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What Color Is My Next Chapter?

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November 2nd. Zane’s birthday today! It’s 5:19pm and very close to the time of his actual birth give or take an hour or two. Zane becoming 20 today really gives me pause to reflect. But honestly? When aren’t I reflecting about something? To keep it simple I must acknowledge several gratitudes. First that I am fortunate to have Zane living with me presently! Although some of his nocturnal wanderings can give me anxiety! I never know what time he will roll in. The fact that I even have a 20 year old son is noteworthy. As is the fact that we still enjoy each other’s company most of the time. So I am feeling blessed tonight ! I still have vivid memories of the evening he was born. That moment when my life would change forever.Yesterday was the 7 year anniversary of my retirement. Thursday was my last day of my full time critical shortage work on the methane project. These are the simple facts. I am about to write a new chapter of my personal life journey story! And a strange blog post title occurred to me suddenly. A continued introduction to myself in a sense. Sense becomes a key word as this new chapter begins to be written.

Change seems to be a big part of my life really but isn’t that true for everyone? In this the 1st day of the 11th month I truly begin to reflect on my year. I was fortunate to move beyond the health issues I experienced in January mostly unscathed. My daily medications serve as stark reminder each morning though. I was lucky! The universe responded to my calls in late January and a new chapter began that would see me frequently in the Adirondacks until my work would bring me back to the valley in late July. This chapter was a defining moment of my year. One of tremendous personal growth, discovery, happiness, and many special,private memories. But my growth as summer progressed did not come without bad decisions and mistakes on my part as it turns out. I was accelerating much too fast in the spin and blinded by forces that I could not comprehend. Difficult to explain or understand in some ways . Pain is a part of growth at times perhaps but a part that I would rather not experience or inflict on others. A lesson I learned too late this time to halt my impetuous forward momentum.It has cost me in emotional currency. A toll has had to be paid to keep moving in the flow. Looking back it’s almost surreal at times. The universe responds to the frequency we vibrate if you walk the paths of universal vibration and the Law Of Attraction.They are a study of mine. Sometimes we over shoot the runaway when trying to land on our feet. Will I grow from what I have learned? In time, yes!

Looking back at what I can’t change now makes me ask myself: What color is my next chapter? This I can say. Not written with black ink with dark bold letters on ghostly white paper. Cold and haunting in their intent. Black does represent something positive though. Black is the gift of night and shadow. Found in nature everywhere. I will not choose to falsely vibrant and use bright imitation man made colors that don’t resemble anything that looks like me. That is artificial and false for me. I hope to paint my next chapter with earthy browns and natural greens. The blues of sunny skies,water, and beautiful eyes. The grays of cloudy snow laden clouds filled with blinding white snow flakes falling with mesmerizing silence. The reds and oranges of the rising and setting sun. So many more colors live in nature with which to paint. Ones that invite with honest simplicity. Ones that solidify integrity and honest testimony. Truthful confession in the midst of confusion. A colorful path to seek out and follow even when I must limp up it.

What flavor is my next chapter? Bitter or sour? Distasteful and unpalatable? Served cold with a side of cynical? I am certainly not planning on that. I am hoping for the taste of fresh maple syrup on ice cream. Deliciously sweet and making you crave more of my sugar house creations. The taste of freshly picked berries plucked from dew soaked bushes on a summer morning. Raw and satisfying. Frozen to be enjoyed months later on a rainy autumn evening when baked into a pie.Or sweet fresh pressed apple cider from apples right off the tree. Tart and refreshing. A gift from nature. Most definitely maple infused coffee in a favorite steaming cup.Warming my hands as a new day begins. Those are but a few of the many wonderful flavors that enhance my life. How best to have them grace my next chapter?Share them perhaps?

What will my next chapter feel like? Freezing cold and icy with clinging frozen tears of failure that refuse to fall? Or burning hot? Scorching and searing with burning intensity? Burning bridges over raging rivers of doubt and indecision ? Thorny and prickly with hurtful wounding branches? Ripping and tearing at all they touch? No. If I am fortunate it will feel soft like delicate forest moss or the silky seed tufts of dry milkweed about to rise high on an autumn breeze. Or the soft caress of morning sunshine on my face. Maybe the softness of layers of scented pine needles on dry ground. To feel is to know you are still alive. That place where hope is found and your spirit energy resides with quiet resolve waiting to be released for a greater purpose .

What will my next chapter sound like? Raspy and harsh like a dead tree limb rubbing on a rusty metal roof ? Like squeaky hinges on a battered door hanging loosely on a neglected barn? No. I wish for my next chapter to sound like dripping sap drops falling into a bucket on a freshly tapped maple tree on a warming March morning. Like migrating geese high overhead. Strong and purposeful. Connected to nature’s call of survival. Or a buzzing honeybee landing on a clover blossom next to me. Working for the benefit of the hive. All these things and more I desire my next chapter to sound like.

And what will my next chapter smell like? Rotten and decaying like roadkill hit by a speeding driver? Left to be wasted and forgotten? Stale and musty like a moldy book? Tainted and offensive like fruit left in the sun too long?No. I hope my next chapter smells like apple blossoms in an orchard on a crisp spring morning . Like freshly mown hay on a hot summer night tickling my nose with a fragrant bounty. Like sun soaked balsam aroma wafting down onto a secluded mountain trail inviting me to stop for a moment. That’s just a few examples of what I wish my next chapter to smell like.

And you might read this far and think that I am somewhat negative in my direction of thought in this most unusual of posts. No. I am pensive and examining this moment in time. How did I get here? Why did I do certain things? How best to correct my mistakes if possible or at least and never repeat them. Ask those I have hurt for forgiveness and help them understand if that is even possible. How best to balance myself in the flow?How best to coexist with others and be kind. Learning to be a more supportive,better listener. There is no exciting destination here to send you off to with a set of directions. Not this time in this post.There is no map to the future. Just whispers from the inner spirit that needed to be written and shared as a continued testimonial of my life.Sometimes it’s hard to hear in the spin of Taz energy. Or slow it down. There is a connection to nature here. It lives in the five senses we possess and in the hidden one. The 5+1 I so often write about. This post serves to remind me of my many challenges and my personal struggles. And share that I am far from perfect. I am humbled by my own emotions at times. Lost at times to them but always trying to do better. I acknowledge and feel grateful for my many blessings. They are the mortar that holds it all together like the mud of hornet’s nest on the underside of a roof. MOONTABS come in different forms. I offer few answers but ask many questions at times. But today was a special day. A day to connect and attempt to make sense of it all. A beautiful new Adirondack destination to explore. The warmth of a campfire while snowflakes fell at times. A brief sun drenched moment on a rocky escarpment. A walk through open glades of forest where fresh beaver activity next to the pond offered a message. Prepare for winter in their case. Preparing. As in preparing to write the next chapter in my case. So what color is my next chapter? Only time can tell. ✍️

The Special Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surrendering To The Bush

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This is the fifth post of the Canadian bush series. Initially it was going to be a single post but I decided that there was a much bigger story. I left a lot of myself between the lines.And openly in the lines. Consider it the driftwood of life. I’ve written of driftwood on other occasions. I am a collector of driftwood actually. It speaks to me of nature’s power. There is a shallow sandy beach in the Adirondacks where sunken driftwood lies in rippled sand. On sunny days under gently lapping waves it appears with mesmerizing clarity. I wade there sometimes collecting small pieces that catch my eye. It’s a wonderful place to relax and reflect. Perception and imagination wait just below the surface to be discovered. The sandy sections of beaches on Lake Dumoine were littered with driftwood. In these posts I set my personal driftwood of life afloat there for you to discover. You’ll never need to dig below my surface. I want you to know certain things. And perhaps see what I see in those tiny weathered pieces of time. I hope you find a greater connection to nature there.

Monday morning arrived with the precision of routine firmly established. We were settled in and truly having a wonderful time. Running free with renewed spirit energy I felt. My companions might have their own words for how they felt. Greg was firmly ahead in the competition in the remaining two categories. Zane was becoming intent on the total number of walleye caught. We got up and there was zero visibility on the lake. A heavy fog covered everything and the boat was almost invisible at the end of the dock. No worries right? We know the lake now! It was cool and we all were decked out in heavy rain gear as we left the dock. The motor was a little sluggish and had started harder then usual. It was impossible to see very far in front of the boat and my eyes began to feel strained almost immediately. I tried running the center of the finger that made up our portion of the lake. I couldn’t see the trees or anything else I used for navigation. We never thought to bring Greg’s gps unit at the time. He had loaded it with fishing locations and it plots courses automatically. We sure could have used it! I did fairly well at first navigating the initial finger but we soon entered one of the larger sections of the lake. Fog in all directions! I grabbed one vague shoreline glimpse and pointed in the direction I felt was right. I kept the throttle cracked full on. Nothing dangerous there. The 15 horsepower motor doesn’t push us along all that fast especially with three good sized guys in the boat! On a side note I would have to mention how happy I was with the four stroke Yamaha engine. Easy to operate and super efficient on gas. We hadn’t used much gas given the miles we were covering each day. I did all the driving and my two companions were thrilled with that. Conversation was difficult when underway even though the motor wasn’t all that loud. Combined with the wake noise and the noise of the boat itself conversation at the stern of the craft wasn’t happening. I plenty of time for thinking while driving and I enjoyed those private moments.

I knew it was about 4 miles to our destination and that a large expanse of unbroken water needed to crossed. My eyes were really feeling the strain by this time. Off on the eastern horizon the sun was getting brighter but the land masses remained in gray shadows. My internal compass told me Ile Quabie should show itself shortly. It’s a huge island that dominates a southern section of the lake. We were searching for Raspberry Point on the eastern side on it. Suddenly I spotted a land mass off to my right and slowed our forward progress. It looked familiar but much of the lake shoreline looks the same. Rocky with the forest coming right down to the water. You can’t just stop anywhere on Lake Dumoine and exit your boat. The broken glacial rocks of the shorelines are uninviting. They are a risky proposition. Out alone with no rescue plan in effect you protect your hull and motor propeller as if your life depends on it. None of us relished ever needing to spent a night on shore or trying to row back to camp. Those thoughts weighed heavily on my common sense rather often to be blatantly honest. But we were somewhat prepared for emergency. Lighters and flashlights. Some water and knives. Snacks and almost always fish that could have been cooked on shore. A plan for future trips began to percolate in the recesses of my mind. Enter the lists jotted down in our personal camp journal.A book in itself. A story within a story. To plan to return to the bush is the story of hope itself. That place of dreams and drive. Hold that thought and I will return there. The forest that is the bush itself is thick and lush. It’s wild and beautiful The sandy bays and sections of beach offer better opportunities. In fact all of the cabins we had seen were built up above sandy beaches. This beautiful place was a hidden gem of many facets. It caught the light from every angle. Lost in a fog? No concern of mine.

As I slowed the boat and neared what I believed was Raspberry Point I suddenly realized that something was amiss! That island feature sure did look like Raspberry Point! But that rock shouldn’t be there. Nor that line of rocks that created a shoal. Ok! Time to stop and regroup. None of us recognized our location but I can’t say I was anything more then confused. The sun was rising even higher by the minute and it was only matter of time before the fog lifted. But the morning walleye fishing window would be closed by then. It was the perfect walleye morning. Walleye chop and cooler temperatures. I consulted the map then handed it to my companions. Greg and I couldn’t reach an agreement as to our location. I gazed through the murk and my internal compass found the bearings suddenly. I engaged the gears and said here we go! I got this one! I wasn’t entirely sure at first as we sped along side of what I knew had to be Ile Quabie. The sun had turned the trick of location and realigned the compass. And just like that Raspberry Point showed itself and we were back on track. This was to be Zane’s morning to shine and show his walleye skills.

Greg is definitely the best walleye fisherman of the three of us. His jigging techniques and choice of colors had assured his standing. My leeches keep Zane and I in the standings. Jigging has never my strong suit. Greg had given Zane one of his jigs that was rocking the boat. He then coached him with his technique. Zane already had a good jigging technique and had proved himself in 2016 at the Quebec lake known as Echouani. He had taken the prize of catching the most walleye.With my help and guidance I suppose but the credit became all his. Some nights his skill with the rod would amaze me! My catch would suffer as I netted fish after fish for him. But I was the clear winner of fatherly pride as I lived those treasured moments with my son. I can’t tell the whole story now or the story of Echouni in 2015 when he took his first ever bush trip. Magic lives in my son’s fingertips. Be it fishing rod or in his guitar these days.

Monday morning was all Zane’s. He was dialed in and his jigging was productive. He took the morning count easily. Greg and I were happy for him! I was off and missed multiple fish. But my mind wasn’t on fishing. It was lost in small details of nature. An eagle put in a brief appearance for the second time that week. The sun and lifting fog were beautiful. Although I was trying to block it out I knew Tuesday was our final day of bush living. My companions spoke of it too. But there was still time to run wild and free. Age means nothing in those moments for me. We were all equals on the lake. Far from the expectations of modern life and society. Far from technology even though we had it in our hands. As crazy as it sounds there were moments when I wanted to toss everything associated with technology overboard in some strange gesture of rebellion. But it would pollute the lake and a blogger needs technology. Let me think on that one.I think harmony is the best word for what my companions and I were feeling. We all felt something powerful. The energy radiated in laughter and excitement. Enter the surrender. I had surrendered to the power of the moment. The now. If only. If only I could bottle that moment and share it.It was nothing new to me this buzz of nature and experience. It had found me many times over the years. And the words I so often repeat: I will chase it forever!

Monday post morning fishing presented us with a new and pressing problem. The routine went well until Greg went to shower. Zane had his first and all had gone well. Greg was not so fortunate however. It seems the hot water side of the mixing valve was not functioning. He got a rather cold shower and he was not happy! Not good for me either as I was last in line. Why of showers in the first place? First and foremost not all bush camps even them. Or flush toilets and running water.Bathing in the lake is an option with consequences in most of the bush lakes I fished. The wonderfully clean water holds a predator other than walleye! Bloodsuckers! I hate getting them on me! So no lake bath for me! I chose to tackle the water issue head on. The ridge gravity tanks were full and everything else worked but the hot water knob of the shower. I crawled under the cabin looking for potential problems. Found one! Wait two! Leaks in the hot water lines! Small but enough to cause a problem perhaps. Guess we now why the propane ran out. Hot water was leaking out 24/7. I’m sure Eric had no clue and it appeared rodents might the root of the issue. I knew the mouse escaped under the bathroom when we pursued it. There was nothing we could find that we could fix at any rate. Not given our lack of tools. I took a cold shower and my demeanor was threatening to spoil the happy feelings of the morning. We headed out early that afternoon to contact Eric for assistance. Rewards are always waiting there for us when we least expect them. It was mostly clear as we cruised the finger on our mission to find Eric. By now the lake shore was familiar. We were running the center of the finger in the safety of the deep water. I noticed something in a small cove off to left that resembled a brown stone. I thought to myself that’s strange! I don’t remember that rock out out in the bay. My “ rock” moved and the calm surface of the water exploded! My rock further appeared from under the surface and I realized it was a cow moose! I throttled down and yelled to my companions! The moose didn’t want to have its picture taken though and burst out of the shallows on a dead run. It crossed the beach quickly and hesitated for a moment. It looked over its shoulder before racing off into the forest. Just like that and no one saw but me. We found Eric out on the lake and flagged him down. He said he would come up by the next morning at the latest. We were ok with that as we wanted to get out for the evening fish.

The evening fish once again proved the worth of the lake. Zane and I continued to add to our take home count. Greg carried the night and we were now tossing back walleye that would make some fisherman cringe. I was still off though catching fish. Not concentrating. I wasn’t concerned though. My numbers were solid and we had fish enough for the last two nights of frying. One day we had eaten walleye twice. I was ready for something a little different for dinner and promised the boys Alfredo pasta for one of the sides. Beans and potatoes are great but not every night. We had a great evening and yet another spectacular sunset. We discussed a plan for our final full day and decisions were made to include everyone’s wishes. As we cruised all of us seemed a little caught up in the moment. Zane was snapping photos and videos. He was talking to Greg but I couldn’t hear a thing. The routine played out with a comfortable rhythm. But something or rather someone was missing.

Our friend the mouse had been strangely absent. I felt maybe it was stressed after the last harrowing game of cat and mouse. I began to worry about it actually. I won’t lie here. The mouse traps were still set but I was forgetting to bait them. Or was I? I kept hoping it would show up while we were making dinner. I expressed my concern about the mouse to my companions but they had no answers. We were all wondering if there were still others though. We were at the table and the conversation turned to the movie “ The Green Mile” starring Tom Hanks. If you know the movie you might assign me as being Percy! Trying to kill the mouse and almost successful. Hmmm. I had never given my opponent a name or implied gender. I had been referring to the mouse as It. Creepy if you ever saw the movie:The Silence of The Lambs. Very derogatory and disrespectful to my worthy opponent. At this point in the story I am going to name the mouse Mr. Jangles. The mouse has earned that privilege. I hope it’s not a copyright infringement. The evening played out and Mr. Jangles never showed. We were all feeling a little melancholy about our trip nearing its end. But it wasn’t over and we still had time! This story must continue!

At this point in the story I wish to add a new character. Kathy. No she wasn’t in the bush country of Western Quebec. But she’s a blog reader and offered me some interesting encouragement! She liked the story but was interested in hearing more about the mouse from the start! I valued her feedback and assigned the mouse Mr. Jangles a greater place in the story. He’s the constant I once mentioned. He provides levity in the middle of this very real story. In a continued introduction to myself please note I am not lost or trapped in the pragmatic wilderness I call Tasmania. Quite the contrary. I liken Tasmania as a vast forest where I go to unload some heavy thoughts and escaped for awhile. Sharing stories and hoping to make a difference. Nature heals me and helps me grow as an individual. I will end this post with a quote written by someone I know very well. “ The answers to all questions in nature might be found. Never to have asked them, uncertain future bound”. ✍️.

The Forgotten Ones

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August 9th is getting closer although I can’t always wrap my head around the passage of time. I often written about time but these days I am trying to live in the now. I am searching for answers to new questions. I find myself at the proverbial fork in the road. There are no signs or mile markers. I certainly haven’t been traveling an interstate anyway by any definition of highway. Picture a single lane road with twists and turns. Numerous bumps and potholes. You can never see very far up this road ever it seems. It doesn’t show on maps or have gps coordinates.It’s certainly the road less traveled I have decided. I am thinking that maybe it’s not a fork in the road at all. Maybe it’s an intersection of different roads. Some I suspect are dead ends even though they are not marked. Call it intuition.They look too easy to head down with colorful billboards filled with promises. Others look too smooth and predictable. I fear I would fall asleep driving down them.See here’s the thing. They all end up in the same place. It’s all about how much time I get to travel and if I am able to keep driving. And since this is a nature themed blog where my imagination runs wild let’s also assume that I am walking.Call this a continuing introduction of sorts to my present state of mind. As for the road? I am planning on taking the one that is choked with weeds with lots of low hanging brush that may scratch me up some. It seems more interesting and calls out to the spirit energy that spins my inner compass. No fear. Things will show themselves in time. I have a story to tell now.

August 9th 2021. The day I started at the Lake Placid Olympic Center Revitalization Project working as an electrician. Nothing new to me. Just a new location filled with new people and tasks. I was there for several reasons and I have mentioned them before on this site. Aside from financial compensation I was there for another important reason. Stimulation for creation. I was going to be working and living in the Airstream in the beautiful Adirondack Mountains! But that’s not the important part of this story. The important part is the people I have gotten to know. This my story but more importantly it is their story. One I promised them last year. One that needed to wait as fate delivered new characters and new events. A story that only time and proximity to all the other workers would write all by itself. It would take the change of seasons and a job that continued to move forward to fill in the chapters of this story. Lots of listening at break time and asking people questions. No I don’t spend all day talking! There’s time in the morning before the shift and after. There’s always time to gather a little bit of people’s stories. It’s been a difficult week on the job. Today we honor and remember one of our Union brothers. He will not be forgotten by those of us who got to know him. Just who are the forgotten ones then?They are my friends, fellow tradesmen, and those who occupy our workplace. They are more than a passerby will ever know. In the fray we are united.

I can’t say for certain when I began to ponder the subject of the forgotten ones or if most people would even understand. There’s no connection to nature in this story.There’s certainly a connection to human interaction and coexistence. This story is not intended to insult non-construction personal nor unfairly target anyone. It is meant to portray a certain lifestyle choice we choose. A profession that is far too often misrepresented and stereotyped. I am the seasoned veteran at this point as are many of my peers and I know more people then I can even remember now. The forgotten ones are construction people I work with and find interesting. They all have a story! I love to hear their stories! I can’t name everyone unfortunately. But if someone reads this that works with me or knows me and wants to share then I am all ears!There’s always room for a part two!

Let’s lay a foundation of sorts now. Picture reading the newspaper or watching the news. A project of new construction or renovation is featured. The plans were drawn and bids were accepted. Things are about to take off. You might see a golden shovel and a ground breaking ceremony. Shiny new hard hats on smiling dignitaries in spotless clothing kicking off the project.But where are the workers? They aren’t there yet of course! Fast forward many months or sometimes years. A ribbon cutting ceremony with smiling dignitaries and high end project personnel. But where are the workers? Gone of course! The job was finished and “punched” out. Countless man hours were expended and all manners of tradespeople were involved in the process of completing the project. Sure we got paid for our efforts.That’s what employment is all about. But not many ever really recognize the team efforts that make up a completed project.In all fairness is it safe to say that we as construction workers know exactly what other people truly do or how they accomplish their jobs? Probably not in every insistence. By now you may have gotten the gist of the title! Yes I fear sometimes we are the forgotten ones! Maybe far too many of us American workers. Our service men and women too. We’re not looking for a holiday! We have one! It’s called Labor Day!Most importantly it’s all about joking around and keeping people engaged!I have fun talking to other workers and kept telling them that I will write a story for us!

On my present project we have a morning safety/coordination meeting that everyone attends. It’s common these days and a good idea truthfully. It turns into a golden opportunity for talking before and slightly after most days. We are a diverse group of individuals. Men mostly but there are several women as well. That’s common also now. I enjoy looking around and watching everyone.There are quite a few trades represented on our project. All levels of talent. I work on a crew of electricians that numbers around 10 most days. There’s usually someone that’s missing for whatever reason. Mainly me! Lol!We are a pretty tight bunch and our foreman Mike knows how to pair us up best. I get special treatment cause I am the odd man out being a part timer. I work with other trades people that I know by name only. I don’t know their stories and it’s only because we had some type of job interaction. We come in all sizes and shapes. Heavy,slim,tall, and short.Worn clothing and crusty old hard hats are the norm. Our hard hats are our badge of travel experience.Covered with stickers that sometimes give a snapshot into our personal lives. Steel toed work boots and safety eye protection make up the remaining wardrobe. We are all ages. From the very young fresh faced apprentices with shiny new hard hats to grizzled,gray veterans of countless projects. Plenty of teasing and bull shitting going on. You learn quickly or suffer immensely as one young apprentice did recently. He stepped away and decided our crude workplace wasn’t his true calling. We’re not cruel or hateful but we expect a lot. It’s the nature of the beast as they say. It’s not for everyone. I take the inevitable teasing all in stride and would be disappointed if I didn’t get ribbed by the other workers. I give it right back with crude adjectives sprinkled in like toppings on a salad.Language is spoken differently amongst the forgotten ones. Fortunately I have learned to alter my vocabulary off the job. Funny how that works! You never truly have time to get to know everyone and some workers are totally off reach. Cynical,dark, and possessed of negative attitudes. Best avoided and left to their internal strife. They are few in number fortunately. You never truly know what’s going on in someone’s life so it’s best not to judge harshly. We are the motley crew. Plenty of long distance driving for some. Motel rooms and nighttime bar life for others during the week. Camp ground life for some of us. The days begin quietly and end the same. In between it’s a beehive of noisy activity. My first day on a new project always give me a twinge of anxiety. It’s been like that for years despite my decent knowledge of our trade. There’s a new commute to learn. Parking issues sometimes. Not knowing anyone sometimes. I always fear that I won’t make the grade for some strange reason. I am not alone in this feeling though. Others tell me that as well. We are just migrate workers I often tell the new apprentices. When the work is gone so are we. It’s off to new places and new coworkers. That’s the juice and the addiction that has always fueled my buzz for construction work once I get settled into the job. The unknowns and the unexpected. I have made some great long term friends out on the jobs. Others turned out to be passing through but once we are separated from the job it’s not always easy to connect. That pretty much sums up some of it. My heart is heavy today as I leave to say goodbye to our friend and brother. I so wished to get to know him better and hear more of his story. He now numbers as one of my fallen coworkers that we have lost to accident, time, and health issues. They are not forgotten ones.

I find it time to lighten the subject and bring some levity as I close this post to continue my day. The levity lives in the nicknames that follow some of my coworkers. Please don’t be disappointed if I miss you this time around! I will start with Eric. Aka Fat Dog. I hope he lets me feature him on a future post. We think he’s the best! There’s another cat they call Swamp Buck Billy. What a trip that dude! There’s Big Al and my new friend Sky Dog. Aka Cowboy too!A guy they call Dougie Fresh. There’s also the Odyssey of Homer. He’s funny when he yells a the younger guys to get stuff done!There’s a guy Cody that I call Code Red. And Ryan the spaceman due to his weird helmet visor. There’s Light Pole Larry and Scotty the satellite whisperer. There’s Matt known to some as the People’s choice in small circles of competitive large weight lifters off the job. A few know me as Taz but mostly call me by my given name. I can’t even begin to acknowledge everyone. A few from years ago stick with me to this day! Road Kill and Bad Ass Bud. Buffalo Bob and Smurf. A longer haired me sported the nickname Goldilocks. There’s Dirt Belly aka Black Out. Rocket Man Ron and the Turbo Tot. Rug burn. So many forgotten ones as well. How ironic this occupational assignment of names and faces. We will leave your town a better place we feel. Not to mention a few dollars short of our hard won cash. Enjoy the ribbon cutting folks! We won’t be there for it. If fact I don’t know where I’ll be headed. Maybe to the rocky hills of Macomb to wander the farm property for a bit. It’s been hard to leave this racket for some reason. I guess it poisoned my blood a long time ago. Who’s to say and should I even bother asking at this point? It’s the people I think. It’s the stories and how we get there. It’s the finished product we craft with prideful purpose. That’s how I see it anyway.✍️

Times Like These

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Week 4.Day 3.It’s how I refer to my time here these days. I really need to cut to the chase this morning. Work in a few minutes and another busy day ahead. The totally lost words of the August 16th post titled The Return has been frustrating to say the least! I started piecing it back together but have decided to table it for now. It was a two part story anyway. If you’ve read some of my introductions then you are familiar with my attempts to write raw and honestly as I put it. Driving in this morning I realized something. It hit me with a sudden clarity. What triggered it actually was the rising daylight coming through the trees as I sped along the mostly empty highway headed towards Lake Placid. I snatch views as possible ever vigilant for the deer who love to feed on the roadside grass.They ultimately place themselves in my path. But I am trying to respect that the Adirondacks are their home and slowing down is the best way to coexist. So the trees! Solid and silent. Their branches and needles so finely detailed it was breathtakingly beautiful! There never seems to be a good place to park the car for a photo in these moments along the narrow highways of the Adirondacks. What’s this got with words on a blog post? Triggering. The title of this post was triggered. It’s a borrow on a Foo Fighters song I recently heard on satellite radio. It fits the mood and tone of my daily routine these days. There’s no internet service at my campsite so I do very little writing at night. 10 hours a day on the job site and the 1 hour plus daily commute leaves me somewhat drained I suppose. I truly do enjoy my work outdoors on the Olympic Center skating oval. It’s as raw and honest as my words. I show up clean and leave dirty. Wet sometimes after a day in the rain. After spending much of my career inside of buildings I relish the big skies overhead with the high peaks in the background. They shore me up with positivity. Always there if I needed to escape for some mountain therapy as a friend of mine calls it. There’s a lot going on in my life right now. It was my choice to be here in the first place. I came for a new experience. A story. Dollars and cents. Benefits of all sorts. It plays out like a movie script. Life is never perfect nor without challenge. How you embrace the challenge defines you I like to think. I strive to be a solid presence here. Much like the trees along the highway. I have been busy getting people’s stories. At the campsites and on the job. Many thanks to everyone who takes time to chat with me! You are all part of the MOONTABS In Motion project! I’d like to acknowledge several people from the last few weeks! Ron and Nancy.Jason and Darlene. David and Kelly. Mike and Sammi.Just to name a few. We find common ground in nature,camping,and in life. That’s the heartbeat of this project! Don’t get lost in “Taz-mania”!This story is far from over!

46 times 2

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Christmas Day draws near.A time of year where pensive thoughts seem to take root in my mind more so than usual. It’s tied to the end of the present year. A time of year where happiness and sadness can engage in a tug of war sometimes. I simply acknowledge that today as a part of my journey.MOONTABS is a journey of memories. Dreams and hope. That place where darkness that frightens can enlighten. For we can only see the stars when we step out into the dark of night. Happy moments can become the stars in our night skies. They shine there forever.As this year of many changes,challenges,and decisions winds down I must tally up all that went well. Subtract all that didn’t. I find myself with a solid total on the plus side! For that I know I am truly thankful and blessed!Those who love me made all this possible walking this journey with me!My son Zane recently asked me if I mentioned him in the blog. “Yes!I have!” I replied. I also mentioned that I jumped right into the blog and strangers might find it confusing! I further explained that as part of the evolution of the blog we would introduce the people of my journey under a welcome category. Today I introduce my 16 year old son Zane Alvin James Washburn. My only child. 42 years separate us yet we share a special bond. I could write a post dedicated to him everyday easily!Let’s jump well into his 15th year for now!He received his Adirondack 46er climber number in a letter last week. September 1st he finished his final mountain!I was with him and photographed his happy face!A 46er at age fifteen!His feet had summited all 46 of the ADK high peaks!A goal we set two years ago. One that seemed impossible at times given the ever changing circumstances of life. Stories live within stories of that journey.For his goal was also my goal! I would become a 46er beside him.It was a proud moment for me as we stood soaked and muddy on the summit of Allen Mt. We had begun our adventure in October of 2016. That June a much smaller boy had climbed the “Saranac 6”mountain Ambersand on a dark and rainy day while on our annual camping trip. There would be no views to greet us there. Rolling rain burdened clouds surrounded us in all directions. His happy, excited face foretold of larger destinations! He was hooked!Intrigued by the bare rock surfaces of the small summit.A dream was born then. We’d plan to start hiking the ADK 46 high peaks!Our quest began slowly.Cascade and Porter the first bundle for us.The peak of autumn foliage was our reward that day. School,work,and unforeseen consequences would slow our mission. We’d grab only two more in the autumn of 2017. Another day of rain to greet us. We’d hike regardless.It became our motto of sorts!Make the plans and follow through without question.We were a well matched pair.The mornings belonged to his youthful energy.The afternoons were mine from pacing myself.2018 would find me retired and the hikes ramped up!We’d take a High Peaks workshop class in June to gain knowledge of our quest. We’d hike 13 peaks that summer. Engaging in a tough man challenge between the two of us. Zane was growing and his tenacity would challenge me!His rock scrambling antics amazed me!We were still well matched.Neither winning or losing the challenge.It became a subject that seemed to worry him.Always asking who won the day.I relished the competition but conceded the game. “You are the winner” I told him! “It’s your time to be the leader.Time to accept the responsibility that comes with it!”. I took my place behind him with fatherly pride!That was a priceless reward!2018 was full of happy memories!Camping.Planning hikes while driving.Sharing in favorite moments.My boy continued to grow in so many ways.As did I.We began 2019 with a goal of peaks to summit. More camping.More weather. More driving. Zane now firmly the leader. His approach to hiking tenacious as never before. I would accept the role of follower but would push him hard.We set new personal peak bagging records. I’d learn to enter a mental state that would enable me to go that extra mile somehow. Zane would patiently wait for me to catch up many times. But he’d learn not to underestimate my own tenacity.Our bonds were strengthened on those mountain trails. We’d finish 2019 ahead of our goal.16 peaks completed by October. Christmas Day 2019 would find me in the hospital in Vermont awaiting surgery. Broken and in pain from my own carelessness riding a horse. My trail tested son had manned up that December 23rd afternoon.Faced his fears and got me into the truck.Another story within a story. In my hospital bed unable to walk I would face sleepless nights there alone. Haunted by fear.Would I even be Zane’s hiking companion to reach our goal?Fast forward. My challenge to overcome my injury is a different story. June 2020 plans for the final 13 were made but questionable. A test hike to Ambersand Mt. A 5.4 miles round trip that I struggled to complete.Time to reboot the plans. We’d need to camp the backcountry for any chance of success. Miles were my adversary now. We’d shoulder the heaviest packs we’d ever carried. Zane would wait for me patiently on the trail.He’d take his role as leader into the camp site. Setting things up. Helping filter our water. Offering encouragement when he knew that I was tapped. I’d fail him for the first time on the trail.Tap out in a col below Seward forcing a stop for the night.It was a rough night! Nicknamed Hell Camp we hit the tent before dark. Yet another story within the story. We survived that first backcountry trip with the four Seward Range mountains part of our total.A Saturday day trip to Santanoni Mt. would bring me to a mental state I call the Zombie walk. Success once again. A second backcountry trip would finish the Santanoni’s.The next backcountry trip would see us in the Great range cleaning up the remaining few mountains there. Gray would bring us to number 45. We were close!Not just in mountain peaks but as father and son. I’d leave for Pennslyvania for a work adventure to raise funds for my writing plans soon after. I’d return home to hike that final peak with Zane. It was an epic journey!One a short blog post can’t even begin to describe!So now you have been introduced to Zane!Yes in a more recent sense but that was my intention.There are many lessons here in this quest for the ADK 46. My son who has become my teacher in a full circle journey that continues! The words that wait on summits yet to hike! I am very proud of my son! His love of adventure and nature will continue to push me! As we drove home from our final mountain I asked him what he thought his most successful accomplish in life was to date. “Becoming a 46er Dad!”he replied. “Want to hear mine?” I asked. “You are my greatest accomplishment!” I replied as I fought back tears. Pondering your answer to that question is where I leave you today.

Beaver Dam

Beaver Sticks Build Beaver Dams

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It’s interesting how simple outings in nature inspire a “flow” of words. As the blog develops I realize that flowing words could possibly become white water rapids for someone who just decided to jump in! Tossed around in a confused state not knowing where the stream was headed! Anyone who knows me very well knows my fascination with beaver ponds. My Facebook followers know my obsession with collecting beaver sticks! Jennifer knows better than anyone! My muddy collections messing up her car constantly!They’re the ultimate natural walking stick! A subject of future posts! There’s a much larger connection to nature however that my large furry friends have taught me!It’s nothing new really. It’s going to be a little tricky to follow perhaps! Don’t step out onto those slippery rocks just trying to get a better look! If you get wet you may decide to go home! There’s a path around the white water.When you see it follow it!These rapids of confusion slow eventually! How do I know this? That’s easy! I released the white water! Constantly poking holes in a large manmade dam of negativity upstream! The result was a flood headed downstream! I decided to jump right in and start swimming! Now you must be totally confused! Let’s get nature to slow down that white water! The beaver I mentioned? That’s where they fit in! Anyone who has ever wandered the north country has come across beaver ponds. They can transform the landscape very quickly! They can turn the tiniest trickle into a large sanctuary for themselves. (I always call the beaver in large lakes and rivers “lazy”! They don’t build dams).Beaver dams start small in wisely chosen locations most of the time. It starts with that one stick. Some mud. More sticks. Sometimes the work of one at first. With hard work and determination the beaver dam grows larger. The sticks and mud intertwined make it strong yet flexible.Another Beaver joins the first. A family group forms. More workers with a mission. Behind this dam a sanctuary forms.Calm water. Deep and protecting. A safe home for the beaver. Other species arrive and call it home. Often in time multiple smaller dams are created above and below the original dam. Relief dams they’re called. The waters of the stream have been tamed at this point. The white water rapids may not even exist anymore. Flooding no longer occurs in this habitat. The strong dams control the flow. They need constant maintenance and improvement. The transformation is amazing and inspiring! Enter the blog now! It’s that first tiny dam that has been created with the sticks and mud of life. We’ll add to it. You’ll find flat water to paddle behind the dam as it gets larger and deeper. We’ll build more dams. Call them “categories”. More ponds for you to paddle. They’ll all be connected with channels. Ones of words. You chose your destination. Don’t want to paddle today? Wade in one of the warm,shallower ponds.Your reflection awaits your arrival. Storms of negativity will threaten our dams. But they were built to bend.Adapting to seasons and circumstances.We’ll attend to the weak spots and shore them up.In time we’ll invite you to add your sticks to our dams. This is my vision for the blog .A sanctuary for all to find calm water and enjoy nature! This post inspired by all who say they enjoy my words! Also by my recent adventures with the Adk Girl! 🌲⛰✍️

Hiking

The Look Ahead and Behind

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It’s been a busy past few days! Working on last minute details as winter approaches in these last days of autumn. The Grand Harvest of collecting firewood continues but we reach a milestone of accomplishment. It’s like that with the blog as well. I still continue my introduction of myself for the moment. Most people who know me on social media will remember it was in 2018 when I first joined Facebook. Retirement in 2017 would see me finding more time to write.New beginnings and a ramping up of adventures. The works of that year and every year after continue to pile up! Unpublished but not forgotten. Facebook has been the ultimate practice writing site! Consider it an experiment of sorts! Several people suggested that I begin a blog. Thx!The message today dwells in the simple word “now “. My now is that place I choose to exist these days. It’s that place where I try to sync in with nature in seasonal harmony. Nothing new for me honestly. Only in a greater sense of appreciation and perception. I find strength and positivity as I dive deeper into nature. It’s something I wish to share at a deep emotional level while keeping it fun at the same time!Another experiment! My best writing I feel is in the emotion of the now.Day to day. Nothing staged.Not processed and prepackaged with artificial ingredients.Best served raw with minimal editing. Nature taught me valuable lessons in the raw honesty of hard truths. Very real at a primitive level. It’s about life and death.Everything in between. Diving deep is fine but it’s the stories I’ve learned that people seem to enjoy most! I’ve been experimenting on other individuals sites. In fact I’ve been kicked off one for crossing manmade boundaries! Gently kicked I’d have to add! They were patient!Nature exists everywhere on earth. That’s where the stories can get interesting! I fear my continued introduction may bore you to tears! Patience! Remember this quote! “In nature there is no hurry yet all is accomplished “! There’s time and plenty of stories! The now will trigger memories. New ones are made each day. It all ties together! That’s a promise I can honestly make. It’s time for me to pack for our next adventure! Consider this the end of formal introductions. Don’t worry comments will be accepted in time! I’ll jump right into it next time! But first we must live those moments! Taz

A Journey Begins With The First Step

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My journeys in nature started some 58 years ago. I can’t remember my first steps as a baby.Who does? I do remember the need I felt to spend time outside in my earliest recollections. Journeys are the stories of our lives. All beginning with that first step. My first step into writing a blog might be best compared to a leap. Writing down my observations certainly not new to me. The story of the origins of the energy that would drive my hand must wait for now. It’s as winding and twisting as the vines of the forest bittersweet. Round and round the tree they grow headed for the canopy where the sunlight is the most intense. The tiny berries beautiful to some if they spot them.If I am the bittersweet at 58 my vine enters the canopy in its continued push for the sunlight. You have entered the “spin”! That place where I will begin to stray from my original message! I offer my personal invitation to follow the growth of my vine in the forest. My vine doesn’t grow in a flawless forest. Groomed and trimmed into something artificial. Nature is very real. Full of life and death. Struggles and survival.A balance of connection. My connections to nature are real.Grounded in the past and present. This vine thrives in the elements. That is the simple message. I thank those who have nurtured my vine. Family,friends,and the special lady I know as Adk Girl. My Facebook followers of the past two years. My administrator Gerry (my cousin and friend!) who patiently works with me. I must also thank my late father. For he raised me in a rural farm setting here in the St.Law. Valley. Encouraged and taught me the ways of nature. I also thank my son Zane! His love of nature and adventure fuels my energy. I ask everyone to leap into the forest of blogging with me!Why wait? The words can’t once the spin begins.🌲✍️