The Mystery Is Solved

It’s January 2023 and the weather remains unseasonably warm for this time of winter despite the major storm just before Xmas that hit upstate New York. It left us digging out for several days and reeked havoc out on the highways. The loss of life was surprisingly high despite the fact we live in a modern world of technology and comfort. People took unrealistic chances and were not prepared for nature’s fury. It’s a sad and deadly reminder that nature very much controls more then many care to acknowledge. We hunkered down with a generator on standby and well stocked cupboards. We were fortunate to never lose power here. The outcome could have been very different with an extended outage given the temperatures. It was a time to count small blessings and enjoy our good fortune.

Buried by the plows.

It wasn’t too many days after the storm that the weather turned warm with highs reaching 50 plus degrees. The snow disappeared quickly and the ridge tops began to bare up again. The warm spell has continued and heavy rains have reduced the snow pack even further. I took advantage of the situation and got back on the log landing working on a firewood order. We got out for a snowboarding day at Mt. Pisgah in Saranac Lake as well while Zane was on Xmas break. My performance was less then perfect on the rough and poorly groomed slope. We had a lot of fun regardless!We never sit idle for long and were happy to get outside as much as possible.

Zane shows off on the final run of the day.

Last Monday I had gotten some farm work caught up so I decided to take a long trek down the state land across Beaver Creek near the farm. I left my car in the farm property driveway and walked the road over to the spot where I would start my trek. I was shocked at the bags of garbage I found near the edge of the waterfall that empties into the gorge from the unnamed upper creek. Deer bones from several deer, cardboard, tires, and all types of other crap. I even found a discarded jet ski! It’s unreal the blatant disregard people have when they litter and toss stuff into this waterway! ( I contacted the DEC and they are going to make an attempt to stop the littering in this location.) What truly bothered me was the head,skin, and remains of a doe floating in the pool at the base of the waterfall. Flushed down the falls by unscrupulous individuals and left to tarnish a beautiful location with black plastic bags that will remain for years.

The flushing falls of the ignorant and uncaring.

I enjoyed the remainder of my trek and will mention it in a later post. It’s noteworthy to say that after I left the highway and ventured further into the forest I encountered no other garbage or human activity of any kind. Why do I mention the garbage and dump the story here on my page? There’s a connection here that will tie everything together shortly. It’s got to do with human activity and human impact on the lands that surround the farm property. A story within a story where questions were recently answered.

Looking across the gorge at our farm property.

If you read the story about the QR scan codes then you already know that all my research as to their origins was purely speculative. We believed that they had been placed by an orienteering group. Further research had brought me no closer to solving the “case” and things were seriously stalled out with few leads in sight. My DEC contact had put out a few inquiries but had also come up short in his investigation. The answer to the mystery remained unsolved and in hindsight it’s painfully obvious now that it’s been solved. But the location of so many of the QR scan code tags on state land property had thrown me off the scent so to speak. The clues came pouring in just two days ago and I solved the mystery quickly after that within a matter of hours. The big break came because of the discarded deer bones. Funny how the thread unraveled!

These started my investigation.

I was splitting wood at the warehouse landing when I noticed my dog Gracie had wandered off. Great! I thought. She’s gone down after that scummy garbage and deer carcasses. She had spotted them on Monday during our walk. A short time later I had a visitor at the landing. An acquaintance of mine who lives nearby stopped to tell me that Gracie was in fact across the swamp digging through the debris. We got to chatting about all the garbage along the road. I mentioned the QR code tags everywhere and he said he knew something about who had put them there. “There was a crew of 5 guys parked along the road and headed into the state land awhile back”. “They are working for the mining company”. I knew that the mining company had been doing test drilling all over Macomb in the past few months. It’s important to note that many people don’t own their mineral rights. As land owners we have “surface rights”. Many land owners in the past sold the mineral rights and conveyed them to new owners. I don’t know about ours but I would require proof of conveyance before allowing individuals to enter my property.It was common knowledge where they were drilling core samples in different locations around the small town of Macomb. Also in the area known as North Gouverneur. Gossip travels fast here. As do rumors. In fact the mining company had been drilling along side Lead Mine Road just up the road from our farm.But QR tags on the state land? Why would they be there? But this was the first solid clue since the investigation had started. I decided to contact my sister as I knew she had received a letter from the mining company in October but I hadn’t heard anything else about it since. She sent me a copy of her letter and another clue entered the equation. Surface sampling was the term used in the letter for mineral exploration that was being used on select properties. This was getting interesting!

Surface sampling is briefly described in the photo below.

There was a phone number on the copy of my sister’s letter with a contact name for any questions regarding the activities on the targeted properties. I called the number and spent close to an hour having a productive conversation with a company representative. He was very upfront and informative. He answered all my questions and we shared a lot of information in a short period of time. The mystery was solved when I asked about the QR code tags. It seems that they were placed by a consultant who was hired to take surface samples from various places in the area. The workers of the consulting firm were supposed to have removed the tags when the project was completed but hadn’t otherwise I would never have spotted them. I told the representative that I wasn’t too concerned about the tags as garbage in the forest. One drive down our road would produce more garbage then all the tags put together. Sad but true. I offered to remove them. The answers to different things that had been happening around the farm now made sense. Take for example the vehicle that someone had spotted in my farm property driveway that I knew nothing about as I was in the Adirondacks at the time. The tags on my sister’s property were there legitimately placed assuming the mining company owned her mineral rights. But the state land tags? Apparently the mining company may hold the lease to the mineral rights there. Strange as that may sound. There’s plenty of research left to complete on this investigation but we have answered the initial questions.

So where is all this headed? The mining company seeks to continue present and future operations here in the north country. Someday they will no doubt seek fresh reserves of minerals. Their current extraction of zinc is thousands of feet below the surface and may someday prove economically unviable. Will they seek to extract zinc or other minerals from leased property in Macomb? They are currently continuing an exploration project that was initiated by a former owner of the mines in 2005.The locals all remember the helicopters flying over with a gadget cabled underneath mapping potential mineral sources using a magnetic based technology. This data is still useful after over 17 years and is being utilized as part of the exploration process. My story is not to condone or condemn mining activities in our area. My story merely showcases a time in history where a unique moment in time intersects my personal journey. One that may impact my future and the future of my son here in the township of Macomb. Mining has a long and productive place in our local history. Our father actually worked in the mines for a time many years ago before decided he didn’t care for it. The past and the future may intersect once again in the rocky hills of Macomb if mining resumes here.It’s hard to say right now.

I believe this may have been part of the Brown Mines that occupied my uncles property.

I will close my post with the following statements to clarify my personal opinions. I have made every attempt to write honestly and factually. I chose not to name the mining corp. or target individuals. Mining has and continues to be private sector industry in this often economically depressed region. It brings jobs and tax revenue to our county coffers. I gathered a few zinc statistics to showcase after the post as screenshots from the internet. No clue as to their factual accuracy. My opinion is mostly neutral and non biased I feel. As a consumer of material goods in this modern society I acknowledge that the very goods I consume originated from some source somewhere on this earth. An earth with dwindling resources and ever growing population. I feel that we as consumers should not embrace a “not in my backyard mentality”. Do I want the lands of Macomb altered and changed forever? No. But as a consumer of things I that I will continue to buy they must come from somewhere. It’s a heavy place to dwell for long this study of our use of resources and our desire to protect our properties of rural heritage. The mining operations from 100 years ago here in Macomb have been healed by nature to a greater degree. Perhaps the mining operations of the future may leave an even lesser impact. I will continue to follow this story and hope to bring additional historical facts to this page.Do your homework on the importance of zinc in our daily lives. We can’t stop mining it unless we change our very existence.We walk a slippery slope upon the face of our fragile planet. It’s going to take wise choices to not repeat the mistakes of the past. We are all in this together. ✍️

The QR Code Mystery

December is moving right along and I was lucky enough to get out for my first ice walk last week down on Beaver Creek. It’s not fully frozen however and called for some finicky maneuvers. I picked my way close to shore for a time but eventually ventured out onto a section of the main channel for some photo opportunities. There was a little bit of snow on top of the thin ice in the shallower areas but the main channel had a thicker and slightly safer layer of “snow ice”. Not the nice clear ice of hard freezing nights before a snowfall but the aftermath of snow that froze as it covered the water’s surface. Always tricky! But the savvy Icewalker knows the benefits of speedy traveling on bare ice rather then struggling through the rugged woods on shore. Dry feet aren’t the constant companion of an Icewalker. Neither is a dry body for that matter. The trick is staying on top! As always the Icewalker’s motto must be remembered: “The distance in must be traveled out.” Its much more pleasant to travel out dry!

The snow ice of the main channel.

I assessed the wetland system via my sister’s property just down over the hill from our main farm buildings. The ridges along both sides of the wetland are rather steep and difficult hiking. Rocks and fallen trees make for slow going. Thus the allure of the ice. I hadn’t quite reached the ice when I spotted a pink ribbon tied to a tree. Strange given this is private property. A closer look revealed that there was a tag attached to the small tree. It had a scan code and seven numbers on it. I used my IPhone to attempt to “ open” the code but nothing worked. I considered taking the tag with me but decided I shouldn’t without consulting with my sister first. I continued to hike on.

Tag one.

There’s always something to see when hiking the Beaver Creek gorge I’ve learned over the years. The beaver continually alter the wetlands by building dams along its course. Given the width of the wetland it’s a major engineering endeavor for the beaver to accomplish. But they’ve been at it for years and grassy foundations of former dam activity have made an almost solid foundation in one spot. There’s a choke point where the channel narrows through a shallow section of the swamp. A small dam here floods a large area and doesn’t challenge the beaver all that much. There’s usually beaver activity here but this year they had raised the dam some and subsequently there was a lot more wetland covered with deeper water.The muskrats had build numerous houses in this larger section. The most I had seen in years. Once I reached the dam I was in a bit of a situation! The ice below it was brittle and caving in. “Shell ice” we call it. The result of water depth dropping with no time for adequate freezing. It’s the Icewalker’s nemesis!

Beaver business at the “Deep Hole”.

I bog hopped my way towards the distant shore from my location in the center of the swamp. It was a challenging series of carefully executed moves. Perhaps like a soldier picking his way through a minefield in a movie. I was losing my nerve by the minute and regretted my decision of early ice walking.It was beautiful in the soft maple forest that survives there though. In the midst of trees and small clumps of tag alders I was saved from the wind. The sun was shining down on me as I slowly crept closer to the solid land that was tantalizingly close. It was a cold afternoon and I really wanted to stay dry! I reached the narrow channel and edged out onto the thin ice. Gracie the dog was close behind and seemed a little nervous herself! Suddenly a series of cracks appeared under my feet. I froze and several more shot out in different directions. It once again reminded me of a movie scene! But in the movies the hero never falls through! There was no time to waste so I ambled forward in a sliding shuffle that covered the distance quickly. I reached the shore soon after and celebrated my good fortune! I was off the ice and had no interest in going back out after that. I decided to head for the high ground.

The sketchy section below the dam.

I began to ascend the steep ridge that reaches all the way down to the shoreline. I got on a deer trail that crosses the slope of the ridge in the easiest path. Trust the animals to find the best way upward. I hadn’t gone far when I spotted another one of the pink ribbon/scan code tag combinations. It was identical to the first one and covered with muddy fingerprints despite being exposed to the elements. Had someone dug in the dirt before handling it? I once again trying scanning the card to no avail. I pressed on towards the high ground.

I was headed to a large rock bluff that we named the “Mid Point” when we were teenagers. It sits between two other rocky bluffs called the “Low Point” and the “ High Point”. I suppose we could have been more imaginative but it’s a rather accurate description overall. The LP and the MP are somewhat close together while the HP stands higher about one half mile away to the East. The views are spectacular in a 360 degree panoramic fashion. They are some of the highest places around in the area. A favorite boyhood haunt of mine. We camped years ago on all of them at one point or another. There’s a reason why the rock is bare upon them and the evidence still remains many years later. A forest fire destroyed the white pine groves that once occupied them during a dry spell. Deliberately set I was told although I have no factual proof to confirm this. The fire was so hot it literally burned the topsoil right down to the bare rock in the higher sections. Even to this day you can find the charred pitchy root balls and stumps that are super rot resistant in their rocky perches. We discovered as teenagers they made excellent firewood and burned with a brightly lit fragrance.No need for artificial light when one was used and the wood burned for a long time. Just when the fire occurred is an unknown to me.Over a hundred years I suspect given my age. I hope to research that sometime if archives exist.

Charred stump remains.

I found a place to sit on the Mid Point and snapped a few photos. It was a bit chilly with a North born breeze hitting me but I was warmly dressed for a December day. I kindled a small fire to keep the chill at bay and sat for a long time. It was a place very familiar to me and one that I try to reach every December before Xmas. It is my place for silent reflection and I always have it to myself. Gracie plopped down next to my legs and she made an excellent windbreak! Off in the distance my silence was interrupted at times by three pairs of jets doing some type of military exercises. Most of the time they were silent leaving streaming contrails like writing in the sky. They left eventually and the sky was silent until a flock of snow geese passed overhead.

Snow geese

I added wood to the fire several times. I burned a small piece of pine stump and was rewarded with the familiar scent of pine resin. ( pitch trapped in the roots). I noticed another pink ribbon down in the woods below but didn’t bother to check it out. I assumed it was the same as the others. It was getting late so I finished off the fire and began the trek back towards the farm.

Looking towards the Adirondacks.

Since then I have attempted to figure out the mystery of the ribbons and scan code tags. The tags are actually called QR codes. (Quick Response).

Familiar with them on merchandise.

I have put requests up on social media pages asking for help. People had lots of comments and have been super curious as to the origins of the tags. I finally got a break through yesterday when a friend of mine who works at a local land trust suggested that the tags may belong to an orienteering group. Not a subject that I knew much about although I had heard of it. I began to research online and was soon rewarded with some promising information. I now believe that the mystery tags are from an orienteering group but remain baffled by the lack of information printed on them. I probably should explain orienteering first. I think the photo below pretty much sums it up however.

Definition

I also contacted the New York State DEC in regards to the ribbons and tags. They had no knowledge of orienteering groups that had been holding events in the state land near the farm. Apparently the group pulls a permit in advance. The DEC quickly became interested in what I had discovered and will be actively looking for answers. I thank everyone at the DEC for getting me connected with the proper individuals! I pledged my assistance in helping them locate the ribbon locations. One officer walked me through placing “drop pins” using Goggle Maps. I chose the satellite map option and easily dropped the pins close enough to the the locations they should find them given the absence of leaves. I was familiar with geocaching so was used to working from satellite maps. Once Zane and I discovered a huge wetland area on a satellite map that we didn’t know existed. We have yet to launch a probing expedition into the area given its gnarly rugged location. Yes I said expedition! It will be a winter snowshoe into unknown territory and must be treated as such with proper preparation. But that’s a different story for a different day.

This was on the internet. No connection to this group is implied or intended.

When I head out for a trek I just never know what I will find! It seems technology is never too far away at anytime. I have no wish to bring anyone under scrutiny for their hobby but orienteering ribbons and tags should be removed after events close out according to the DEC. Also by the basic rules of leave no trace ethnics. But having a campfire in a former campsite location puts me in a similar predicament to be totally honest. Not illegal but certainly leaves a trace. I suppose it’s a fine line to walk and I could easily not even mention the fire. But I felt it pertinent to be honest and forthcoming as I have always promised.

For the moment the mystery has not been solved despite the research. The tags could be totally belong to some other group. Perhaps military or some environmental study group as some suggested. In fact there may be a conspiracy involved. Facts are facts despite what people choose to believe. Remember our furry rodent friend from Quebec Mr. Jangles? He’s been strangely silent for some time now. He still holds a grudge I suspect. I sent him a Xmas card and a block of cheddar cheese but haven’t heard back from him. Tracking indicates that the package was delivered by float plane ahead of the ice up. I believe he has begun a retaliatory mission despite my best efforts to strike up a truce. As of late we have been under attack by rodents at the farm in an unprecedented manner. The bucket traps have been busy and the tractors have been spared damage for the moment. There have been 15 necessary rodent causalities recently unfortunately. They brought the fight to us and we fought back. We granted them sanctuary elsewhere on the farm property but apparently they have refused the offer. Perhaps this sounds as crazy as ever but the facts remain. There is a lake in Western Quebec named Dumoine. There is a cabin 5. There is a mouse named Mr. Jangles with whom we fought an epic series of battles in August this year. There have been 15 rodents eliminated recently at the farm in record time. As for the rest? Form your own opinions. People were asking about Mr. Jangles so I needed to mention him. We are unsure of his present state and we wish him Happy Holidays! I expect we will hear from him again. Until then Happy Holidays to everyone! ✍️

Growth Rings


December is coming in mild after the recent cold snap and snow of November. We got about 14 inches during that lake effect event that reached up into St. Lawrence County. Some parts of New York got record amounts. It was a surprise after the mild weather that we have been enjoying all autumn. I am taking advantage of the bare ground at the farm property to do some forest cleanup in an upper section that was formerly part of our sugarbush. Most of the trees have died off and we harvested heavily in this area a couple years ago. I called this area The Upper Landing. I started burning up the rotten remnants of the large log pile that once occupied the site. The entire area was a mess of downed limbs and miscellaneous debris. I took down a massive dead maple that was a threat to the trail system. It was a sad moment for me. We had tapped this giant many times over the years. It’s gnarly trunk was riddled with old healed tap holes. It fell with an earth shaking crash and exploded into numerous fragmented pieces. I stood for a moment and gazed at the diameter of the stump. The connection was made.

The stump of the felled maple was over 3 feet in diameter. I could only guess at it’s age and it’s rotten outer layers offered no countable growth rings. Not familiar with them? I will explain them quite simply. Growth rings are the marker of tree growth during a one year period in temperate climates. Visible on a tree stump they form a pattern. The lighter outlines represent the start of that season’s growth. The darker outlines represent the end of season growth. They are never identical and a history of a particular season is left there.I can’t remember when my dad first introduced me to growth rings.Sometime when we were cutting wood at the farm most likely. But they have become a glimpse into time and the life of the forest for me. The unfortunate part of growth rings is that you never get to study them until the tree is cut down! Nature leaves us clues there and a place to reflect on ourselves even.

We are just past the two year anniversary of the blog site’s creation. 11/20/20 the first ever post went up. It was titled Bog River Flow. The administrator and creator of this site pulled it from a Facebook post of mine. The rest have followed with no pattern or storyline. Curvy and winding in unsymmetrical circles like the growth rings of a tree stump. It’s been a fun experience and one of learning for me. As I revisit my former posts I look for signs of growth. The blog site hasn’t changed much overall in two years but that’s about to change. I am constantly researching history and fact as they apply to the locations I visit on my personal journey. I continue to search for connection and a better understanding of nature. I am dredging the stories of my life from my memories and saving them here to share. I hope to bring people together in our common love of nature. Each year I hope to show growth however how large or small it might be.
Zane and I were recently in Virginia visited my cousin and his family over Thanksgiving week. My cousin and friend Gerry just happens to be my administrator and creator of this site! He’s the shadow behind all that makes this possible! We are working on upgrading the site and adding a comments section. I hope you will that advantage of that new feature! I will be personally reviewing all comments and would love to hear from you! If you happen to know me feel free to say hello! Look for a subscription page soon where you can receive updates on recent posts and other MOONTABS information.

I ask for your continued patience and support as we work to bring you the best MOONTABS experience ever

November’s Gifts

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

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.✍️

The Special Day

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.. ✍️

Beyond The Run Of The Mill

Several months ago I began the “Run of the Mill” stories as a manner in which to preserve some of my personal rural heritage history. People have told me that they wish to hear more of those long past decades. I have a tendency to wander aimlessly through those decades.It’s all connected though! Often my certain memories are triggered by the changing of the seasons. I feel that affords better story telling with greater emotional connection. One particular set of memories stands out with a certain clarity beginning in 1996. A series of events began to connect and would ultimately lead in unexpected directions. It started quite simply in 1996 with the purchase of 110 acres of rural property on the edge of the Macomb/Rossie town boundary. It was a mere 7 miles from my father’s farm giving it the advantage of proximity but there was a larger draw. The undeveloped potential of the land. There was a modern element of homesteading that appealed to me in some unique manner. In fact many years prior to purchasing the property I had driven past different times and noticed that very potential. I had always expected someone to develop it but it never happened. The main feature of the property that caught my eye was the open meadow that stood at the base of a wooded ridge line. There were no power lines on the property nor access roads of any kind. It’s difficult to say why it held such appeal but I suppose it was the sheltered way the meadow was tucked in between the surrounding ridges. Also the fact that there were no neighbors in sight either. One day in 1996 I noticed a small For Sale By Owner sign by the road. I walked the property with the owner and was immediately hooked.We had strolled through the numerous stands of tall white pine and found ourselves on the bank of the Bostwick Creek. A group of ducks gave flight from the lower end of a large beaver pond and flew up over a steep ridge of red oak trees. A small meadow sat adjacent to the beaver pond in a basin of sorts surrounded by forest. I knew that the property was perfect at that point. It would take some work to make it a homestead but I found that exciting actually. Perhaps I envisioned myself as some type of pioneer. Some trimming and clearing began later that year along the edges of the meadow. I laid out the driveway first and it was installed in 1997. It was built right along the edge of the forest so it would be minimally invasive to the meadow’s appearance.The site for a 26’x40’ garage/barn was staked out for construction that fall.Some test holes were excavated to determine if a cellar was possible for the future house. Macomb is known for its veins of bedrock that reach the surface with no predictability.No bedrock was discovered but the hard clay soil of the meadow’s side hill would require custom drainage systems. Big plans were brewing for 1998.The hard work was truly about to begin! As winter approached I cut a logging road into a back section of the property where some of the white pine was beginning to die off. In January my father and I began to harvest white pine logs from the property using a team of horses that he trucked in on Saturday mornings.An area of the forest was targeted and we constructed a landing in a slightly open spot under some large pines that were to remain. I did all the felling and limbing in addition to hitching the logs for skidding. The logs were skidded a short distance to the landing then loaded onto a horse drawn wagon and taken out to the edge of the highway to be piled on a side hill staging area.Mid day we would eat our lunch right in the woods while the horses munched on some hay my father had brought in a grain sack. It was busy work and we left tired at the end of the day. We worked the same section for several Saturdays and made great progress due to the lack of snow. I clear cut my way through the stands leaving plenty of young healthy trees beyond the slash. A buffer zone now lay between the dead trees and the living. The pine logs were high quality and very fun to fell! Tall and straight with few limbs near their bottoms. There was a certain thrill in the prospect of turning them into lumber as they fell one by one with crashing roars. I would get lost in the work and move from one to the next. Using a chainsaw requires focus especially when limbing. The large pines often crush smaller hardwoods when they land. These bent over saplings possess incredible stored energy and are very dangerous to the feller. Spotting them is crucial to avoid injury! I call them “slap sticks” and for good reason! I employed a “layered” approach to the felling. I would fell a pine and trim it into skid logs which my father would then extract with the team. The next tree would be felled on top of the “slash” layer. The aftermath looked a little raw but the amount of young pine that remained standing was impressive to say the least. We would never lack for building materials provided the forest remained healthy. It is interesting to note that the slash areas healed quickly over the subsequent years and the skid roads became handy access trails for harvesting firewood.Later that spring we targeted another stand of healthy trees close to the future garage site.Another access road was carved in following the lay of the land. Staking out the access roads was a pleasant job that I truly enjoyed! A large network of potential trails began to appear to me at this point and I envisioned the true potential of a sustainable,healthy forest plan. That story must wait for now. I crafted a landing near the targeted ridge where we would be extracting logs. This area was experiencing a die off similar to the one we had just harvested. The cutting yielded some very large logs that were perfect for creating pine siding boards. This section of forest contained more hardwood species so felling was a bit tricky! The logs were hauled by the horse drawn wagon out to the driveway area to a second staging area.A higher section of the ridge had been heavily damaged by a wind event. I began to map out a future trail system to reach the area for a salvage cut. It was a fun part of the homestead process for me. The raw and undeveloped property was an ideal project of future forest stewardship. The property was so much different than the semi-open farm property where I had grown up.It was a true forest of some magnitude and I loved exploring its rolling terrain.From the clearing of the second landing the ground fell away into a deep valley.The back meadow and beaver pond on the Bostwick Creek were visible from there. It was a lovely place to relax and dream. We decided that our stockpiles of logs were adequate so the logging was concluded. Sometime in April after maple syrup season we trucked the logs to the Amish sawmill to be custom sawn for our barn/garage framing requirements.All the lumber was trucked back and unloaded by hand. I stacked and “stickered”it up on top of crib piers that I constructed from concrete blocks. Stickering lumber allows it to air dry by keeping the pieces separated by narrow strips of lumber. We hired a backhoe operator to prep the hill side garage site and managed to it leveled for building. An Amish crew began to work shortly after. Footers were poured and layers of block were laid to build the garage into the side of the hill.The barn/garage was tucked into a notch in the meadow at the end of the driveway. The gambrel roofed barn/garage went up quickly and was soon finished minus the doors. I made some temporary doors from plywood that fall and stored extra lumber inside. Electricity was brought to the corner property a year later after reaching a deal with the power company. Conduits were buried to bring power and phone to the garage to keep the pristine appearance of the meadow intact. . The stage was now set for the next part of the homesteading project. Planning began for the actual house. It would be constructed in 2001. The logging project that led to the barn/garage being built brought a sudden realization to the table. Why haul logs from the property only to haul the lumber back again? We began to consider buying our own sawmill from that day forward. My father pushed for the purchase and in 2003 I agreed to buy one with him. We chose a portable sawmill that was popular with the Amish. The Brubacher . Made in Canada using minimal hydraulics and no high end technology. We chose the gas powered option with a 25 horsepower Robins Subaru engine. Capable of cutting a 20 foot log with a 30 inch circumference. Solid and sturdy in its simple design. The new direction began to show itself that year as I learned to become a sawyer. I began to recognize my connection to my late grandfather as he had been a logger and sawyer in the 1960’s. My father had worked in the woods his entire life as well. I was already close to my father and frequently worked with him at the farm but something new was beginning to take shape. A new era of bonding and deeper father/son friendship formed as we began working together with our new sawmill toy. If only I could gift that feeling to the world and truly emphasize what it meant to me! A transformation was underway. One that would no unnoticed in the busy task of daily life. But the spirit energy would find me on the weekend when I walked the trails of the homestead property. It radiated from the scent of the pine lumber of the newly constructed barn/garage. Something much larger called out to be acknowledged in the hidden recesses of pine groves where nature ruled with quiet dominance.I suddenly began to question everything that was my normal vocation and began to yearn for something different. Looking back now I am truly thankful for all that followed. I can’t say it was planned and executed with a larger strategy. It just kind of showed itself and was decided along the way.It’s a story that deserves to be told in greater detail to truly capture the spirit of the moment. Many things were bound to happen. Many things did happen. These would be the years of self discovery and ultimately the start of something that continues to grow. The years of blood,sweat, and tears I’ve called them. They passed fast it seems now. I found a part of myself in those years that had laid dormant like a seed waiting for it’s time to grow. The spirit energy flowed strong and fast. My heart told me to chase the possibilities so I did. There are few regrets and oh so many blessings. Those memories I have named MOONTABS.

The Many Changes Of A Season

March 20th. We have been maple sugaring for a full two weels now after tapping our first trees on Saturday March 5th. The weather continues to challenge our efforts with its roller coaster swings but we have managed to make some good quality syrup. Thursday’s temperature was a bit extreme though (70 degrees) and the nights have remained above freezing since. Zane and I decided to tap some additional trees Friday regardless since I feel it will boast our sap production this upcoming week as temperatures begin to drop at night. Freezing nights and warm days make for good sap flow typically. We targeted some of our larger maples that survived the 2016/2017 die off in two different sections of our former sugarbush. We call them the reserve trees. They have sat fallow for the last two seasons as we waited to assess the fate of our forest. The reserves sit in a mixture of dead ones sprinkled with the stumps of some we removed as part of the salvage project. It’s taken some mental acceptance to move forward in these devastated woods. It’s been heartening to note the number of young saplings that are going to replace the fallen giants in time. The trails continue to require clearing as the upper canopies continue to fall during each big wind event. It’s getting better in some sections though. This season many of our taps are on our neighbor Tom’s property again. Similar to last year actually. We call the trail system we carved out two years ago the “Big Loop”. It takes some time to gather all the buckets around it’s meandering route. There are four runs of “mini-tubes” that collect from small clusters of hard to reach trees. I have covered some of these facts in previous posts if you have been following our stories. At the moment we have close to 500 taps set after Friday’s work adding about 60 more. Things are pretty normal in the sugar house once we got set up and rolling. A leak in the drop flue back pan gave us some concern but luckily the fire sealed it off. We will need to have it reconditioned this summer after we finish up boiling. We still have plenty of firewood for the evaporator but will use up most of it if the season lasts long enough. We are using a dry slab wood/hardwood mix again this year. It works great at keeping the evaporator stoked. We usually need to fire up the evaporator twice between batches. Our old 4×10 foot unit produces about 2 gallons of syrup per hour average. A full storage tank of sap is about 400 gallons which translates into about 5 hours of actual work boiling. There’s lots of activity in the sugar house during a fully fired boil. Constant firewood to handle and move in from the attached woodshed. Jen or Zane usually assist with that when they are available. There’s hot syrup to strain and pack after each batch is drawn. I don’t sit much if I am working alone some days. The evaporator is a engine of sorts where the air damper acts as a carburetor and the firewood is the fuel. Keeping a steady constant boil takes practice but isn’t too difficult really once you learn the needs of the evaporator. Monitoring the flow of sap into the evaporator is crucial for maintaining the needs of the evaporator. This is accomplished with a simple device known as a float. The float rises and lowers with the evaporator level opening or closing a simple valve. Once set up it just needs to be watched. I listen for it actually. Immediately after firing the evaporation the boil intensifies and more sap enters the raw sap chamber of the back pan. This produces a certain sound that you learn to recognize as a properly functioning float system. You also learn to recognize when the sap trapped in the finishing pan gets close to becoming actual syrup. Tiny golden bubbles rise to the surface and prompt the operator to start testing the batch. We use a simple hydrometer in a test vial for hot testing boiling sap. It works fine and I keep a new one on hand to verify the accuracy of the one that I am actually using. All this may seem a little boring perhaps but this is a snapshot into a typical boiling day. We test each batch of syrup for color grade before tagging the containers for sale. I also taste test each batch for quality. Especially as we move into the mid-season and the sap quality deteriorates due to tree budding and increased bacteria count. No worries about the bacteria!They are destroyed in the intense boiling procedure and merely contribute to altering the color of the finished product. We have been producing good quality syrup to date that is graded as Amber Rich. Probably the favorite of the majority of our customers. Myself I prefer the hearty syrup that is graded as Dark Robust. Full maple flavor with a darker color. Eventually the syrup will pass into a commercial grade product that we will barrel up to sell. These are just a few of the changes we experience in any given syrup season. This year we are experiencing a number of other changes as well unrelated to the maple syrup season. Friends and family who are facing serious health issues and treatment decisions. Some who are losing their battles to ongoing health situations. I shun from politics on my blog but the state of world affairs at this moment is disturbing and troubling. All this things can burden the heart and dampen our spirits at times. They press on us and occupy our thoughts far too often. In the forest gathering sap and in the sugar house I seek a peaceful place of reflection where I try to count my blessings and find inner strength. Not just for myself but to help others as well. These are trying times and I seek to find a positive momentum forward. We are in the midst of great change. Both in reality and in season. Spirit energy can guide us I feel. To a place where we might relax with natural connection and wholesome reflection. Today we move forward into the ever changing syrup season of 2022.

The Annual Run Of The Mill

The story of logs,logging, and sawmills encompasses several decades of my life in its entirety. It’s important to note though that much of my time in the woods each season was spent harvesting firewood. I burned wood for a good many years after leaving home.All told some 27 years or so overall. I also would help my Father cut wood for the farmhouse in my spare time. We used smaller firewood in the sugar house to fuel the evaporator as well. All that wood cutting kept us rather busy each fall and winter. I have never cared for cutting wood in the summer so typically would take a break in the warmer months. We didn’t own a wood splitter until the fall of 2004 so all our wood was hand split up until then. Big blocks of dead elm were burned without splitting them given their stringy composition. I sometimes used a hammer and metal wedges to split large blocks but usually used an eight pound splitting maul. It was an excellent workout and kept me very fit! Heating with firewood you harvest yourself is a time consuming labor of love. The benefits have always been the draw for me however.For years my cost to heat my home was almost nonexistent. Harvesting the dead trees helped keep the properties cleaner and less unsightly. Coupled with the physical aspect it was a no brainer really! There’s a certain satisfaction in harvesting firewood that can only be found in the experience I have always found. It’s a connection to nature like no other. There’s an independence in not relying on other types of home heating fuels. For years our wood furnaces were located in our homes basements so that meant stacking after throwing it in each time a load was brought home. It would fill the cellar with a certain smell as it dried out depending on the species we were cutting. Burning dry wood was imperative to avoid chimney issues. Chimney cleaning was a part of routine maintenance as was handling ashes and hauling them out of the basement. In 2001 I purchased my first outside boiler system. This would make life a whole lot easier as the mess of bark and ash was kept outdoors. The wood was stacked outside as well. Tarps were handy to keep some of the snow off the piles. Outside boilers brought a greater safety to burning wood as well. No longer were chimney fires a concern. A new era of wood burning was ushered in for me. My Father purchased one shortly after I did and built a woodshed to store his supply of wood. It worked well for him and made things easier overall. We moved to the farm property in 2008 after renovating the farmhouse about a year after my Father’s death in 2007. We continued use his original outside wood boiler for several seasons. New York State pushed to control the use of outside boilers at one point around 2010. New models purchased needed to fall under EPA compliance regulations. I purchased a gasification unit in 2011 to replace the older one at the farm that my Father had installed in 2002. It was a clean burning boiler but required labor intensive cleaning and could only burn super dry firewood. We only used it one winter at the farm before the farmhouse burned. The outside wood boiler was spared luckily. We made the decision to relocate to the small village of Hammond instead of rebuilding at the farm. The house there used fuel oil for heat but I figured out a way to house the outside wood boiler in the large garage and pipe the hot water to the house through an underground thermopex piping system. It was quite the project and a ballsy undertaking as outside wood boilers were not welcome in the village if not entirely banned. I got the project finished before winter and we were once again burning firewood!The gasification unit burned so clean and efficiently that I never had any complaints from anyone in the village. We had added several smoke stack extensions up through the two story garage roof and launched our minimal emissions high into the air. Inside and out of sight the boiler worked well! We trailered in our firewood and stored it under cover in a lean to we build onto the garage.We used the boiler for three winters in Hammond before moving to a new location above Black Lake. The new house we purchased needed a heat source so once again I made the decision to move the boiler! I found a perfect location for it behind the garage there. The big project relocation project was undertaken and completed before winter. It worked well there for five seasons before I began to have serious issues with leaks. Something the manufacturer refused to address properly but that is another story! The house was sold in 2020 and I believe the outside wood boiler was scrapped out. Presently we continue to burn some wood in our cottage wood stove and at the farm. The sugar house still requires its share of firewood each season as well. We also use a small wood stove in the small farm cabin.(we call it “the warming shack”).Most of the firewood we now harvest leaves the farm and is sold to a local customer. My seventeen year old son Zane has been learning the basics of firewood harvesting for years now. I started him out driving the tractor when he was nine. Safely wearing his seatbelt he learned to dump loads of firewood stacked on the tractor loader into the trailer. He enjoyed the task and I felt it helped make a work day fun for him. We would usually take a break and go for a farm walk before heading home to Hammond before dark. Zane continues to learn new skills and has become a huge asset on the landing as we build the loads. He often runs the wood splitter and has begun to learn chainsaw basics. I have hesitated to let him run the chainsaw but I will need to at some point. It’s a dangerous tool and lots can go wrong! It’s a rite of passage for a rural kid though and I once was in his shoes myself. Moving forward I will continue his training and try to insure his safety. I sometimes ponder my fondness of collecting firewood and the time it consumes. I suppose it’s in my blood and given the over abundance of it on the farm presently nowadays it’s not a bad thing. Woodcraft is a skill I want to pay forward to my son as it was paid forward to me. Rural heritage often comes with time consuming menial tasks. But for me there’s a different type of reflection and reward that follows it. The smell of fresh sawdust. The crashing sound of a felled tree. The sight of a finished load of wood next to the warm wood stove. The taste of a simple lunch enjoyed on a break at the farm. The feel of the chainsaw doing it noisy job. The sixth sense emerges as the spirit energy soars into the large skies over the farm property. In simplicity there is peace and a greater understanding of life itself. That is the greatest reward of time and task. Tomorrow we will return to the forest and reap the benefits once again. The evaporator will need the fuel and we must meet its demands. Father and son together.Sharing and making memories. MOONTABS we call them. ✍️

Tales Of An Ice Walker: The Origins

Yesterday we were rewarded with our warmest day in recent weeks. It’s been a cold winter overall with a respectable amount of snowfall. We haven’t had the up and down weather patterns of the past few years either. The strange thaws that bring rain and high winds to diminish our snow accumulations. It was late freezing up last December in 2021 but eventually it happened. January was more traditional with subzero temperatures and savage wind chills. So when the forecast yesterday called for temperatures in the high thirties with sunshine I decided to postpone everything and go snowshoeing with the dogs. My destination was easily decided without a moment’s hesitation. Beaver Creek. It’s my ground zero I suppose. That place where the Great Wander began decades ago. A place of countless stories and adventures that span over 50 years now. It begs an introduction. Then I will introduce you to the Icewalker.A me that you probably don’t know yet. Just what encompasses Beaver Creek? It’s the large gorge and wetland system that passes through an outer portion of our farm property. Rugged and tough to access with steep ridges on both sides for much of its distance. We own about 20 acres of it near the road but it’s difficult to travel until the winter ice forms. It can be paddled in sections but it’s impossible to remain in the canoe for long. Fallen trees and beaver dams choke it’s winding channel along its entirety. Once the winter ice has formed it becomes more hospitable for traveling. Snowshoes or cross country skis work well most of the time but there’s never a broken trail. Almost one one ever goes there. Sometimes I hike on fresh ice before it gets snow covered or immediately after a thaw/refreeze event. Ice creepers or crampons become necessary for comfortable walking. This vast wetland system covers some 10 miles beyond our property before another road crosses it. It then continues several more miles where it empties into the Oswegatchie River near Heuvelton, New York. Numerous small creeks add to its flow along its course adding to its size as it nears the river. It takes an east to west path basically. About a mile west of our property the gorge flattens somewhat into large hills and continues but Beaver Creek enters it from a different direction and joins a small runoff creek. There’s a lovely waterfall there on private property. If I was to describe the gorge itself I would say it’s close to an eighth of a mile wide with large wooded ridges on both sides. There are steep rocky ledges along many sections of it that are difficult to climb. There is almost no shoreline that allows for easy walking as you travel west along it.The steep ridges come right down into the edge of the swamp for miles. Large rock piles enter the swamp in a few spots. A geologist told me years ago that the gorge was created by a “shearing” event not from a glacial event. Time has eroded the vertical sides mostly but some remain. As for the wetland itself, there’s deep mud and grassy bogs beside a meandering channel of various depths. Beaver dams cross it entirely in certain spots in various stages of repair. The presence of beaver has altered the swamp dramatically since they were reintroduced to upstate New York sometime in the 1950s. Their dams flooded the stands of soft maples that grew throughout much of the shallow water along the main channel. The dead trees would fall into the swamp over time choking it and making paddling almost impossible until they rot under.What followed were large open areas of grassy vegetation and swamp plants. Jagged stumps remained above the water as a reminder of the forests that once grew here. Our property once had two large stands of soft maple forest. Two huge beaver dams that spanned the gorge would eventually kill them. Their bark free trunks and tops stood for years before we had the perfect winter conditions to salvage some for firewood. We clear cut about 40 cord one winter with horses and a sleigh. I harvested another 30 cord a few years later with a snowmobile then a four wheeler. Another winter we were able to use tractors to harvest. Needless to say the wetlands are constantly changing. Tag alders cover sections still as they seem rather resistant to the changes in the water depths. Just below our property a stand of soft maples has survived despite the beaver activity. The swamp is shallower here and the channel necks down into a choke point. In a canoe it is a wet portage point. A wade and push location where you need hip boots. Further down the channel widens and the wetland is open with few trees. It once was a soft maple forest but that was long before I first began exploring there. Now the gray, bark free stubs I remember as a boy have fallen and are no more. I have a stark memory of my first seeing them but it’s brief.To describe the creek and wetlands is to describe the scene of a constantly changing habitat. The invasive weed purple loosestrife started growing here sometime in the 1970s along the road on our property. We didn’t know what it was then or that we should have destroyed it. It spread quickly and its floating seeds have allowed it alter the wetland forever it seems. The grassy sections that were home to hundreds of muskrats each winter now lay covered with loosestrife bogs. Unfortunate and disturbing to me. So this was the playground of my youth. A place I spent my winters whenever conditions allowed. The early ice of December was perfect for exploration when I was a boy on foot. I didn’t venture very far though at age 9. That would come later. The deep snows would come and the creek would become the haunt of snowmobilers. The late 1960s and 1970s brought a snowmobile craze to our area. Beaver Creek became a popular trail system and saw a lot of traffic. We had a snowmobile by 1975 and I would follow the packed trails myself sometimes. We also would accompany others on occasion and travel larger distances. It was then that I got to witness the full magic of the gorge and it’s natural wonders. Ice falls with huge hanging icicles and giant cliffs that hovered over the wetlands. Trips to Huckleberry Mountain sometimes miles from our property. The snowmobilers have left the creek these days mostly. It remains wild and untraveled. It was on foot that I explored most of the territory near our farm. I became a fur trapper at a young age. 10 if I remember correctly. The Beaver Creek gorge was a trapper’s paradise! Muskrats everywhere! I later learned how to trap beaver. But that is another story in itself. Being a former trapper doesn’t always make a person popular these days. But it’s a proud part of my upbringing and rural heritage. Something I was taught that shaped my youth and taught me to appreciate the natural world in a manner some can never understand. Trapping would turn me into a great wanderer. It conditioned me to endure all sorts of weather and challenges. It fueled my imagination through history and the stories of the American west. I no longer trap but the love of wandering remains. I read the swamp like a book. Tracks and signs of wildlife activity like the words on a page. These days I wander the swamps to read the signs and reminisce about my youthful pursuits. I suppose you could say that the ice became my highway to discovery. It was the perfect flat road to travel. It could be covered quickly and great distances could be traveled in a day.Imagine that you are high above our farm property and could look down upon my adventures of wandering as I matured. It would resemble an epicenter of sorts. An ever growing circle that extended from the home base of the farm house. Each year to venture further and further away. My father worried constantly when I would disappear for hours. Especially when he knew that I was out on the ice. I eventually named myself the “ Icewalker” and coined the Icewalker’s motto. “The distance in must be traveled out”. Good advice that I learned by making countless mistakes. Potable water was never a problem years ago even in winter.There was snow to eat when necessary.I knew of numerous water sources that were safe for drinking. Springs we call them. Eventually however they became unsafe ( the snow as well!)and woe to me finding out the hard way! A sudden hot flash and the rumbling in the stomach a few times would end that habit. I rarely carried much food. A couple hard maple sugar cakes in a plastic bag would fuel me through many of my trips. My grandmother made them for me and they were a lifesaver when hunger set in. My garments were simple and effective. Rubber boots with thick wool socks. Wool pants and chopper’s mittens. A Carhartt style jacket with a vest underneath. A wool toque to cover my head and ears. I rarely used a set of snowshoes in those days. I would wait for perfect conditions to wander. The thick crusts that followed the annual January thaw were a signal to wander. Sometimes the snow would get so heavy on the ice of the creek that it would flood and refreeze on the channel. The ultimate highway for safe passage! I also learned to carry a walking stick or two for probing the routes ahead. It saved me from falling through many times! As did my ears! Ice “talks”. Especially thin shell ice. The kind you find around bogs and beaver dams. Ice walking hones the senses of eyesight and hearing. Did I always arrive home dry and warm? Hardly! It was inevitable that I would break through and quite often. Ironically the deeper sections of the creek are the safest to travel. Most of the time falling through meant a wet leg and boot full of icy water. Lessons learned through discomfort mainly. Never life threatening at any rate. I learned to react quickly when the ice broke underfoot. I would throw myself forward and usually escape mostly dry. Looking back I must seem a bit reckless and lacking common sense. Perhaps. But I learned to read the ice itself. Black ice was the early ice. Clear and predictable if not covered with snow. It’s depth obvious. Thin is strong when dealing with quality black ice. Then there’s snow ice. Also early.Gray and unreadable until you test it by probing or gently stepping out onto it. It’s the ice of caution. Best kept off of most times. Snow ice often forms later on top of black ice that becomes flooded. That’s usually ok. Your footsteps will tell you of the thickness. The trickiest of ice is the late season “honeycomb” ice. It will lay silent like a trap and offer no warning. You will be walking on some solid late season ice when suddenly there will be the sound of air and water rushing to the surface. Too late! By the time you hear that you are usually on your way down! That’s when the walking sticks become so important. The two stick walk where you are constantly probing ahead. Not fool proof regardless. You may be asking why are you even out there to begin with fool? For the adventure! To cover the distances that only ice walking provides. Snowshoes and cross country skis are great for weight distribution and you are less likely to break through but if you do? Not good! If I wear snowshoes or cross country skis I take extra precautions! So here ends the introduction of my story. Yesterday was everything I hoped for and more! A tough workout on a beautiful day that filled me with awe. The creek never disappoints and I managed to stay dry throughout the trek. This is the first of the Icewalker series that I hope to share! I’ll take a crack at telling the stories in time and try to stay off the thin ice of redundancy. There’s a deeper side of my time spent on the ice that I hope to capture sometime. A place of greater connections to nature. That place of peaceful presence mixed with excitement that only the ice can bring to life. ✍️

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