November’s Gifts

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Our first snow yesterday. It didn’t amount to much though. The day started cool and dark as daylight grows less while autumn advances. It’s that wake-up time when you assess your preparedness for winter if you are a veteran of seasons here in the St. Lawrence valley.It’s coming and small wisps of arctic air sometimes arrive from the north.They herald a time to come but autumn prevails for the moment.

November is a time when beauty in nature can be a little harder to see sometimes. It exists though. It’s a good idea to identify better with our senses then. Five obvious and one not. I feel sound can become more important to recognize as part of the overall outdoor experience once the colorful foliage drops. In the open forest devoid of leaves sound travels far but muffled underfoot when the ground is thick with wet leaves. A brown blanket with life protected underneath that we don’t often notice.Only the oaks have retained their leaves at this point. Brown and lifeless they persist in clinging to the branches. A day of work at the farm property provided special observations yesterday that embody rural heritage and connection.

Mid November finds me playing catch up with a firewood order. It’s been a warm fall and I haven’t felt the drive to work on it. But the cooler days recently have awakened the harvest mentality. Hunter and gatherer? Perhaps.I have been stocking up the warehouse log landing adjacent to the main farm meadow where we put up most of our firewood orders due to its convenience in getting it trucked off the farm. I have focusing on an area I call the upper landing. Once a portion of our sugarbush it’s in tough condition after the 2017 die off. I stockpiled a decent amount of logs there a couple years ago intending to get them cut up last fall. But we had too many other logs down on the warehouse landing ( from other die off) to block up so with the exception of a few I had skidded down fall there was quite a bit of still needing to be salvaged. Maple rots quickly and can’t be left on the ground for too long. Good and bad at the same time. Good for getting the forest rejuvenated but bad for salvaging firewood.The logs of the upper landing are getting questionable in their quality so I decided it was now or never to block them up. I had expended a lot of energy getting them stocked in the first place. They are turning out to be a mixed bag. Some good enough for the firewood order and the rest to be used at Camp Edith or turned into sugar wood. I also turned my attention onto a dead standing maple and a recent blowdown. It’s a never ending challenge to keep up with the aftermath of the die off and wind damage. We do the best we can.

So that’s the background on recent farm property activity. The annual firewood harvest. Known to me as “The Grand Harvest”. I stole the name from a brand of hay baler twine that we used to purchase years ago. I have spent decades of my life and countless hours putting up firewood each autumn. I write of my years of woods craft in my blog series titled “The Run Of The Mill”. Check them out. I try to avoid redundancy here but life follows seasons and I write in the context of present season much of the time. It’s where I live in the now. Powerful and romantic to me in its passage. So the stories follow the seasons. There is a peaceful grounding in following nature through the seasons. I write of it often.

As November advances brown seems to become the predominant color of the forest. The greens of the ground soon to be turned white with snow. It’s time for the other senses to step forward and revel in the moment. Sound especially! Decked out in my hearing protectors I don’t hear much while running the chainsaw on the landing. But when taking a break to refuel the chainsaw I heard a lot of things yesterday. Off in the distance an approaching flock of snow geese. Their southbound flight cries very different then their relatives the Canadian geese.Off in the distance I heard someone else running a chainsaw cutting wood most likely. As the day wound down I heard gunshots from time to time as hunters fired on unknown targets.High powered deer rifles not shotguns I knew from experience. The annual deer rut brings more deer activity to our region and the hunters use it to their advantage. Once an avid hunter I now simply take my gun out for a walk a few times each season. I do target shoot to keep my accuracy honed in just in case that special opportunity presents itself. But that’s a whole different story.

Birds provided much of the sound yesterday. While I was on break a croaking raven announced its presence as it headed to feed on a deer carcass someone had dumped on our property. Ethics run low sometimes in our neck of the woods. On a positive note the dumped deer carcass had drawn in a scavenging bald eagle that was now hanging around the farm. High in the sky above the meadow it glided on large wings and added to an already special day. The many dead maples of the farm have become a woodpecker sanctuary.Their drilling and tapping sounds come from all directions. Down from the ridges the raucous cries of the huge pileated woodpeckers hard at work mix with the tiny downy and hairy ones that hang around the landing. The pileated woodpeckers leave huge piles of chips below their targeted trees. It’s pretty obvious that many of these monster maples must soon topple over given their riddled trunks.On the landing cutting and splitting wood knocks many grubs and insects free from their inside hiding places. Nuthatches and tiny chickadees stay close too. Opportunity is not lost on them and I enjoy their company.

Scents abound on the log landing as well. Chainsaw gas fumes and hot chainsaw bar oil. The sweet odor of maple sap trapped in the salvaged logs of the former sugarbush. Not destined for the sugar house evaporator and sadly lost forever. There’s the scent of muddy tractor tires and diesel fuel. Rotting leaves and dead vegetation. The smell of ripped earth from the skidding of logs. The scent of my worn leather gloves and logger wedge bag strapped to my waist. And then my own scent. Sweat,soap, and challenged deodorant. Let’s not forget the scent of the dumped deer carcass where I found my strayed dog Gracie hard at work gnawing on some rather fragrant morsels.Gag reflex and I don’t have a weak stomach! Passed on lunch at that point! Nature doesn’t leave things around for long. Dead trees, dead flesh, and dead vegetation on its return trip back to the earth. Humbling and comfortable at the same time. Luckily the coyotes had found the deer carcass and eaten most of it in one night after it had sat for a few days. Nothing gets wasted in nature. Something to learn there.

November is always a time of discovery. Personal observation and reflection. My slightly older body these protests the heavy chainsaw by day’s end but obeys my mind’s commands and pushes through. The physical and mental states don’t always want to sync but luckily the mind wins for a time. There’s an energetic drive in the accomplishment of a huge pile of firewood blocks awaiting the wood splitter. The forest a little cleaner and the dead trees serving a purpose. Rural heritage runs strong on such occasions. Decades old and grounded in tradition and a sense of something much more. There is a safe sanctuary in the physical activities of the log landing. True grounding. It’s best not to let the mind wander when the hands are holding a throttled up chainsaw. I think that’s where peace exists sometimes. In simple task and toil. Answering that one would prove difficult to a bystander I suppose. In the use of the hands there is an extension of inner spirit and the feelings of connection to the land itself. Pretty heavy for just doing some firewood.

My body finally called the end of the landing. A look at the fading light over the top of ridge across the meadow spoke of the approaching darkness. I stashed the tractor and the gear in the warehouse then locked the doors on a productive day. I leaned on the car and realized it was silent. Nothing. Just the solid ground under my feet and drifting clouds above. A moment of silent solitude where I was totally alone and enjoying the silent solitude. Tomorrow would come and bring a fresh round of details. But this moment was mine with no distractions. And then it happened. The ringtone came. Not from my phone but high above. Geese in the distance and out of sight. The nighttime chill came on a small north born breeze and what I had predicted in the post called The Special Day washed over me. The rocky soil of the farm property heals and repairs. It always had even when I hadn’t learned to recognize it yet as a younger version of myself. Focus and purpose are reborn and come with silent energy. It’s all connected somehow. The words, the feelings, and the driving pulse of the season. The simplest days of November can be priceless when a brown and seemingly barren landscape is transformed into beauty that can’t be described. It must be lived in the now.✍️

 

 

The Barn Dream

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November moves ahead and the weather has been great! Warmer then usual and mostly dry. I have been busy at the farm property preparing for winter. Bush hogging the fallow meadows and preparing to fill a firewood order. I got my neighbor’s old Ford 3400 fixed a couple days ago. We use its three point hitch wood splitter up on the warehouse landing since our Troybilt wood splitter blew its hydraulic cylinder last fall. But firewood wasn’t center stage yesterday. Moving round bales was the task of the day.

I spent yesterday moving the round bales my Uncles had left for me when they cut the hay this summer into the old barn where I store them. It’s a huge structure and its mows hold a lot of hay. In the 1970’s we packed it with over three thousand square bales. There was room in the center area between the mows to store two hay wagons that were piggy backed one on top of the other. That was a challenging task but my father was clever and had devised a safe strategy for accomplishing it each autumn. Kept inside the wooden hay racks of the wagons wouldn’t rot away in the elements. My father liked to keep all the machinery under cover. It made a huge difference to its longevity. Most of our equipment was used to begin with and I call it “tired iron” these days. I wrote of it once. But today’s post is more about the old barn itself.

When I was a boy we housed our cattle and horses in the lower section of the barn.My father did a lot of work converting the barn over into a more modern functioning space. A gutter cleaner was added in the 1970s and a back addition was built to house more livestock. His system worked well to weather the brutally cold winter months. The stored bales in the mows were thrown down wooden chutes known as feed holes. They had sliding wooden doors to help keep the heat in the lower barn where the livestock dwelled from mid November until mid May. The livestock generated huge amounts of body heat and a barn fan with a thermostat controlled the inner space of the lower barn. There was a lot of work involved in keeping the animals fed and their manure removed each day. It’s how I spent a lot of my time as a boy. I liked it most of the time though. It’s a story that I plan to explain in greater detail sometime.

These days I mainly use the stable sections of the barn for storage. It’s gotten rather messy unfortunately. I tried storing firewood in there once but it was much too damp so I abandoned the idea soon after. The timbers in the lower section have been riddled by powder post beetles over the years and need to be replaced. The barn builders made the stable section low so it would heat easier. It’s not a space conducive to being used as a garage ideally. It was designed for livestock. So in our capacity it has limited potential.A plan has been perking in my brain for years about how best to utilize the barn to its fullest possible useful space. We have an idea!

I store most of the round bales in the upper hay mow in the center aisle. Most years there is a surplus of hay left over and we occasionally have some to sell. That’s what we are hoping to do next spring. I got a few bales into the upper hay mow yesterday but quickly ran out of space since it was already quite full still from the previous year. We hadn’t sold any recently. Having reserve hay stored inside is never a bad thing. A wet summer makes it in high demand sometimes. It will last several years when kept dry before losing its freshness. I often marvel at how green a bale of hay appears when feeding it over winter snow! My father had pointed that out many years and it still amazes me with its simple truth. The upper section of the barn stays super dry so it’s a fabulous storage area for more then just hay. I keep some lumber there as well.

If you have ever seen the upper section of a barn then you can probably picture mine. The upper hay mows are huge and the roof peak towers far overhead. The barn was built sometime in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s near as we can tell. My father told me that the original barn that had been on the property had been destroyed by fire accidentally by a young girl. Her parents were sheep farmers and their last name was Howe. I hope to research them sometime and learn more about them. Someone had vision and designed the present barn. It was built when the timber framers still utilized huge hand hewn timbers for the main bents and cross support members. The rafters of our barn were sawn on a sawmill so that dates them to the period we surmise. The reason the mows are so high also dates the barn’s age. It was erected in a time when hay was still put up loose. Balers were not around or were still in early stages of development. There was a track and bale hook system installed just under the peak that was used to get the hay placed into the mows. My father repaired ours and we used it to place round bales for several years. It really put it to the test though as the bales weighed in around 500 pounds. It worked well though but required a team effort to accomplish the task. It’s rope pulley system was powered by a tractor hitched to the main tether. The bales started out in the center aisle just below the trolley which was situated some 25 feet plus above. We had to manually pull the hay hooks down from the trolley and set the hooks into the bale each time we hoisted one. The bales were hoisted by the tractor driving out from the center aisle tightening the rope through the pulley system. This section of a hay mow is often called “ the driveway”. A second rope operated from up in the mow tripped the travel hoist. A third was used to dump the hay hooks. The whole process required focus and timing. I came up with a different system of loading the mows when I was raising beef cattle. I used planks and gravity rolling to load the side mows from the center aisle. This I could do alone. It worked well. Hopefully you can picture the process at this point. Check out the featured image of this post carefully. It shows the hook system partially and will perhaps clarify the apparatus better.

I have spent a lot of time working in the hay mows of our barn over the years and have always admired the framework. The timber framed bents are massive and must have been challenging to place without a crane. If you don’t know anything about timber framing a bent is an assembled structural framework mortise and tenoned together with wooden pins that were hand carved mostly out of hardwood. The bents were assembled on the flat deck of the lower barn structure that had been built first. Talk about a team effort! An assembled bent was very heavy and the joinery needed to be precisely measured to match up. It took skill and experience most certainly. The framers used hemlock for most of the upper structure. I will come back to that shortly. But first a few words about hemlock.

Hemlock. A conifer. It had many uses here in the northeast. It was used by tanneries for its tannic acid properties. It’s still abundant in the Adirondacks but under attack by an invasive species. Different story to share sometime. It’s a strong wood that’s considered a softwood actually. Easier to work into joinery but very heavy. Once our area was heavily forested with hemlock. It was a prized building lumber and most of the forests were cut down here in the St. Lawrence valley. We have no hemlock remaining on our farm property. It only remains in the barn and sheds of the farm now. In the 90’s there was one massive hemlock on our property. It had escaped being cut for some reason. Perhaps the builders had left it to reseed the forest but that hadn’t happened. It died suddenly and we cut it to salvage it. We had expected it to be hollow or a “shake” hemlock. Shake hemlock is the result of wind damage. When sawn it falls apart in the growth rings.Very common to that species. My father taught me how to identify shake logs in case I ever wanted to buy any hemlock. In a shake hemlock the growth rings visible on the butt ends will be gray or black. I learned to read a hemlock log although we seldom got to see many before we started custom sawing with our bandsaw mill in 2006. Our salvaged log surprised us when it’s 36 inch diameter was flawless. We turned it into some wonderful lumber on our mill. Great memories of time learning and working with my father.

The haymows and the upper barn itself were constructed using four bents. There are no cross members connecting the span of the haymows in the center. Instead the framers used four smaller width bents on either side of the haymow driveway. Very cleverly connected with ladders built in two spots. The open design of the center area allowed the hay to be placed with less restrictions. Our barn is very unique in several ways that I haven’t always seen in other barns. The framer’s didn’t utilize queen posts supported by main rafters which in turn would support the secondary rafters. Instead they used one long main rafter on each side using fairly large hand hewn timbers. This design saved time and materials as there was less joinery. They did sacrifice some overall strength I feel with their frugalness. The main rafters appear to be basswood instead of hemlock which isn’t as strong. They have sagged a tiny bit over the years probably due to snow load when the barn was roofed with asphalt shingles. The original roof was cedar shingles. It appears that there are three layers of shingles. One cedar and two asphalt. My father had a metal roof installed by the Amish shortly before his death. I didn’t care for the pitch and height of the roof so declined doing it. The metal roof sheds itself of snow quite readily so snow load is no longer a concern. It comes off like an avalanche on a sunny day! As for my critique of the rafters who am I to judge the framers? What they constructed has stood for over 100 years! Modern barns blow down and collapse all the time these days. The men who stood on those lofty perches and assembled the roof structure were some brave individuals! I wish I had some photos of the build! A frolic the Amish call a barn building when they join together and work on one. It must have quite an undertaking! For some reason the framers did not leave their initials or a date on the walls of our barn. It was a common practice back then. Maybe they didn’t have any of the black ink they typically used. Year’s ago in my custom designed office space in the farmhouse I had a hand hewn post that one of the barn buildings had carved into. It was initialed and dated 1897.Lost to the fire but not my memory.

Our barn is painted red and has some sections of red metal siding. It was last painted sometime in the 90’s by some traveling barn and roof painters.The outer structure of the entire barn was constructed using sawmill sawn lumber. The girts and siding are hemlock as are the secondary rafters. The roof boards as well. The volume of lumber that makes up the barn is mind boggling. I can see why the hemlock was cleared from the land here. The farmhouse that had been constructed near the barn was made of hemlock as well. It was lost to fire in May of 2012. It’s noteworthy to mention that the two stall garage that had sat between the farmhouse and barn had been constructed of pine. It had been constructed in a time when the hemlock was not as readily available anymore. The fast growing white pine of the area was being used more frequently by the 1950’s. The garage was lost in the fire and how the barn was even spared still remains a miracle. The fire crews managed to save it though and we were thankful for that!

The lower section of the barn is a mixed construction of various species. The large mow cross timbers and plinths I suspect are elm. They were often used for that purpose due to the size they once grew here in the valley. It’s difficult to say as the lower section was whitewashed so the grain of the wood is covered. A drill bit could quickly solve that question. The barn builders used timbers called 3/4 rounds to support the haymow floor system. Trees that were flattened on one side only and fitted onto the tops of base top plates on one side. The other end of the 3/4 rounds were set on the top of the cross members. Many of the 3/4 rounds are basswood and the powder post beetles have riddled them extensively. The barn builders left the bark on them unfortunately. It made them more susceptible to the powder post beetles. Some have needed to be replaced. More are in jeopardy of collapse now. It’s important to note that hemlock is not as susceptible to being attacked by powder post beetles for some reason. Hardwood and most other wood seem to attract their destructive habits. The lower section of the barn is still strongly functioning however. The main frame remains sturdy for now. The framing under the haymow driveway is very substantial. It was designed to carry a lot of weight. It will support the weight of tractor and all the bales that I stack on top of it. The barn was built into a side hill to make access to the haymow driveway easier. Also a clever design of the builders and very common to this hilly area. A large stonewall supports the framework of the east side of the barn. We even have an old concrete silo that is 30 feet high. It hasn’t been used in decades except by the pidgins who like to live there. We have to periodically shoot them when they try to invade the haymow. Their droppings are destructive to the hay and sometimes carry diseases.They quickly learn that they are not welcome and fly off to new places.

I have never measured the barn or calculated it’s square footage. There’s a lot of wasted space that has potential to serve a better purpose I feel since we don’t raise livestock anymore. I have often wondered if the old barn could be renovated into a large house after the farmhouse burned. It would be a monumental task of some magnitude. The lower section especially. But what is to become of it otherwise? Since the creation of MOONTABS Creative Expression in 2020 I have pondered it more frequently. Since the sale of Hill House even more frequently. The peaceful setting of the farm is a writer’s ultimate sanctuary. I can envision something when I gaze up into the sturdy framework of the haymows. Where better to write the stories of rural heritage? What better place to leave a legacy? Imagination can overstep the boundaries sometimes. And the budget! But there is a building already standing that could be turned into something grand. Rustic and totally country. I could have the large library I always wanted. I could dedicate a space for my collections of things. The Hoarder Museum I would call it. There’s an even larger plan that I won’t share just yet. We have our sawmill to customize the build out. We have skilled Amish barn builders close by. Heating it would present some challenges that’s for sure. Some of it might require winterizing. The demo process alone is intimidating but totally feasible with time and effort. The biggest challenge besides money is dedicating the time to achieve the goal. Its a planner moment of many aspects and decisions. A series of phases and deadlines. Hmmm… sounds familiar after close to 40 years on construction projects. Zane has expressed some interest in the project but it’s hard to say where he will want to fit in. But it all comes back to the basic structure itself in the end. A standing building with wonderful potential. It’s exciting.Daunting. Crazy. Overwhelming… need I continue? It’s connected to the MOONTABS vision somehow. A fresh start at the farm property possibly. I will keep you posted on our progress! Or lack of it be that the case.

It’s funny the things that show themselves as time passes. Just this week I drove down a road I rarely travel anymore. Years ago there were seven active dairy farms along it. Nice barns and decent homes. I was shocked at the change that time has brought to the property along the road. It’s got an almost post apocalyptic look about it now. Barns fallen in or gone entirely. Houses gone. Replaced by trailers and campers in various condition. Someone continues to cut some of the hay fields fortunately. There is only one actual active farm and it’s not a dairy farm anymore. The scene gave me cause for reflection when I reached my own farm property. No house and no longer an active farm. No dairy since the late 50’s. Most but not all of the hay cut. Rural upstate has changed immensely. I looked at our barn and seriously began to consider its future fate. The farm as well. The barn dream has begun to take on a new meaning since that drive Tuesday. That’s what prompted this story.It’s up to me now to make wise decisions and bring the farm property forward into the future. Its not too late to set a plan into motion.Someone once stood in the forest that once blanketed the land of the farm. They found the artesian well in the main meadow no doubt. They decided that this was the spot to homestead. How many generations worked to clear and improve the land? Picking rocks and piling them where they still lay today. Setting clay tiles and draining the swampy sections. Building a home for their family and living close to the land. As for the barn itself? One can only guess at the cost at building it in those long past days. One can only guess at the manual labor it took. I sometimes try to imagine what the land must have looked like in those days when stands of hemlock stood tall and sturdy on the rocky slopes of the farm. I try to imagine someone standing where the barn now sits and designing the build. It was someone’s dream once to make it happen. To build something that would last. To make a better life for themselves and their family. I think I know how that might of felt. I feel that too when I stand in the meadow by the barn and try to plan for the future. It’s hard to say what happens next. Maybe the answer will show itself to me today. Maybe it already did.✍️

Held In Trust

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It’s another chilly November morning here at the house on Black Lake where I will be living for the winter. I will be calling it “The Duplex” from now on.It’s another temporary home for me now that the travel trailer is parked. The Airstream has been winterized and sits on a large concrete pad near the house. It’s difficult to say where it will be headed next or even when. No sooner then May realistically.It sits waiting to become my rolling home again.At the moment covered in a thin layer of snow. Held in trust for now and waiting for adventure.

It’s been a busy time since returning from my Adirondack sojourn and writing has been down the list unfortunately. I made two lists soon after arriving home and have been trying to knock them out every since. Lists are a great tool for achieving short term goals provided a person doesn’t make them too extensive. I have a tendency to do that even though I know that’s not a good idea. The good news is that quite a few things have been crossed off those lists! Things can often get postponed but usually get done.I started the rough draft of this post two weeks ago! Other subjects ended up jumping ahead and now things have gotten out of sequence. MOONTABS is like one of those time travel series on Netflix where it’s hard to keep up sometimes.

Awhile back Zane and I were getting some things out of the storage container at the farm. It’s 20 foot long and about 8 feet wide. Fully packed with contents from our former Hill House. Furniture,books, and antique furniture. Kitchen items and cookware. Camp Edith is pretty well furnished so we didn’t need to move much there in the spring of 2021. I can’t say for sure when and where all the stuff will end up being used but I am not ready to part with all of it. It’s being held in trust for now I suppose. The fire of 2012 changed the way I view things. I have gotten strange about having everything in one location. There’s a bigger story there to share sometime.

While we were in the storage container we uncovered our old cider press. Zane started reminiscing about it and how we hadn’t used it in a long time. He asked if we were going to make cider this fall and I gave him a rather vague answer. We had to move it outside to get at the items we were after and Zane continued to mention making cider. I was too focused on the task at hand to think about much else. We got the things we needed moved outside and I asked Zane to help me move the cider press back into the container. He surprised me by saying no! “It’s going to camp” he said. “Otherwise we will never use it.” I reluctantly agreed to his request and the cider press was loaded onto the truck with all its accessories. As we drove back to Camp Edith I realized it had been 3 years since we had last made cider. Time sure had passed by. Zane was right and had made a wise decision I decided. Things had been set in motion thanks to him.

The story of the cider press itself spans several decades. Let’s jump back for a moment. It’s the late 1980’s and I am living in the old farmhouse on Lead Mine Road that was my first purchased home in 1983. It had belonged to my Uncles and had been part of the Archie Downing farm at one time. My Uncles had rented it out for years since the 70 plus acre property had been purchased sometime in the 1970’s. I was renovating it and had been fortunate to purchase the 22.6 acres across the road from it that had been part of the original farm. I was very in tune with my rural heritage at that time. Hunting,fishing,and trapping. Working as an electrician and getting time off whenever I could wrangle it. I spent a lot of time just down the road at my father’s farm helping out. It was a busy life and I lived close to the land. I had a garden. Raised a meat pig each summer. It’s no surprise that I would soon discover the fun hobby of making cider.

At the time my best friend has an adopted second cousin of mine. He was two years younger and we shared many common interests. One fall day he mentioned having made cider with some people he knew near his home. We gathered up some miscellaneous apples and brokered a deal with them to make some cider for ourselves. Their cider press was ancient but fully functional. The whole process was new to me and I was fascinated with it. We came away with several gallons of cider. I also came away with the thought that I needed a cider press of my own. The search was on in a time when the internet didn’t exist and paper catalogs were the source for locating such things. Ads in magazines were a good source as well. I can’t say for certain where or when I found the ad for a cider pressing kit that could be purchased. But I had found one!It was time to get serious!

The company who sold the cider press kit was called Happy Valley Ranch. They still market cider presses today and the designs haven’t changed from what I can see. The prices have increased since 1989 but that came as no surprise. What confuses me is that I thought that my cider press came from Oklahoma for some reason. Happy Valley Ranch is located in Alabama currently. I am going to call them and ask them some questions! I wrote a review on their website this morning. I am waiting to see if they post it. Regardless the company still exists and still makes the “Homesteader” model that we own. I can attest to its quality after 33 years of owning it.

I ordered the cider press sometime in May of 1989. It was over $800 by the time I got it shipped if my memory is correct. It was delivered by UPS truck in two large and very heavy boxes. The kit contained all the wooden components,cast iron parts,and all the necessary hardware. The maple framework pieces were solid maple of excellent quality. They certainly didn’t use any junk hardwood. I was recovering from an acute appendicitis when it arrived. I wasn’t supposed to be doing any work but wasn’t good at following doctors orders and was totally bored being stuck at home. I got some of the kit parts inside and began assembling it. The wood that made up the frame was maple and it needed to be treated with a food grade preservative. The manufacturer had recommended this and sold an aerosol spray as an accessory.One application was recommended but I bought two cans so I was certain that I would have enough. It was a good decision and one that I have never regretted. I used all the spray in two different applications taking time to dry the pieces between. The finish has lasted for years and our press still looks great after 33 years! The treated pieces were assembled inside the house and taken out to my garage. It took some time to complete the assembly and it was a great way to stay busy during my recovery. The doctor wouldn’t let me return to work till July but by the end of June I had helped my father get most of his haying done. Physical therapy comes in many forms! The completed cider press sat in my garage covered and up on blocks. Cider season was months away.

Autumn came quickly after a busy summer of working at Newton Falls paper mill in the Adirondacks. I had camped some while working there and had worked a lot of overtime during the different phases of the project. My annual strategy at the time.I was ready for a break so I took a layoff in October. I stayed busy getting my firewood done,hunting,and later trapping. I lived a very cost effective lifestyle and never worried much about money. It’s funny how things changed so many years later. But that’s a different set of chapters and is not important in this story. It does serve as a solid foundation of my desire to live in the season and in the moment. I was trying to manage and manipulate time. Still figuring things out. In that time and now my new hobby had gotten into motion and we were learning how to use the press.A new chain of events was being forged.

I don’t remember all the details of the first time we used the press and all my photos from then were destroyed in the fire of 2012. I don’t think anyone else has any either. But I do remember many things about that fall fortunately. My friends and I scoured the countryside for apples every chance we got! My bestie had a nice Macintosh apple tree behind his house trailer and we picked it clean. Those apples made fabulous cider especially when we blended in the tarter wild apples we found on an old homestead near there. Things were very different in 1989 where we lived. There were less houses and an abundance of unposted vacant land. We searched all the old farms we could find looking for apples. Getting permission when we could or just wandering unposted property. These days that would never be able to happen. We found trees right next to the backroads sometimes and stripped them of their small apples. The cider was tart from those feral apples so we experimented with blending apples as we ground them. We washed the apples first at my house where we made all of the cider. We usually were a group of three to four so that made the task easier. We split up the jugs of cider and I froze a lot of mine. We were young men in our mid to late twenties and liked to party some when we closed out the day making cider after dark under the outside lights in front of my garage. It was a fun and memorable time for us! One memory stands out!

It was November and getting much colder. We found some late hanging apples somewhere that were still in good condition despite the lateness of the season. They were golden colored and rather small. Tart but with enough sweetness to make a decent run of cider we figured. The night we decided to run them through the press it was very cold! Well below freezing and almost uncomfortable. The cider that flowed from the press was crystal clear has it hit the draw off catch basins. On warm days the cider comes off brown as soon as the air hits it. This cider was very different! I had begun experimenting with making a fermented concoction in my refrigerator with different batches of cider. It took about 3 weeks in the fridge to brew out a somewhat alcoholic beverage we starting calling “hooch”. (Hoochinoo is a word used by the Tlingit indigenous people from Alaska to refer to their fermented beverages made from fruit). We also knew that Hooch was a bootlegger prohibition term and we liked that comparison. I never tested our hooch for alcohol content but it was a lot like beer. We quickly learned not to overindulge on our tasty hooch however. It had a wonderful cleansing quality if you catch my drift! Sorry if I offend anyone with stories of drinking alcohol here! I promised honesty and directness on this site. Not to mention making the hooch would be leaving out a certain twist of the tale. This is why…

The wonderful clear cider from the November pressing gave me an idea. It was never allowed to reach room temperature and was placed directly into the fridge that evening. It stayed clear and after about 3 weeks began to have a effervescence to its content. We were amazed at the quality of this run of hooch! Bubbly and tingly to the tongue! It was like a sparkling wine resembling champagne almost! Very smooth! We made made it quite by accident and were never sure whether it was the apples themselves or the clear cider that made this special batch! We truly enjoyed it though! It was also special as it was the last batch of the season that fall. We had kept track of our progress each time we pressed. We were using one gallon repurposed plastic jugs so it was easy to keep the count. We had pressed 75 gallons that first season! The press had exceeded my expectations in so many ways! And it was only the beginning of a hobby that would follow me through time.

I have decided to leave the story here for the moment. There is more to this story that should be told with accuracy and detail. The fact that we even have the cider press still is a miracle. It was stored in a location that survived the fire of 2012. That makes it even more special. It also connects the dots to the outcome of part two of this series. The title of this posts sums things up well I feel. A possession that has been held in trust for over 3 decades. I hope the cider press will be around for many years and continue to provide memories for everyone who uses it. We take precautions these days to protect those objects that allow us to engage in our hobbies. It’s good to know that cider presses are still being produced. It’s also good to know that we have resumed our hobby once again!✍️

Many Chances

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It’s a calm and cool morning here at Camp Edith but very peaceful. I returned to the valley yesterday after my sojourn in the Adirondacks since October second.The leaves have mostly gone by there now but are in full regal here. It’s like getting a second chance at autumn! It gave me pause for some serious reflection early this morning as the shots of duck hunters echoed across the lake waking me at daylight. It was going to be one of those mornings! The words were arriving even before that first sip of maple syrup infused coffee. I have a busy day of catching up after arriving home but wanted to get a few thoughts down before the events of the day could push them into the backseat.

It was cool inside the camp this morning and not especially pleasant. I had thrown a little wood into the wood stove at 4AM but it had been reduced to a few glowing coals by the time I finally got up. First things first though! Coffee! While waiting for it to brew I noticed the rising sun hitting the treetops across the lake on Bigge Island. A picture was in order. Coffee and the fire would have to wait. Time was of the essence so when I couldn’t locate my Crocs I slipped my bare feet into my hiking boots. I was quite the sight in my bathrobe but there was no time to waste. The bathrobe was no where near warm enough for this morning’s chill I quickly decided as I stepped out the squeaky screen door. But the pictures were worth a little discomfort. The morning was off and running!

The scent of coffee greeted me as I stepped back inside to tackle building the fire. It kindled quickly and was soon warming the interior. It had been 76 degrees inside when I went to bed last night and Zane had opened the porch door. I call the porch door “The Thermostat” in Camp Edith when using the wood stove. It works and wood fired heat is basically free for us. There were but two things lacking at this point. My tablet and my music. It was writing time.

One of my favorite Pandora music stations has been painstakingly created by the thumbprint process they offer. I named it “Band of Horses Radio” after the band by that same name. The first song up this morning was strangely ironic. “On My Way Home” by the Band Of Horses. It was about to be one of those mornings. Turn it up and let the horses run.

Music isn’t necessary for writing but often sends me to the deeper recesses of Tazmania. My personal place of creativity. A forest where each tree is a story. That’s a story all it’s own and people get lost in Tazmania all the time. Imagination runs wild there as do the memories. I never know where a path will lead or how times it will branch off. My go to place of music when writing is Indie rock typically. I discovered Indie rock in the fall of 2017 and have followed it ever since. It’s a never ending series of new bands and new music. These songs are special because there are no memories attached to them initially.They are freshly neutral and waiting for memories to be attached to them. Indie rock and 2017. The old life was falling behind and the new me was rising. It was a new chance and a new now. A breath of fresh air that would become a gentle wind.

People who follow my rambling storylines often find redundant threads with no chronological order. Kind of like the Star Wars movies. The first movie didn’t start at the beginning of the story or end with that episode. They jumped all around. I’ve always admired that approach! Filling in gaps and satisfying curiosity. The questions aren’t always answered immediately anyway. The big question this morning is where is all this leading? It’s leading to reflection and self awareness. When the chances come do we take them? Will we take them? Or let them slip away? That’s a place of reflection where each person must stand.

My Adirondack sojourn was productive and I was able to write quite often. But there was adventure as well. It reminds me of an old fashioned carburetor using a mix of fuel and air to produce the horsepower. This morning my thoughts are running back to times of challenge and decisions. I haven’t been able to pull a story together with any clear message. These past few days have been filled with list making, emails, and a gathering of intel. It’s time to put another date on the calendar. October 16,2023. One year from today. A day of comparison. A day of answering questions. Did I take the chances and run with them? Or hesitate? Or land somewhere in between? Don’t worry if you are lost right now. I wrote this to challenge myself and set a deadline of sorts. Consider it the continuing introduction.

Autumn is speeding forward and here in the valley the transition is in full swing. I am transitioning as well into a new living arrangement. There are numerous other small details to close out as winter approaches. There are lots of new plans being formulated and investigated. It won’t always make sense or nor should it I have decided. I believe in following the invisible energy and connecting the dots that lead somewhere. I believe in taking chances so I do. The experts say that living in the past breeds depression while trying to live in the future breeds anxiety. Living in the now seems to be a good approach. We are approaching two years of the blog site being created. It’s been fun and I plan to continue with it. The MOONTABS vision is much larger though. The stories of the past. Plans for the future. Adventure and challenge. Life in the now. Mark your calendar. October 16th 2023. It won’t be about where I have landed. It will be about where we have landed. A day of reflection for all of us.

I dedicate this post to all who support the MOONTABS vision. Those who support me and give me inspiration. One person in particular. I also wish to acknowledge my Uncle Kenny. His wise words advising me the importance of keeping journals decades ago has never been lost on me. It was the first rock of a foundation that was destined to be built upon. No need to be lost here but if you are never fear. I will lead you back with a story or two. Next time. ✍️

They Come In Waves

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Thursday morning. Day 12 here at Fish Creek State Campground.Well not exactly! I was gone for 3 days recently on a mini adventure. I hit the Northway South with the pedal down and the music loud. The full grandeur of the autumn transition surrounding me as the turbos sang and the ponies ran under the hood. I suppose it’s a paradox this love of horsepower and steel to a lover of nature. I surely do appreciate a finely tuned piece of machinery though. I hope to ride the torque driven feel of full electric some day. On the slippery slopes of climate change and our unrelenting need for natural resources it’s difficult to fathom at times where everything is headed. It’s all about making decisions and following through with them. That’s something I do understand. But this post is about life and adventure not sticky subjects. The adventure? South to the land of Moonies,cornfields, and history. A place where hooting owls and night skies lit by a full moon would connect the dots of mysterious positive energy. But that is another story for another time.

The days here at Fish Creek have been full and meaningful I’d have to say. A mix of paddling and hiking followed by nightly fires. Meals are sporadic at times and I cook when the mood strikes me. This morning breakfast was in order so I cooked sausage,eggs, and pancakes. The wind is fierce today and it was challenging outside cooking on the griddle.Nothing some carefully placed aluminum foil couldn’t cure. Camping is not supposed to easy anyway. I had made a simple dinner last night since I was beat from paddling in the waves getting back to camp. Oh yes! The waves! Over deep,dark water they provide a powerful connection to nature.

I had watched the weather forecast and knew that outdoor adventure would be difficult if not ill advised today. High winds and rain were heading into the region. The winds had begun yesterday and it had been difficult paddling but still very rewarding. Seeing the loons and the mink had sealed the deal for me. My aches today were well earned and I don’t mind them. The wind would wake me several times last night as pine cones pinged off the roof of the Airstream like mini drumbeats. Camping under the huge pines is not without risk I suppose. I have good insurance I thought and had drifted back to sleep. The large stand of pine surrounding the camper are strong and sturdy. They remind me of a family in their grouping. Each one makes the others stronger and helps protect the group. I don’t worry too much camping under them at any rate.

By daybreak the wind had increased and the gusts kept getting stronger. White caps were driving into the shore with powerful surges. 10:53AM now and things are still ramping up. If it was a warm summer day I would be paddling out in my kayak to greet the waves. I love to paddle up through whitecaps then spin around and surf on top of them in the kayak. It’s a rush of horsepower of a different type. It challenges the body but it’s very exciting! “Flat Slapping” the surface of the water with the kayak paddle when the waves attempt to flip you over. In warm summer water in a life vest there’s nothing to fear and usually I have the body of water to myself. I haven’t done it this season but I have tackled some decent sized waves a couple times. These whitecaps here today are cold looking and uninviting. I’d rather stay in here and write while watching them!

I have always loved the power of water even when it’s calm. Running water is a powerful force of nature that stirs emotion and imagination. I love hiking to waterfalls and sections of rapids here in the north country. We are blessed with numerous and diverse waterways. In a watercraft fighting the current to paddle upstream or against the waves is a humbling experience and invites physical challenge. Running with the current and on the waves invites feelings of a different nature. I have spoken with Zane about my desire to take a whitewater paddling class and go out with a licensed guide on the Hudson river up here in the Adirondacks. We have picked our person and location but missed the window of opportunity for this season. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t introduce my son to such an activity but he’s one to tell me if it’s not his thing. Ice climbing was like that! We both agreed that it might not be our favorite new hobby. It was fun though! To me the lover of raw horsepower whitewater may offer something more then a thrill seekers adrenaline rush. Can’t say for sure just yet but I have a feeling. I chase those feelings and they rarely disappoint me.

I have strayed far from my original story but the wind is increasing and the waves are getting bigger by the minute. This camping adventure has brought some wonderful moments into the MOONTABS journey. There is but one autumn 2022 and I have tried to live it well. Four successful hikes since being here. Ampersand the best and most challenging then Goodman and Coney Mountains back to back one day last week. Mount Arab on Tuesday this week. Hey wait! Did I just complete the Tupper Lake Triad a second time? I hadn’t planned on doing that. They are great small hikes that I recommend them given the wonderful autumn views of the surrounding region. I enjoyed each of the hikes but Coney Mountain would offer up something else!

I had completed Goodman Mountain but hadn’t stayed long there as some kind of ladybugs were hanging out on the summit and crawling all over me. Not biting just annoying. I decided to do Coney Mountain as a second mountain for the day as plenty of daylight remained. I was feeling pretty strong and hard charged the trail. I even jogged up for awhile. Rare these days but something Zane and I did many times. On the Marcy Dam trail ( the Interstate to us) we would always run on the way in and on the return. Laughing and jumping roots along the way! Passing other hikers who thought us crazy. I suppose we were to a degree. Happy and super fit it was easy even with a 40 pond pack. It was epic! I don’t run so well since my pelvic injury but I am practicing my new style. I land somewhere between a young Forrest Gump and an Olympic sprinter. Probably closer to the young Forrest Gump to be honest. I have made strides though with no pun intended. I won’t stop trying to improve my distance challenges or my conditioning. There are many trails remaining that lead to lofty summits where the buzz sits waiting for me. I had to mention the running thing. Things have changed. Call it a new wave I had to surf.

On the Coney Mountain trail I overtook a couple hiking. We were taking their time and picking their through the hazards. Always a good idea. They both had trekking poles which is good.I feel they reduce the risk of injury. The woman greeted me and asked about my beaver stick trekking poles. “Did you find those at the trailhead?” she asked with a curious tone. “No I made them” I replied. We began talking after that while everyone caught their breath. We exchanged names so it’s time for new characters! Enter John and Elaine! I liked their friendly open demeanor immediately and their interest in my beaver sticks. I was suddenly swept up by an impulsive thought! I would offer to give them one of my trekking sticks. It was one that I had trail tested and trusted but it wasn’t one of my favorites. But it was a nice one so I offered to leave it under their car after hiking the mountain. John said “How do you know we won’t get back first?”. We all laughed at that one! I bide them a temporary goodbye and resumed the hike with a renewed vigor. I sure do love talking to people I thought. Hearing bits of their stories! I summited quickly after a brief push for the top. There were three people on top. A quiet young man who had hiked up in a pair of Crocs. Not my choice of footwear. I didn’t engage in conversation with him as his eye contact and body posturing indicated a desire for privacy. There was an artist hard at work off to the side but I left her to her work as it appeared she was on a roll painting the beautiful valley that lay beyond her easel. There was also a young lady whom I had passed on the Goodman trail and recognized. We said hello to each other and chatted briefly. Most people are friendly on the summits and ones who aren’t I leave in peace. Everyone has their own reasons for being there and we don’t know what someone might be wrestling with or trying to overcome. Think positivity and kindness.

It was getting later and I wondered if John and Elaine had turned back because she had mentioned a sprain in her leg. I decided to go catch up with them in case they had needed to return rather then summit. I had been busy while on the summit. I wasn’t carrying my usual pack and had noticed that I had a black Sharpe in one of my compartments. Hmmm… beaver stick with poly preservative on its surface. A Sharpe. A promise to give the stick to them. Time on my side. It all added up quickly! But could I remember the beaver stick poem that I usually offer with a gifted stick?It took a minute but luckily it’s short and sweet. It was the perfect setting for adding a flair to the gift. I took my time writing on the stick and only made one small mistake. Too bad I didn’t have sandpaper with me too! I added some personal information about MOONTABS and signed the stick with a custom greeting.It was time to get moving!

I began a quick descent and hadn’t gone far before I met John and Elaine working their way up the trail with steady determination. I jokely remarked that I had thought they had tapped out! We laughed about that! I said you better take the stick now just in case. We got to talking more and I was realizing the time of day. I said I will walk back up to the summit with you. Elaine began talking to the artist and John sat on the summit talking with me. John had a great story to tell and I wanted to hear more.Elaine joined us eventually and we took some photos together. John said “ I better keep this beaver stick safe! It will be worth something some day!”We laughed about that especially when I said “John you might be freezing some day and that stick will make good firewood!” The power of the now surrounded us there on Coney Mountain as the setting sun appeared on the horizon. Time was speeding past and it was time to get moving.

Elaine wanted to stop and talk with the artist who had finished her painting. It was stunning and she had been working on it a mere 5 hours! I learned her name was Sandra Hildreth. A local artist of repute. I asked her permission to use her name here. Please check out her work! She has an office in the village of Saranac Lake. We decided to make sure she got down the mountain safely. Something I had already decided to do for John and Elaine. We began our cautious descent and the conversations ran wild as darkness began to blanket the lower forest. Sandra blew past us in a hurry to get to a meeting. Time stood still and I was enjoying the story of John and Elaine. At one point Elaine said something about not getting hurt. I joked and said if you get hurt I will go Forrest Gump in the jungle and run you on out of here! Pretty funny! We hit the end of the trail and said our goodbyes but not before promising to stay in contact. What a remarkable day that had started so ordinary. But it’s never ordinary when I meet extraordinary people and share in moments. I was touched by strange emotions on my drive back. Waves of them. Then I almost hit a deer and got back to reality!

The wind has picked up and the rain is pelting the Airstream. I will be staying in today and using the shower in the camper. There will be no evening campfire later. I have everything I need here in my home on wheels for the moment.Food,music, heat, and running water. My phone,my tablet, and books. The waves are hitting hard on the shoreline outside the camper. It’s a solid now moment and a part of this lifestyle. My imagination can run wild at times. They come in waves these stories of mine and wash up on the shores. Life comes in waves too. Sometimes floating and sometimes sinking. We have to learn how to swim that’s all. Waves are yet another connection to nature.

Oh btw! Remember Mr.Jangles? He is alive and well after our strike on his headquarters. Apparently he has recruited allies here in the Adirondacks! I have been under attack for days now. Chipmunks and red squirrels messing with my truck and my lawn furniture.There’s signs of a party left behind on my picnic table! Good thing the Airstream is all metal otherwise they would have gotten in. I guess if they were truly malicious they would have chewed through my brake lines. Maybe they have! Can’t check today in this rain. Maybe I can recruit the mink I saw yesterday. It would a formidable adversary to take to Canada next summer. I don’t know if it likes to travel though. It might get car sick. Not sure about getting it across the border either. These things can be worked out I suppose. They say deeds are more important then words. How about a big helping of both? The waves have begun to lay down some and tomorrow is another day.

I dedicate this post to John, Elaine, and all the good people I meet out on the trails. The hooting owl doesn’t represent death as some people think. It represents wisdom and understanding. It represents change and new beginnings. We don’t have to search for such things. Time brings them and they come in waves.✍️

The Loon Family

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We are approaching the middle of October and the transition continues with an increasing pace. I continue to camp here at Fish Creek and will most likely return to the valley a day early. This is it for my ADK camping season in the Airstream for 2022. Zane and I will no doubt be returning to the Adirondacks at some point but it’s unclear just when. So many wonderful experiences are filling my days and nights these days. Somehow the energy tells me where to place myself and nature does the rest. How best to explain these occurrences may challenge me to a degree. But I enjoy challenge and searching for answers. I have studied nature my entire life but can’t begin to answer the question so many ask. What is the meaning of life? To me it is a cycle. The meaning belongs for each individual to decide and is uniquely theirs. As for me, I need but follow the seasons to find what defines life. I have arrived to a new and exciting season of my life. Autumn. A time I hope to be my most colorful. A time to show colors that were always just below the surface. It would take the approach of autumn before they would begin to show. Autumn is a time of great expression in nature. A time of new life being created in some species. A time when things prepare to slow down for a slumber of sorts. I feel these things and gracefully accept the truths as nature offers them.But such thoughts take us far from the stories and to the edge of the forest lands of Tazmania.

Last week I spent a wonderful afternoon paddling up Fish Creek beyond my campsite. It’s a favorite destination of mine and I also used the opportunity to collect some old beaver sticks for firewood. The shorelines are well stocked in certain spots with the remnants of beaver feed piles. Once they have dried out they are excellent firewood! It’s important to note that tampering with a beaver house or dam is illegal. Be careful where you gather your sticks! The loose piles along the ponds and streams are legal pickings for savvy collectors! Just how the sticks are produced is interesting. The beaver cut small trees and saplings then drag them into shallow flat spots onto the banks. There they can gnaw the bark from them in relative safety. They leave the peeled portions behind as a type of garbage I guess you could say. Sometimes they have feed piles out on the spongy bogs where they enjoy their meals in complete safety. The peeled sticks often end up being used to build dams and lodges so they do serve an alternative purpose.The beaver have few predators here in the Adirondacks but a hungry coyote or larger bobcat could possibly kill one. I have seen pictures of some that were crushed by trees they were cutting! That’s rare though. People are their main predator when fur prices make their plush pelts in demand. Luckily for the beaver, pelt prices are very low these days. I used to trap them a lot years ago in Macomb. Other animals as well. I longer trap but remain true to my rural heritage and mention it here. It was something I was taught and a skill passed down between generations. I was a proud and successful trapper for some 30 plus years. I feel to never write about it is a falsehood as trapping taught me many things about nature. It kept me outside and always wandering. It is as much a part of me as anything else connected to nature. I must write of being a fur trapper, hunter, and fisherman on these pages or forever be false in my life journey story. That I can not do my friends. The truth is the truth and I will not abandon it here at any cost.

I hadn’t traveled too far upstream and had already procured a nice collection of beaver stick firewood. It serves a second purpose as well. One I call beaver stick ballast. The front of my canoe is very light if I don’t have weight,a person, or dog there. When alone adding firewood weight to the front aids in controlling the bow especially if it’s windy. It’s a time tested approach to paddling that I often employ while camping. Otherwise I use smooth rocks and small cobblestones. I traveled leisurely up the creek and soon entered one of the narrower sections. I call them the connectors. There were numerous photo opportunities and I got some great shots there. I ducked into Copperas Pond for a moment searching for the loon family I had written about last July. The pond was deserted and eerily quiet. Few birds although I had encountered several ducks that were totally fearless. They must have been campsite ducks to be that tame. Fun to watch as they stood on a log in the sun preening their shiny feathers. I missed the calls of my forest friends the white throated sparrows. They always remind me of the bush country in Eastern Quebec. They are very plentiful there and you hear their signature calls from daylight to dark.The forest had become absent of summer birdsongs. The transition was truly ramping up!

I entered the mouth of a small lake that’s called Little Square Pond. I typically pass by most of it unless we decide to swim off some rocks near the entrance. It’s a fairly big pond and susceptible to waves if the wind is blowing. It was totally calm that day though and I decided to explore it further. I was looking for fresh beaver sticks that would make good trekking poles but hadn’t found any yet. The beaver sign was strangely absent. Most of what I was seeing was old and beginning to weather severely as it began to rot. I kept wondering what had happened to the beaver population here? Trappers? Disease? Or just a move to better food sources? The beaver do exhaust their forest habitats near their chosen waterways. It was going to be slim pickings for beaver sticks! I began to paddle the Western side of the pond’s shoreline exploring. I saw plenty of old beaver sign but nothing fresh and no active lodges. The shoreline was steep in places and heavily forested. I found a primitive campsite that I hadn’t known existed and made a mental note of it. I continued paddling around the pond enjoying the colorful leaves and loving the warm sunshine! As I began paddling down the Eastern side of the pond I heard a strange sound. I couldn’t identify it and at first thought it was a woman’s scream. I heard it occasionally after that and realized it was not a person. I spotted a couple of loons and decided to check them out for a minute.

As I approached the loons I realized the source of the strange sound! There were two juvenile loon chicks swimming around their mother making weird screeching noises! The three of them would take turns diving under then resurfacing further up the pond. I tried to guess where they would pop up to get myself closer to them. Eventually I was successful in my attempts and the mother came up very close to me! The chicks surfaced shortly after and I got some great photos plus a couple videos. The chicks were lighter colored then their mother and their heads were gray. Hers was the dark black that all adult loons have in common. They were obviously very attached to their mother and stayed very close to her. One of the juveniles ended up some distance away after one of its dives and began its screeching in earnest. It finally managed to produce a signature loon call although it wasn’t perfect! The chicks were learning to speak and I was fortunate to be witnessing something very special! They stayed close to me for some time and I was enjoying the moment to the fullest! The warm sun, calm pond, and my loon friends in front of me with the beautifully colored ridges in the distance. I paddled away and began to speculate about certain possibilities. Could this be the loon family I had seen early in July at a nearby pond? The father was gone it appeared. The pond was some distance away but it was all one connected waterway. The family could have swam from one pond to the other. Maybe the chicks could even fly by now. They would need to fly shortly I surmised with winter getting closer all the time. The chicks certainly had grown since July! My imagination began to run wild. Maybe the mother had discovered the huge northern pike in their pond and recognized the potential threat. I had lost it overboard after an epic battle and could attest to its size. It would have had no issue swallowing one of the tiny chicks back in July. I decided that these were the same family of loons at that point. Regardless of my theory I was happy that two loon chicks had survived the hazards of water.

The magic of nature is there to discover but it’s all about timing so much of the time. I have witnessed many wonderful things as I wandered afield through forest,swamp, and stream. To witness the baby chicks in July and then to see them again in October was truly something amazing! Today I paddled up to Floodwood Pond for a little catch and release fishing despite the windy conditions. As I approached the entrance of Copperas Pond this afternoon I spotted three loons up the waterway and recognized them as the loon family. I figured that I would encounter them later when I paddled in their direction so I left them to their fishing. The fishing was horrible on the windy pond but I did manage to land one small bass before I left. As I paddled up towards Little Square Pond I spotted one lone loon. It was one of the juveniles and I got very close to it. It was busy fishing and I wondered where the other two had gone. I found them way up in the mouth of Little Square Pond fishing together. I got a nice photo and a short video of the two of them together. Nature was taking its course it seemed. The lone juvenile was becoming comfortable being on its own although I suspect that they joined up later. I had hoped to see one of the juveniles trying to fly but that’s asking for a lot!

My day would soon get more interesting as I paddled the winding stream up towards Floodwood Pond. I finally found a slender peeled beaver stick! It wasn’t a perfect specimen but given the selection it was still a worthy collectible.There was no active beaver lodge nearby so I assumed that the feeding beaver was just passing through. It’s hard to say really. Sometimes hermit beaver survive with little evidence of their existence. I continue to be baffled by the lack of beaver sign here. It’s something that will bring me back sometime to further investigate the surrounding areas.

What happened next was a rare and special treat! As I rounded a corner of the creek I spotted something on top of a sunken log deadfall on the bank. It was a mink. It dropped out of sight and I figured that I would never see it again but got my phone camera ready. I nosed my canoe up to the end of the log and spotted the mink! It was peeking over the top of another log at me! I got a quick photo and sat perfectly still with the canoe wedged against the log. The mink became curious and jumped up onto the top of the log before diving off into the shallow water. I put my phone camera onto video and waited for a few seconds. The mink appeared and put on quite the show! I filmed it for 51 seconds before it fled downstream. It was so amazingly agile and flexible! Fast as lightning! What an incredible video I shot! Timing is everything! I felt very fortunate to capture the moment!

In conclusion I would have to say that I have been very fortunate over the years to be able to enjoy nature in its finest moments. Living in the country and being able to easily visit the Adirondacks. You just never know what you will encounter or when you will encounter it! That’s the draw. Such moments pull me deeper into the circle and I cherish them! It’s MOONTABS and more!

No Autumn Plans?Hike Ampersand!

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Autumn is moving along quickly here in the Adirondack Park. The leaves continue to change everyday now and many are being dropped now. They litter the forest floor with colorful patterns that call to the observant hiker. It was Monday October 3,2022 and I was waiting for my cousin Jen at the trailhead to Ampersand Mountain in the empty parking lot. She had asked me days earlier if I had time to hike Monday.Perfect timing I had told her! Yes I would love to go!I hadn’t needed to travel far from my nearby campsite at Fish Creek Ponds State Campground so I had arrived ahead of schedule. I took a few minutes and double checked my small pack one final time. I readied my beaver stick trekking poles also. I was ready!

The beaver stick trekking poles I mentioned are nothing more then sticks that the beaver had eaten the bark from and abandoned. Bark is the favorite food of beaver. They must get plenty of fiber!The beaver sticks are super strong and flexible depending on the species of tree that had been cut. I trim them to length if necessary but quite often find ones that are perfect and require only a little work. I clean any dirt or mud from them before I trim off any sharp edges and any excess bark that the beaver missed. I sometimes treat them with polyurethane to preserve them. A superior one that is unique is added to my personal collection where it waits for special attention. I wood burn on them sometimes to mark certain occasions or dates. To gift a hand crafted one to someone is something I enjoy! I hope to write a post just about beaver sticks someday and have added it to the promised story list. I carry two beaver stick trekking poles to maintain balance and agility. I also use them to help propel myself up the steep sections of the trails. If ever needed they would also make a formidable set of weapons. They are all natural and I find a connection to nature in them. When I firmly grasp them I am truly ready to hike!

The Ampersand Mountain trailhead is very easy to find because it’s right beside NYS Route 3 between the villages of Tupper and Saranac Lakes. It’s a rather small pull off that fills up quickly most days. There’s always room alongside the highway though so that helps with the overflow. I had packed light for the short hike. Water, energy bars, and a partial jar of peanut butter. Peanut butter became a stable when hiking the high peaks several years ago.We ate it plain with just a spoon most of the time. It’s a good energy food that’s simple to carry. I had a winter hat and extra clothing as well. But I was far short of the survival gear pack that I carry backcountry. I suppose that mindset could be considered not being prepared. It would have to do as my big pack had been left behind at Camp Edith.

For clothing I dress in layers and none of them are ever cotton! Yesterday I was wearing a dry weave t-shirt, fleece zip up, with an insulated vest to top off my layers. Basic hiking pants and my old trusted Merrell brand hiking boots. These hiking boots just wouldn’t wear out but several extremely high mileage years had taken a toll on them! I use them for special occasions now because I just don’t want to retire them yet. I tried a set of Keen’s but was rather disappointed with that model’s durability. Comfort was never an issue though. I bought a new set of Keen hikers today to give the brand another chance. Different sole style so I will see! Most of the hikers in my truck are Merrill’s. Yes I travel with several pair! You don’t drive without a spare tire so why would you hike without a spare set of hiking boots close by?

Enter a new character: my cousin Jennifer.She arrived ahead of time to the parking area and we exchanged simple greetings as we prepared our gear for departure.Jen is married with two teenage boys.She grew up with her sister, father, and mother on the Washburn homestead property in Macomb. She is 18 years younger then me and we didn’t see each other much when she was growing up even though we lived on the same road. Time changes things and eventually we saw more of each other however.I attended her wedding and would see her at the Washburn family reunions twice a year. When she became an avid hiker we began to talk more frequently. Especially after I joined Facebook in 2018 and began writing there.We had talked of hiking together but had never been able to coordinate because of logistical issues. Work mainly. This day was spontaneous and not planned months in advance. Call it a grand alignment event if you have an imagination and believe in strange twists of fate. The power of circumstances and decisions made with a gut feeling. Either way I was happy that we would be hiking together! Why make everything heavy and overthink the moment?

Jen and her family are outdoor enthusiasts to the max! They enjoy a variety of different sports and activities across all four seasons. Jen and her husband Adam are working together to become ADK 46ers.They are making substantial progress and I enjoy following their story! Jen is the hands and the inspiration behind the Instagram page: Hunterfamilyoutdooradventures. They live a full and busy life! Their story is interesting and unique so please join them as they live the outdoor dream! I can relate to them in so many ways!Jen’s gift for photography truly brings their journey to life! I admire the page for its detail in portraying a family enjoying their love of nature and adventure. There is love and positivity in their journey. A great place to connect with like minded individuals! Check it out!

Ampersand Mountain is not one of the ADK high peaks but what it lacks in height it makes up for with views! At 3352 feet its bare rock summit offers a 360 degree view of some beautiful sections of the park. Some of the high peaks are right there in front of you at the summit. The Seward Range being the most prominent. In the other direction you get fantastic views of the Saranac Lakes and St. Regis waterways. The 1,765 feet of gain that is ascended to summit Ampersand is rated tough by the Alltrails app. I suppose that depends on your personal definition of tough. The trail is an in/out and fairly short at 5.4 miles round trip.The final ascents are tricky in a couple spots but easy to negotiate.With sturdy hiking boots and trekking poles most hikers will have no difficulty. Micro spikes aren’t a bad idea for the final portion of the trail either. Wet rocks are always tricky regardless of your level of skill in my opinion. I want to get myself off the mountain by not being injured. My advice is always be cognitive of potential hazards. The rewards of most summits are worth a little effort and risk in my opinion. Ampersand is one of those mountains.I rate it: better do it or you are missing out!

The trailhead lies just across Route 3 from the parking area and is very well maintained. It meanders rather smoothly at first through stands of large maples and hemlocks. There are several tiny streams that are bridged or timbered across. One section has a small raised boardwalk that sits above lush and colorful ferns. Autumn is kissing them a golden color and when the sunshine hits them they are stunning! Yesterday the canopy above was garnished with many different stages of color. The transition is underway and many leaves have fallen but most are still held fast. Some remain green even. It depends on their species where they enter into the transition. The soft maples (red) are shedding their brilliant red leaves quickly. The aspen (popple) are lagging behind and just becoming yellow. The other species are in varying degrees of change and no two trees are identical. Autumn is a time of sensory overload for me. It’s difficult to absorb everything with so much color everywhere. I find it’s best sometimes to just stand still and wait for things to show themselves. There is life everywhere. Tiny plants and seedlings. Many have ended their annual growth cycle and are preparing to go dormant until spring. The falling leaves will be their protective blanket under the snow that will arrive here shortly. The forest is a place of death as well. Broken trees and limbs cover the forest floor. Stumps and leaning deadfall’s. Dead trees standing and waiting for their time to return to the earth. The layers of dead leaves continue build up and cover some them as well. But nothing is wasted in the forest. Mosses and decomposers cover the dead trees and fallen trees. The decomposer fungi are everywhere once you train your eyes to spot them and recognize their importance in the bigger picture. There are numerous species of them in the Adirondacks. Many are edible even! After attending two mycology seminars I decided that viewing them is to be preferred over collecting them! “Look a likes” can be deadly and toxic! We stick to our favorites in the valley. It’s interesting how the dead wood benefits so many other life forms. There is a profound connection in the the cycle that repeats itself over and over. For me it’s a humbling reminder of my place in the order of things.My place of existence within the circle of nature. It’s not an unhappy moment. To accept our life cycle is to learn. To learn is to grow. A walk through the forest is never boring or lacking in details. In the smallest of clues nature leaves puzzle pieces. They fit only one way and take time to assemble. Decades for me. Harmony with nature surrounds the casual hiker. That moment when the senses align and a certain peace arrives. It can be a powerful lesson of living in the now.

Jen and started out from the sunny,warm parking and entered the forest trail. I was immediately struck by the change in temperature and regretted not wearing gloves. Jen took the lead and despite our brisk pace I felt cold. Prepared? Not so good I decided! We moved quickly and the trail remained fairly flat with only a few hills to crest. We stopped to take pictures of certain things. The rising sun through the trees and colorful leaves. Glacial erratics sprinkled here and there like game pieces in a giant’s marble toss. Eventually the land began to rise and the ascents started. We reached the site of an old structure. There’s almost nothing remaining of the stone foundation and it’s difficult to discern. There’s an old rusty sink in the center and some rusty pipes. I mentioned to Jen that I thought that this was a hermit’s cabin site once. I later learned that my facts are askew. These was my third hike up Ampersand over the years and I remembered a descriptive plague that was once here. Gone now. History disappears too quickly sometimes.Regardless it was a beautiful spot with a tiny flow of running water and a somewhat flat spot on the forest ridge. There would be answers at some point to fill in the blanks.

The land continued to rise and we kept up our steady pace unless we were taking photos. We encountered another couple and had a great conversation. They were familiar with Jen’s hometown. In fact they lived there part of the year and frequently went to a common restaurant. It’s a small world as they say! Great conversations Dan and Deb! We soon entered a section of the trail that I refer to as the steps. A steep rise with many rocks that trail stewards had wrestled into place somehow. It must have taken many hours to build the staircases. There are a couple sets of the way to summit Ampersand. Many hikers have benefited from the stewards hard work and I remembered some pictures I seen of some of them. These cats were strong and solid! Men and women who proudly poised beside their lasting legacy of hard work. I suddenly realized that I was no longer cold and mentioned that to Jen. Me either she said! Off through the trees we could see evidence of our continued elevation gain. Glimpses of what was to come. The sun was warming the forest and our exertions were warming us quickly.I felt a burst of new found energy in the moment. Nothing new and I embraced the feeling for what I recognized. Empowerment in strong physical experience that was well within my body’s capabilities. In that moment I push for what lies beyond. The buzz that waits for me on the summit. I can remember hikes with Zane where it eluded me and I wondered how I would ever make it to the top. Then the energy would hit from some unknown source.It’s seems like a carburetor thing after a certain point. A mix of emotion, air, and inner energy that the mind sends to the muscles. The muscles will obey the mind long after they sound their warning. I wasn’t worried. This short hike would never require me to summon my inner zombie unless I was injured. Best avoided always but never out of a hiker’s equation.

Enter a new character. My invisible friend known as my inner zombie. His story is my story at a different level. I must accredit the author Jack London for the idea behind creating the force that I call my inner zombie. His fictional story of a lost and stranded individual moved me many years ago when I first read it as a boy. It’s a wonderful read for those with adventurous spirits. My story will be best represented by telling of some of our high peaks quests. Post pelvic surgery days for me mostly but there were many other times!My inner zombie was safely slumbering yesterday and that’s where I wanted him. He needs his rest because when he’s summoned it gets a little rough on my body.It’s not as strange as it sounds! I enjoy assigning names and titles to many things. Another story now added to the promised list and I am going to have fun writing that one! My inner zombie is a beast and one glutton for punishment. I can always count on him though. I finally know that the 1.5 percent Neanderthal DNA I carry is good for something!

Jen and I were both really enjoying our physical challenge of the ever rising trail. There were many more rocks now to scramble and the forest was transitioning into evergreens and smaller deciduous species.Birch mostly and a few aspens.Crossing the rocks was a decision making process of avoiding the wet rocks. My worn Merrill’s were minus some tread so I stuck to the dry area whenever possible. I would sometimes need to hold my beaver sticks in one hand and reach for a tree or root to get past a steeper scramble. The day was continuing to warm up and we were sweating some but not uncomfortable like we would have been on a summer day. Autumn hiking brings many rewards and coolness is one of them. The land below us continued to offer hints of views yet to come. The trail suddenly split and there was a steeper less traveled trail off to the right. I asked Jen if we could go that way as it looked challenging. She agreed and after a short ascent we were rewarded for our efforts! We stood on a scenic overlook and it was breathtakingly beautiful! The leaves were spectacular off in the distance! We took photos and relaxed for a moment before taking off again. This is the part of the hike where I always get a new found surge of energy. We continued to push forward with renewed vigor and soon entered an amazing set of rock formations.

I knew that we were getting closer to the summit because I recognized the gap between the rocks where the trail led. The rocks towered over our heads and were vividly detailed in the bright sunshine. I was totally lost in all the details surrounding me. Jen mentioned it as well! It wasn’t too long before we spotted the long bare rock approach that leads to Ampersand’s summit. My words can not describe what waited for us there. We slowed our forward momentum and turned in circles to take everything in. Wow! That was the word I suppose. We reached the summit and began snapping photos. It was an epic moment! Jen and I removed our packs enjoying the summit buzz as I call it. We got some great photos and enjoyed an informal hiker’s lunch. Other hikers began to arrive at the summit and we began talking to them. One fellow arrived who was very eager to talk. No problem for me!

Enter a new character into the journey. The man’s name was Steve and he lived in nearby Tupper Lake where he had spent most of his life. He was a walking source of information and knew all the distant mountains by name. Jen and I had recognized certain landmarks given our experience and time in the Adirondacks but Steve filled in a lot of blanks. We talked for a long time. I mentioned a mega 46er legend whom Zane and I had met on the trail to our final high peak. Allen Mountain. What a day. I wrote of that day on an older post on this page. I couldn’t remember the number of times this individual named Gary had summited all the high peaks but knew it was over 70 times! Impressive and mind boggling! Steve said that he knew Gary and had spoken with him just this summer. Gary had been busy hiking it seems! His new count was 88. 88 times a 46er! Wow! I mentioned that I would like to interview Gary and get more of his story. I asked Steve why does Gary do it? Why not branch out and see more of the world? New trails and new challenges. Steve said that Gary quite simply loves the Adirondacks so he wanders them constantly. Impressive to me is this man’s accomplishments! Steve was being reserved about his own accomplishments and I knew that he too had quite the story to tell! We didn’t pry and he left shortly afterwards.

I had questioned Steve about the old cabin ruins we had passed on the hike just before reaching the steps. He mentioned that several cabins had once adorned the ridge. I was never really certain though about the true story or history there. I had been confused thinking that the Adirondack hermit Noah John Rondeau had occupied the site. Steve corrected me and said that Rondeau had lived in a forest pond setting known as “The Duck Hole”. Research yesterday sent me in confusing circles as I scoured the internet. There were so many unfamiliar names and places that were unknown to me. And I thought that I knew the Adirondacks! Silly me! It’s going to take some intense research to uncover something I hope to record correctly. I have always desired to hike into the Duck Hole and set foot upon its banks. Something about the name I guess. I found it on a map years ago but never made a connection. I do believe though that Rondeau may have lived in more then one cabin over the years. He’s worthy of a historical blog post as I retrace his footsteps and discover more about him. Who can say what else waits for me along those trails?

Steve had mentioned a plague on another part of Ampersand’s summit that we might find interesting. It refers to the Hermit Of Ampersand. The plaque is dedicated to a man named Walter Channing Rice who spent 8 years on Ampersand on fire watch duty. His story is very detailed I discovered in my internet research project. Check him out! His father had a bit of pioneering spirit when he brought the Rice family up into the Adirondacks. Walter was a remarkable individual! His sons erected the plaque on Ampersand in the 1930s. Walter must have been connected to the cabin ruins we found in some capacity. My research indicated that his living quarters were much closer to the summit. I am going to further research this story and revisit it.

Jen and I found the plaque where Steve had said it would be but found something else as well. Some concrete and cut off anchor bolts drilled into the summit near the plaque. We immediately guessed that they had once belonged to a fire tower. Research confirmed that the state of New York had erected a fire tower on the summit of Ampersand in 1920. It was functional for some fifty years until 1970. It was removed in July of 1977. The era of NYS fire towers and the individuals who occupied them were being fazed out as aircraft surveillance during the fire season became more economically viable. I find a sense of loss in that piece of history for some reason. I guess the answer is in the task itself. Individuals spent hours up in the towers scanning the far horizons for the smoke of forest fires. Those individuals must have been possessed of a certain mindset I feel. Hours and hours of silent vigil although they did get to chat with the many hikers drawn to the summits. I suppose the job had more merits then one might expect.Fire towers might be an interesting blog post. The count of promised stories now surpasses 10!

Jen and I reluctantly prepared to exit the summit eventually after spending some wonderful time there. We had put our layers back on even though it was so warm and sunny. A north born breeze was nipping at our now inactive bodies and we were at risk of getting chilled. We sat for a time below the upper summit and basked in the sun out of the breeze. I later regretted not putting sunscreen on my face! October sunburn! I had the sunscreen in my pack but never used it. Silly me! We enjoyed the 360 degree views of Ampersand as long as we could before starting our descent. We encountered quite a few groups of hikers on their way towards the summit. We would always say hello and I would take a quick glance at their gear. Most were well equipped so that was a positive! The descent offers a different set of scramble challenges and while it requires less exertion it still dictates caution. Foot placement is everything and I lost my balance in a forward slide once. My beaver sticks enabled me to stay upright and avoid a fall. We stopped often on the hike out and continued to take photos. We searched for small details and unique sunshine photos through the foliage. I was feeling strong and experiencing no pain. Jen and I talked about many different things but one thing in particular is noteworthy. We wanted to hike together more often. Bring family and friends along to share in the wonderful challenges. Build memories together and strengthen family bonds. To share a love of nature that unites people. I feel that to share in challenge builds trust and understanding. To share my words and love of nature is a summit of a far different lofty destination. As Jen and I stood on the summit of Ampersand I gazed at many familiar sights. My time in those places was solid in memories and in deed Comfortable and reassuring. But the blue,gray of far distant horizons and the unknown waiting there calls with silent beckoning. This story is far from over.

So that’s a short glimpse into Ampersand Mountain! A worthy destination of beautiful challenge. The day Jen and I shared now true MOONTABS! My third ascent of Ampersand and certainly not my last. As I closed this post out I realized that I hadn’t mentioned why each of my Ampersand summits has been uniquely different and meaningful. It’s a story worthy of yet another promised post. That post must wait for its time. I wanted this one dedicated to my adventure loving cousin Jennifer and her family. To recognize her unique journey that is connected to mine through family and more. It’s a new beginning with endless possibilities. That’s enough for today. The autumn sun is on the water just outside the Airstream. Time to run!✍️

Hill House Days

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Monday morning and the rain has returned again. It is that time of year when it often gets very damp here. Autumn is taking charge now. I heard some local geese here on the lake last night but they aren’t the ringtone ones that I mentioned yesterday. The local geese have become a nuisance here these days. As daylight arrives I hear distant gunfire as hunters cull them from the cornfields.One thing I forgot to mention yesterday was snow geese. They are the true geese of the north these days. Their late season migration is a different ringtone. Almost like an alarm going off. But the ringtones haven’t rang yet so the rest of yesterday’s story must wait for now.

Wish me luck this morning as we battle the technical issues experienced recently. Maybe I should have thrown the technology overboard in Quebec and never looked back!But then you would be missing out on the balloon release of adventure, life, and exploration. I don’t want that for us. I will be sending out a brief message this morning speaking of all those writing projects that never get read by anyone but me. I do read them to Zane sometimes. I read him something after dinner the other night here at Camp Edith. He listened quietly and then said that’s good Dad! Then my often quiet son who sometimes reminds of my own father said something profound. You write like Mark Twain Dad! Funny I thought since I never read much Mark Twain. I was inspired by authors Zane Grey,Jack London, and Louis L’Amour.That’s an interesting start to today’s story. Then there’s the whole Wally Byam quote that is so similar to my childhood statement to my father many years ago.It’s all just a coincidence right? Or is it something much bigger?

Enter Hill House. Purchased in early spring of 2015 after a search of several months for suitable properties in the area.Town living in Hammond for almost 3 years after the fire was fine. I won’t go into all of the details of that time. The post fire years were busy. But I didn’t know that I was racing towards a slippery intersection.The Hill House property would demand some serious capital investments as it turned out. We were already heavily invested into this property when we eventually paid to bring electricity to it. Quite the story there. We had lived off grid for well over a year while I was still working full time. Solar charging and batteries.Using the sun to supply our power was a great connection to nature. Great in the summer.Not so good in the fall and winter. The “Dark Ages” I called those months when we needed a generator to keep the batteries charged each day. It got rather old after awhile. The price the utility company was demanding to bring the power in was an insult of its own! I can’t tell you how evenings that I walked the road along the bony rock cut looking for a better solution. As things sometimes happen a plan began to show itself one night. I pushed my plan forward as fall threatened to become winter. I called in a few favors and got the project finished. My plan had cut $11k from utility cost. We went onto the grid soon after and life got easier. Where’s the next connection to nature here you might be asking?The connection is in my stubbornness to challenge it by placing us in this location in the first place.Einstein once said you never fail until you quit trying. Not sure if he ever mentioned how to handle those things that “try” our patience.

The off grid property that I named Hill House sat high above an upper section of Black Lake. The views were spectacular! Nature set me up the first time I stood in the great room with the realtor. The snow covered lake was stunning off in the distance! I could envision the sun rises and sunsets! This could be home I thought! It’s my kind of place! I could picture Zane running free and safe here with the dogs. I hated the main highway in Hammond. Deadly to pets and something I always felt was a potential hazard to our young son. So with a reckless burst of positive energy Hill House was purchased.Sure I needed to go to the circus and jump through some fiery financial hoops. But we don’t talk about money and politics here.

The property encompassed some 41 plus acres of rugged land. Beautiful forests, a small creek, and a series of valleys. It had a back access road too. 5 miles from Hammond where Zane went to school. Hill House was .9 miles in from the town plowed road.The private road leading to Hill House was full of curves and several inclines. But one hill in particular was bad news. An 8% grade according to a graph on my truck’s dashboard. Getting the connection to nature a little better now? Think about it for a minute.The dusty dirt road was bad enough during the spring,summer, and fall.But winter was a beast of burden that challenged me after work many times. By now you know me as a lover of high ground and rock. The Hill House property was all that and more. The property certainly answered some inner call and offered a unique living experience. It was maddening at times though in the winter when I had to park my two wheel drive company van at the end of the road and walk the .9 of a mile up to house after work. Sometimes I had to wade through snow before getting the tractor out to plow the road. The walk in actually relaxed me on nights when I didn’t need to plow. There were several small pullouts that I kept plowed out so sometimes I parked much closer to the house. But rarely made “the run” on the hill after one night of getting the van stuck. I was possessed by stubbornness that is difficult to explain. Can’t make the drive in tonight? Walk and enjoy the sunset. Besides exercise is good right? Maybe I thought I was some type of modern pioneer. There’s a connection to nature in that statement.

Ok getting the picture? A big beautiful house overlooking the lake. Privacy and safety. The farm property a mere 15 miles away. A big outside wood boiler that heated the house and the garage for practically nothing. 20 face cords of wood were usually enough. We brought most of it in from farm. There was an abundance of wood there. The forest of the hill house property had limited access due to its rugged layout of ravines so we didn’t cut much wood there. Stewardship is a good word for how I hoped to manage the woods there. There’s a place of peace in managing a forest with an attitude of stewardship.

Enter the event: 2017. Few connections to nature that summer.Two big construction projects to fill my days. One was a monster of deadline and schedule. The best part of the job was all the roof work! Out under the sky playing music with my coworkers.Dozens of energy recovery units that were part of the huge ground water heat extraction project known as phase 4. Nice connection to nature there as they removed almost all of their fossil fuel boilers.My personal life was falling apart but my professional one kept me focused. Things were about to get interesting as I staggered out of “Dark Ages” of a different sort. Cancer had taught me a good many things especially how to fight for my own life. At Hill House I new found new freedom and made big decisions. Zane and I got busy redecorating and setting up the huge painted blackboard where there was always something chalked in. Quotes, rhymes, lists, and funny little drawings. Zane and I tightened up together. We summited our second set of high peaks one weekend in October. Our count was now at four! Only 42 to go! A great rhyming story was written in the sketchy motel room before the hike even started early that morning. Great story there! Especially the part where I could barely climb stairs at work Monday morning!

I was going to retire in November. Things needed to change and I was ready to put things in the rear view mirror. The race intensified to complete my projects as full on heating season approved the NYS school deadline. My boss was not very happy with my decision to retire! I tried to explain my need to take care of my son. We reached a place of common ground eventually. I kept my promise and finished both of my projects. Exit full time work!

I was free! The first two weeks of retirement found me on fire and writing a lot. Some decent material followed I feel.A series of short stories that had been tumbling around for far too long. All hand written on Quill paper pads with a ball point pen. I I got my first IPhone with unlimited data. I played a lot of music and started a collection of custom crafted Pandora stations. I discovered my love of Indie rock with its haunting and soaring notes.Retirement fit me well. A new beginning and a period of new growth. The quiet sanctuary of Hill House was perfect for writing. I had a desk facing the window wall of the lake. I was ok with being alone most of the time. But I missed Zane especially at bedtime. We found a new way forward though and life was good. I was empowered and bending to those proverbial winds of change. The same old me was growing into someone new. Outside on Hill House’s outdoor deck I captured many beautiful sunrises that I had missed while working. I counted my many small blessings in those moments. Zane was my one big blessing! Growing himself.

2018 was a year of intense recreation and continued education in a new direction. Enter the land trusts and conservation volunteer work. Fun and we met a lot of great people. I became involved with SLELO Prism.They are the people who battle and track invasive species across New York State in five different regions. I began to attend all different types of seminars and presentations. Zane came to some of them. It was fun and educational!Worthy of a story and definitely a connection to nature. We moved into Camp Edith in late June. I adopted a rather tough conditioning workout into my weekly routine. Weights and a 40 pound field survival backpack. Evenings would find me kayaking on the lake to further condition my body. The conditioning paid off with huge dividends. We pounded the trails leading to the high peaks of the Adirondacks. Several great rhyming stories were scribbled hastily in the firelight while Zane and I recounted the day’s events. We laughed and laughed as I wrote them!Life was good! I even managed to work a little! We left Camp Edith in late August and returned to the comforts of Hill House. We regrouped for the next adventures. This brief foray into that year doesn’t even come close to covering all the details. But you don’t want to hear about everything. At Hill House we discovered that we weren’t alone! We had uninvited guests! Mice!

Fast forward to 2019 when I first decided to sell Hill House and listed it with an agent. Retirement was great and I was working part time for my former employer. There were more periods of creativity and writing projects. But Hill House had started to feel like an anchor. My connection to nature and Hill House was beginning to break.We loved many things about it but it was becoming something else for me. A symbol of “The Old Life” as I began to think of it that way. The house didn’t sell and we preparing for another winter as the seasons changed. Life was good. Good health and good fortune. Many happy adventures as Zane and I pounded down our ADK 46 high peaks challenge. I was trying to figure out a plan for my writing but I wasn’t pushing towards publishing. I blamed making myself too busy for my hesitation to advance. Work, adventures, and all the other small details that filled my days. It is of little consequence now as those days are the proverbial water under the bridge. We were needing a new direction.

Fast forward to 2020 and another real estate agent. Once again the contract ran out despite her hard work. People would come look at the property but always step away. The remote location we loved so much was the problem. The road and the whole winter situation was too much for most people. We were searching for that one special buyer. Little did we know they were searching too! We just hadn’t found each other yet.Things were good for us though. I counted our small blessings. I took a job in Beaver, Pennsylvania to raise extra funds for future writing plans. The setting kept my words subdued but I did write the funny rhyming story “Beaver Cracker Head”while I was down there. Zane and I finished our final Adirondack high peak in September while I was home from Beaver on a week long break. The real estate contract expired and I tried a different approach. Zillow. But it just sat there as we prepared for another winter. I ditched Beaver in October and took a short call job at Whiteface Mountain near Lake Placid. Things were entering my circle that would ultimately change many things for me. Back home to Hill House by early November I enjoyed freedom once again. I threw myself into firewood and farm details. Sugar wood and getting hay put away. But new energy was about to enter the equation as autumn sped past.

Enter a new character. It was Xmas eve when I got a message inquiring about the property. I didn’t take it seriously at first but a fellow named Scott kept messaging me and asking questions about the property.He eventually wanted to talk on the phone and we exchanged some background information. He told me quite a lot about himself and I liked chatting with him. He expressed interest in looking at the property sometime that winter.It was now 2021.Someone from Pennsylvania had also inquired about it too through a realtor. The realtor and I would enter into a partnership to attempt to get it sold. The Pennsylvania people toured the property but didn’t make an offer. Scott came up one winter day and we became introduced. I gave him a guided tour of the house.We ate lunch together inside hill house before heading over back to tour the remainder of the property. It was a fun day and we had some great conversations. Scott knew about the Pennsylvania people because I had mentioned them to him.He asked for a private moment to call his wife then came in and said that they wanted the property contingent on his family’s approval. We closed the deal and shook on it. Very old school and I liked his honest demeanor. He asked if I would hold the property until he could bring his family up to check it out. We agreed on a timeline and that was that! We had found our people and they had found us! Things followed quickly after that and we left Hill House in late March after the closing.

Scott and I became friends although we never saw each other that much. We stayed in touch with texts and the occasional phone call. He had questions about the house and I would help him navigate his way forward with the new property. He and his family loved the property! They renamed the house and began making it their own. I got to see it on occasion as they repainted walls and got the place furnished. Everyone got what they wanted in the end and I figured that was some positive energy in motion. I can’t think of anyone else that I would have wanted to turn the property over too!2021 was filled with adventure, work, and so more. Those days keep showing up in these posts from time to time.

2022. A year of change again as new intersections were reached. Lots of time to tell that story once I reflect on it further. Autumn has arrived now. The perfect time to find reflections in the waters of northern New York.This past week I got a text from Scott that he was going to be staying up at the property for over a week. We made plans to meet up at his place where we got a chance to meet his friend Mike briefly. I returned to see Scott and Mike late Sunday. We got into some heavy conversations! Turns out that Mike had gone to college and become a writer years ago! All this before he joined the military and later entered his present career.Mike’s Dad had also been a writer! Imagine how those conversations went!We talked a long time while Scott finished up some last minute house details. At one point in our conversation Mike started calling me a story teller. He said my writing reminded him of Mark Twain! The same thing Zane had mentioned to me! That’s very flattering! There were lots of things to learn about Mike! His personal journey story inspired me as did his Dad’s story. We plan to keep in touch and I asked if he still wrote. No he said but I am thinking about starting up again.You should Mike! I told him.Let’s push each other to get busy with our projects!

You could say that all this is nothing more then a series of unique circumstances. Sure I paddle my canoe of life in a certain direction. But not always. People continue to enter my story with an energy and unpredictability that can’t be simple coincidence. One in particular.Impressions. The magic of the first and of the lasting.Mark Twain and Wally Byam entered the journey despite being long gone but are now destined to leave a lasting impression. What connects us and brings us together? The living and the dead. It’s been said that energy is neither created or destroyed. What brings us all together? Nature in it’s most elemental form. We all need this tiny planet to survive. The questions are many and keep coming.Where’s all this lead and what will happen from all these chance meetings? New friends and new stimulating conversations. New directions and new beginnings. New places and endless possibilities.

I hope you enjoyed this very personal and continued introduction to my journey. Why do I tell you so much? That’s an easy one! Can you find yourself anywhere in my lines?Ponder this one: growth. Let’s make a date! Let’s come back to this day a year from now and see where we are in the ever changing now. Will there be growth? I can’t promise you anything. Just an honest story about life and my personal journey.As I so often say: It’s enough! And when it isn’t? Make it become enough! I think Mr. Jangles said it best: And you thought being me was simple! Silly you!

The writing projects that no one gets to read will be published eventually. It’s going to take me some serious focus to get to that next level.The problem is me always hard charging the future. I hate to sit for too long. I will be taking to the road on Sunday with the Airstream for my next set of adventures and life on the beloved Adirondack clock. It’s where the rubber meets the road as they say.Autumn in the Adirondacks. Nothing heavy there. I will be covering old ground and searching for new. There’s always something to discover that will charge my spirit batteries. The “A” in MOONTABS this time? Adventure!✍️

The Special Day

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4AM. I woke suddenly while having the most bizarre of dreams. In the dream I was standing on a pile of logging slash next to a house trying to figure how how to get down. The pile was huge and was made up of entire trees,evergreen limbs, and brush. The bark hung from the fallen trunks in shreds as a result of being dragged and knocked about. There was no order in the manner the pile had been arranged.It was if it had just been pushed in place by a huge machine that was no where around. There was a house beside the pile and I was thinking about how strange it all was getting. I started getting anxious because I couldn’t see a safe way down from the pile.Each direction looked the same. Dangerous. Weird as I have no fear of heights. I loved to climb trees on the farm as a boy. In the dream I turned in a slow motion circle. The devastation around the pile was disturbing. A huge clear cut of stumps and torn earth. A road of devastation had been carved out of a landscape that definitely wasn’t upstate New York. It resembled the Canadian bush to a degree but seemed different. The road was leading to a lake that was just beyond an untouched section of forest. The machine of destruction was out of sight but I knew where it was headed. I was afraid suddenly. I needed to get off the pile and run to the safety of the forest. And I knew what I needed to do. The fear left me and I got ready to jump off….Ok! Alrighty then! Wow! Dreams are strange! I wonder what Freud would find in that one!

I got up shortly after and reassured myself that all was well in Camp Edith. Gracie was lying next to the wood stove near the door to Zane’s room. All was well! I checked the fire and the large pieces of firewood that I had loaded in before bed last night had been reduced to glowing coals. One small piece of unburned wood sent out a wisp of smoke that assaulted my nose. I refueled the wood stove and headed for the Keurig.Destination numero uno! Ok it’s showtime! Busy day ahead! Lots to do today and there would be no time for writing. Too bad I thought because my creative hangover had been replaced by a familiar feeling. I was suddenly overcome with warmth! It had been a wonderful evening. A meal with Zane, small research projects, and conversations. A phone call.The Keurig finished brewing with its squishing sound that pushed out the final drops of morning rocket fuel. I dumped in an random shot of maple syrup. Followed by a healthy shot of half and half. Talk about a constant! My first fix of the day to satisfy an addiction of over thirty years. Just how did I get addicted in the first place? A different sort of story with a different connection to nature. Natural selection they call it.Not sharing that story today.

I headed back here to my cluttered bedroom to prop myself up against the headboard and started gulping my sweet brew. I really need to do something about this room I thought to myself. But how about a little music first? I knew what would set the mood. Andrew Belle. His music can bring me to tears! Yes tears! I once read that tears aren’t the measure of a man. I once mentioned that to Zane. I often dose a writing post with the phrase blood,sweat, and tears. It was like that on the farm. We had lots of livestock. Cows,horses,pigs,and chickens in a rotating cycle of farm life in harmony with season. There was the magic of birth. The time in between. Then the tough one.Death. These animals weren’t all pets. I learned things fast in those years although I never recognized it until years later. But that is the magic of discovery! Discovery doesn’t always wait out there beyond that next hill. It’s already there sometimes. Already inside us.Under our feet and already there in places of our heart rarely visited. Buried in our memories. Sometimes buried on purpose.A different story for a different day.

I learned the true kindness taking care of the livestock. They depended on us. Their needs came ahead of ours quite often on the farm where I had learned to climb trees with no fear and little regard for the danger of a fall. I guess I trusted my own hands and my balance. I am almost ready to jump back into the next chapter of my rural heritage series. I am waiting for something though. The day of autumn that stirs up certain memories and a special feeling.I can’t stage it or mark it on my calendar like some random event.It is a revolving event though that is tied into nature and always a new discovery in itself. Enter the familiar phrase: if only I could bottle that feeling and share it.Why do I write like I am creating a screenplay? Because all the world’s a stage they say. Not going there this morning!

I can safely say that my “special” day will fall sometime between mid October and late November. I will get a inner spirit call coming in from somewhere from an unknown number and I won’t let it go to voicemail. I will drop everything to answer it. I never know the time or exactly when my custom ringtone will chime. Many times the call comes as the sun is setting and a busy day of firewood cutting on the farm property ends. Tired and dirty as we put the tools away. The custom ringtone that is now set inside me originally came from miles above me. In the sound of distant goose cries as they begin their migration south.It is a sound that can span decades in the fraction of a second. Backtrack to a small younger me playing in the backyard with my sister at the first home I ever remember. I don’t remember every single detail but what I do remember is the feeling of excitement I got that long ago day when I spotted the first flock of the season. I can picture myself pointing to the sky and yelling to my sister! Geese! This was the 1960’s and geese didn’t frequent our section of the St. Lawrence valley all that much. They came from much further north stopping occasionally to rest and feed in the post harvest corn fields.A lover of the higher places at a young age although I didn’t know where that would eventually lead.I was being a kid and the forests of Tasmania were mere seedlings far in the future. I envied the geese their lofty status and wondered why they honked as they flew. Enter the Canadian goose and the stage was set for a grand performance.(to be continued)

Oh btw! It’s a special day indeed! Ironic given the title I chose!You are not going to believe what just happened!

I lost most of today’s post somehow! I had started it yesterday actually as a draft. I thought that I had it edited and published correctly. I went back several hours later to review my own work and was shocked to see what had actually uploaded. A total piece of something that had no rhythm nor reason. It dropped off in the middle of a sentence practically. What a disaster! So much of the once longer post is lost now! There’s some question as to what happened and why. The post was as heavy as a lead balloon but I was determined to try and fly it anyway due the amount of time I had spent on it! There must be a ghost in the machine! There’s only one possibility! A small mouse named Mr. Jangles! I know! I know it sounds crazy! You still are a little skeptical about Mr. Jangles and that whole story! Believe what you want! Ask Zane. He was there. After the post crashed I realized something. Mr. Jangles still wants to play! I don’t how he got the ghost virus into my tablet but it’s raising hell with everything! I know it’s him because of the photos and videos he hacked into my gallery. That one of me snoring? Horrible!So embarrassing and I am worried it may go viral!There’s also a cartoon version of himself that shows up like a screen saver and loops continually. His mouse laugh is creepy. He must have access to some sort of forest command post with satellite Wi-Fi and a backup generator. He’s pretty resourceful and I respect that about him! He hasn’t done anything serious yet I suppose. Unless you think destroying hours of my work is serious. And that notice from my bank that someone got in and tapped my checking account for a few hundred Canadian! I guess he’s just playing or he would have taken a lot more!I was mad at first and ready to go back up there tomorrow. But I don’t have time for that right now. I need to figure out a way to reverse hack him but he’s using someone else’s equipment somehow. I can picture him sitting hovered over someone’s laptop keypad.Hey it’s only a game right? I you know you get bored Mr. Jangles but how about a tv series or something. I can recommend one. I thought we were friends and I didn’t throw a fit over that last practical message joke of yours.

So here we are and I never got to finish my post. That’s ok as there’s always tomorrow!Just remember about the special day and the custom ringtone. Remember the farm property. Remember my promise to tell the stories of rural heritage. I keep my promises and tell the truth. Sure I have a big imagination. I told lots of true facts here. There is a mouse in Western Quebec. A cabin too and an actual Lake Dumoine.There was a big piece of blog post lost today. Can a mouse work a keyboard and understand passwords?Hack into someone’s system? Come to think of it I was missing some cash when I got back home last August. Maybe Mr. Jangles has a helper he pays. He can read as we already know. It’s difficult to say really.. ✍️

3 AM: Introductions To The Ever Changing Me

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The wind woke me up early this morning and I got up to check the wood stove here at Camp Edith. Aka Camp Chaos when I come in off the road and unload the car. It seems strange to think that I even needed to have the wood stove lit but yesterday afternoon a strong north born wind turned the surface of the lake upside down. The temperatures began to drop and a quick look at the weather on my phone told me what my body already knew. Good thing that I keep an adequate supply of dry wood on hand. The days of living here are winding down now and I will soon be winterizing it once again.

I have considered turning Camp Edith into a full time residence but something always holds me back. There’s a certain charm to its rustic rafters. Darkened by years of exposure they are a constant of seasonal cottage living. It’s similar to the feeling I got years ago when I briefly considered retiring the old sugar house at the farm and building a new one. How awesome I had thought! All new and fresh. Straightly framed with electricity and running water. But the old sugar house has a certain dignity in its sagging presence. And what of the history and the memories that fill the air with invisible energy within its tired walls? The cracked concrete soaked by blood, sweat, and tears. It’s the same here in the cottage. The inner voice speaks wisely many times. Change can wait with certain things. There is no hurry or least there shouldn’t be sometimes. “Nature does not hurry, but all is accomplished.” Lao Tzu

Quotes are a productive medium of creativity for me. I look for them constantly and even have a few of my own. So it should come as no surprise that I love this one! “3 AM is the hour of writers, painters,poets,musicians,silent seekers,over thinkers,and creative people.” Do you recognize anyone in that group that you know? This week has been a very productive one for writing! I came in off the road late last Thursday night a little burned out and very tired. After a bit of work on the side project over the weekend I was shot. But nature saved the day! The days of rain that began Sunday kept me inside and the words found me in the early hours Monday. By late yesterday I had finished the first series of bush living stories. As I relived the days we spent there I entered a special place. The “well” Zone. My photos and simple cabin journal pulled it all together. But there were other forces responsible and they launched me past all that had previously been holding me under. The daily Abraham-Hicks inspirational quotes that chime onto my email each day had been trying to tell me something.The term is manifestation and with it I followed the energy trail of bread crumbs to a place of many words.Some things happen for a reason. Enter the surge and the geyser.The well wasn’t dry.It was just plugged. The last few days drained the well and I am experiencing a creative hangover. It’s been quite the journey these past nine days. Living on the ADK clock. Leaving the ADK clock behind for a moment. And then experiencing the surge. Things are ramping up and I find myself adding lines to the story Escape Velocity as a side project.

It’s amazing how long it takes me to write a few simple lines into that I feel is good! I invest a considerable amount of time poking around in the digital dictionary and searching for descriptive words. There are over 170,000 words in the Oxford English dictionary. Impressive and it offers a unique challenge. The word MOONTABS will never enter those hallowed pages but it means something that can’t be described by a simple sentence in a dictionary. It confuses people sometimes actually. People ask what does the “A” represent? One answer I give is that it created a flowing word that is easy to say in English. Call the “A” a silent bridge that crosses a deep chasm. In the process of creating a private domain it nice to discover that word wasn’t used or even existed. At the time the word was born I was drawing heavily on memories that I was expressing in my written work. I was trying to humbly acknowledge the importance of recognizing my genuine journey and story. Capitalizing on memories it was a short stretch of imagination to create the remaining letters. I was going through a period of reinventing myself after the events of 2017. I realized certain things could be lost or taken without warning but never our memories. Our personal memories are ours alone. The good,bad,and the ugly. (Good movie!) I found something profound in that realization. There something more though that dealt with a deeper place of realization. How does one blend painful memories with good ones? The name doesn’t imply only good memories. So what about those painful memories? I remembered something nature had taught me. Storms were always battering the trees sometimes knocking them down but they had evolved to bend. There’s a place of strength and resilience there.So too with memories. We must learn to bend in our acceptance I feel.That’s a powerful place of mental focus. Not all the branches survive that’s for sure. When I get the short story “The Trees And Us” published we can walk that littered path together. Yes I know! The promised book. Did you forget the Lao Tzu quote already?

There are deeper meanings in the word MOONTABS. I couldn’t make it too simple or it wouldn’t best represent the vision I had for it. The moon represented something significant to me. The moon undergoes a monthly transformation. It radiates an energy that is mysterious even if science offers all the answers as they claim. It’s that energy thing again. That place I always return to wander and search for answers. A full moon lights the way for unique adventures and much more. It is a destination for passion and romantic muses.Not everyone sees the same thing in the moonlight. That’s what makes us individuals with our own personalities. So moon was perfect. Here we are four years later and I never explained my own word properly. It wasn’t the time for things to manifest themselves I guess.So during this busy writing week the question of the “A” came at me from a new direction. I began to dissect the word into pieces and discovered something amazing! Something that was unexpected and priceless! Tabs. Usually associated with technology these days or music right? But a deeper dictionary dig reveals a less used meaning! Tabs can also mean close surveillance. To watch. To single out or designate. I was blown away! All this time it had escaped me. I am going to head out into the wilds of Tasmania and sit quietly while I contemplate that one. MOONTABS is about connections to nature and looking for them. Watch, single out, and surveillance. It’s there in my own word. Oh by the way! It’s your word too! I mentioned that a long time ago.

I am headed to the farm property today to ditch my creative hangover with some fresh air. I hope to realign my spirit energy and do some inner battery charging. Autumn 2022 is here and I wish to capture some the transition on the farm before I head back to the Adks. A thought came to me this week. A plausible explanation of something else. If the “A” is not meant to have one descriptive word associated with it or one meaning then there was a reason why that happened. Just as there are many unexplained reasons why any multitude of things happen. Coincidence, circumstance, or something beyond our understanding of the now. So the “A” can be whatever you want it to be. It’s your personal invitation to hide your secret and special word into my journey. Our journey as it is truly not mine alone. The fun times and stories that make up the MOONTABS are diverse at times. As am I. Continued introductions are how I seek to emphasize my personal growth or lack there of when I stall out. Either way it’s meant to keep me real to my readers. It’s a place of elemental honesty. Failure is as noteworthy as success and should never be kept out of journey if the portrait is to be genuine.

BTW! Mr. Jangles left me a note in my luggage! Tiny droppings.A gift that traveled 400 miles and crossed the border. I guess he didn’t know how to write me a note any other way. Goodbyes are hard for him apparently. There’s a lot buried in those tiny, nasty droppings. Mr. Jangles is a heavy over thinker it appears. In every gross dropping was a message to me! They read like this as I fished them out of my duffle bag: #1 Hey buddy do you miss me? #2 Are you coming back? #3 No hard feelings trying to kill me. I forgive you!#4 You can’t beat me anyway you know! Give it up pal! #5 If you do come back please bring more of those delicious peanut butter cookies! Yum! #6 Yes I will be careful! Thx for caring!God I hate owls!Hooting all night when I am trying to sleep. #7 Those other mice weren’t my family. Quite the story there. Sometimes I have been lost in this world with just my quick wits, passion for life, and my love of fun adventure to keep me moving forward. That’s ok because getting lost leads me to new places. And new and exciting possibilities.I always count the many blessings bestowed on me.I believe in the future. And that belief will always drive me to live my best life.And you thought being me was simple. Silly you!.#8 Just wanted you know how fun it all was! Most campers are boring so I ignore them.#9 Oh by way that fleece hoodie of yours that I chewed up made a super bed! Sorry about! I have teeth that keep growing just so you know! #10 Do you realize how long it took me to chew through that bathroom floor? BTW! I didn’t chew through that hot water line! It was those other ones!#11 I know you are wondering. How did I know that the cookies were peanut butter? Winter is a drag so I taught myself how to read from some old magazines before I chewed them up. National Geographic was my favorite! Especially the pictures.Sure would love to spend the winter in Florida! It’s cold here! #12 I don’t want hurt your feelings but this MOONTABS thing you guys were talking about. I don’t get it. Oh you better check that MOONTABS shirt! I really needed to pee! Sorry!#13 Best wishes my friend! I hope you find what you keep searching for! Enjoy the Great Wander and chasing the buzz! Be it on rock, water, or sky. I will send positive energy across the miles! We made a connection! One more thing! I am not old so don’t call me that! Premature gray runs in my family. I’m more Mus than Muridae so please correct that!Our story isn’t finished. Peace out! Mr. Jangles

Can you even imagine? 13 droppings in my duffle bag! The nerve of that rodent! Yes you deserve that Mr. Jangles! That was my favorite hoodie and a Northface at that! 😡 This is a true story folks! Mr. Jangles is very real! These things really happened! I intend to visit him next August.You can’t make this stuff up! Out on the big lake known as Dumoine life continues without us and things continue to add up as they seem to do there. Mr. Jangles lives out his simple life and continues to fight for survival. I suppose we all do in some capacity. Until then I better check my belongings over because there may be more messages left there!It seems like forever until we return but time moves quickly these days. How how will I fill my days and nights until that fateful August week arrives? Outside and seeking new adventures. Exploring beyond that distant horizon.Inside researching and fact checking.Looking for the paths less traveled. Tapping the keys and tapping into my mind. Many stories remain to be told.The question of the next adventure is never if but when. I pray for strength and good health to bring me there and back. I leave you with portions of a Wally Byam quote that truly says it all. I find myself between its lines and it empowers me to live as never before. I mentioned it in another post and I have a personal connection to it. “Don’t stop.Keep right on going…go someplace you’ve heard about…Find out what’s at the end of some country road. Go see what’s over the next hill,and the one after that,and the one after that.” I’ll let you know when I hear from Mr. Jangles. Maybe I can take him to Florida next year.🤔✍️