. What most people don’t know is that we have been packing and moving our belongings out!We are selling Hill House and will be spending our last night here very soon. The story of how we came to be here in the first place really doesn’t need to be told. Let’s simply say that it was part of my “old life”. 2017 would be one of the most challenging years of my life. I was faced with many tough decisions. I tackled them one day at a time. I threw myself into my two large work projects and decided that they would be my last. I retired that November. It was one of the best decisions that I have ever made! The way forward wasn’t always clear but time passed. I put my son Zane’s happiness and needs at the forefront of all my plans. We bonded greatly through those days of massive change. He kept me focused and on track. I found more time for writing and nature once again. We continued living at Hill House despite the fact that it was way too large for us. I wasn’t ready to uproot Zane. I felt that he needed that sense of home and stability. We ditched Hill House in the summer of 2018 and moved to our cottage on Black Lake for a few months. We lived a carefree existence of camping and hiking in the Adirondack Mountains a few days each month. Adventure became our theme. Hill House was still home base but I think the lesson that I was presenting to Zane was beginning to take hold. We could feel at home wherever we found ourselves. In a wind swept tent on an Adirondack camp site buffeted by rain and struggling to keep dry. Emerging in the morning and laughing about our harrowing night! Or in a sketchy motel room with no locks where we barricaded the door with furniture. In the old cottage at Black Lake where we shared evenings paddling and hunting beaver sticks. Barbecuing and sharing dinner with family right next door. It was proof of the old adage “home is where the heart is”. Back at Hill House in the fall of 2018 big chances were about to come. Jennifer would enter my life in October of 2018. She’d bring joy and new meaning to our time spent at Hill House.Meals shared together and a most special memory of the Xmas we decorated a freshly cut tree together. Time spent safely tucked within its warm,safe haven as winter blanketed the north country. Home yet sometimes falling under the shadow of the old life. We’d feel moments of home in the tiny unfinished interior of our farm cabin during maple syrup season in the spring of 2019. Gathered around the wood stove for lunch before returning to work in the sugarbush. Summer 2019 more tenting and camping in the Adirondacks. Again that sense of home. Camping and traveling with Jennifer to Limekiln State Park near Old Forge, N.Y. with her nephew. Tents our home for a few. Fall 2019 the first of our Adirondack rental cabins. A week of home within a log cabin. A wonderful fireplace for basking with morning cups of coffee and chilly October evenings. Another fall at Hill House stacking in the large piles of firewood to heat it and the garage. Sometimes we’d stay at Jennifer’s house where we always felt at home after a day of adventures. Home was wherever we were together. Summer 2020 would find us calling the Adirondacks home more frequently. Tenting in the backcountry as we continued our 46 high peaks quest. Back to the log cabin rental once again at Tupper Lake. I’d leave for Pennslyvania to work for a few months and share a small apartment with my two friends. It was a home of necessity but I never cared much for living there. Dinner times when we shared a meals and conversations were the only time I felt a small sense of home. Sleepless nights missing my loved ones would become my norm as I searched the Pennslyvania countryside looking for a place for them to visit. Fate would not allow it however. I’d return home for good in October shortly after spending a most wonderful week with Jennifer,Zane, and her family at an Adirondack rental in Cranberry Lake. Once again proving that home is not one fixed destination. I spent a couple weeks in late October working on a project on Whiteface Mountain near Lake Placid,N.Y. Once again calling the Adirondacks home for a few. My motel room near Lake Placid was less than home so I moved to a small Airbnb in Saranac Lake. The moment I stepped into my new space I felt at home! Missing my loved ones but knowing they were only a short distance away. Something that was impossible to feel in the suburb city of Beaver, Pennslyvania weeks earlier.December 2020. Jennifer and I spend a few days in a cozy Adirondack Airbnb in Wilmington. That sense of temporary home again as we returned from our daily adventures. I did a quick count just now! I have used the word home 19 times give or take a few! Totally my intent! My objective was simple this morning. I hope that I have succeeded in making you think about all the places you’ve called home over the years. I mentioned just some of mine. We are about to close the door forever here at Hill House. The final door of the old life. The closing of a chapter. Zane is feeling a little sad these days at times but he’s traveled enough now to know that home can be many places for us. As for me I feel little sadness leaving here. I will miss our beautiful views of the lake. Our private location. Our good friends and neighbors who live just down from us.But home for us becomes a blank page once again and a new year of adventures await us. We’ll live at the old cottage for the moment while we decide our next destination. Home will be many places once again this year. We leave Hill House with our many MOONTABS. Home will be where we hang our hats! Always!