Bush Days:The Balance Is Struck

Posted on September 22, 2022June 5, 2023 by Greg Washburn

Today is a special for those closely connected to nature. The annual fall equinox. Equinox in Latin means equal night. That place of equal darkness and daylight. It’s always worthy of acknowledging I feel. This the first day of autumn. Nature didn’t wait for this day to start the transition though. It’s been underway for several weeks as summer days wound down. It’s easy to get too busy and miss things at times. But I had noticed. The small details of an impending autumn. As autumn arrived in 2021 I posted The Transition. My thoughts of autumn still hang there like leaves on a tree. I read it this equinox morning and found something in my own words. Nothing has changed in nature. It’s predictable here in a four season part of the world. Solid as a rocky summit. My life certainly continues to change. I draw strength from that in a complex study of time and existence. Nature will light the way once again with beautiful colors and a magical transition. The transformation I also call it. I will be returning to the Adirondacks soon to reflect as I assemble pieces to a bigger puzzle. It’s time to explore some new ground.I dedicate this post to a good friend who is fighting a battle.He likes heavy music. The band Breaking Benjamin song Down says a part of what I am trying to move past this morning. “Oh light carry me over the ground. Heavy won’t hold me down”.Got your back Bro! How ironic the equinox. Equal darkness and light today. But it’s time to get back to the bush. And run wild there in the light.

We woke up Tuesday in our home away from home bush cabin full of expectation. It was our final full day on the lake. We hit the water early fully stocked with water and snacks. The fishing was more for numbers at this point. We had cracked the 194 walleye record on Monday. Greg was talking a lot about returning in 2023 despite the minor but inconvenient problems with the cabin. The big variable would be our choice of a cabin. We had scouted the locations of some of the other cabins during the week to decide what would be our best fit. There were still numerous areas of the lake we hadn’t explored. It’s that big! We had decided on Monday that we would explore a southern finger of the lake after the morning fish. Raspberry Point was close to the unexplored section so it was a logical choice. We were wanting to find Cabin 3 to see if it was a possible 2023 destination. Typical of most mornings we were the only people out on the lake. I feel small in those moments in a wonderful manner! Big water. Big forest. Big skies. And a sudden provocative thought by me who had considered for a nanosecond tossing technology overboard: bring a drone next time. The vastness could be captured in a far different perspective than my words. Or better yet a mix of both! Or to really up the ante a triple dip. Words, drone footage, and a live presentation! Enter the challenge. Imagine bringing that to someone who had always dreamed of doing something like that but hadn’t. I know a guy! Time had run out and now he just couldn’t. A true explorer and adventurer himself but unable physically to make the trip these days. What an ultimate gift to give to a man who had inspired me greatly in so many ways. He told me once I needed to follow my heart with my writing and get it in gear. He’s here in the blog posts if you wish to ferret him out.

We were anxious to explore so we cut the morning fish short and headed south into the unknown. I was cognitive of our isolation and was being super cautious.Polarized sunglasses are a necessity when exploring bush waters. If you wear them sunken shoals and obstacles show up brown in the dark water long before you get to them. Not always though. It depends on the day. My depth finder doesn’t work well when we reach a certain speed. The cavitation messes with it. Note to self: get a better one! But the thrill of searching new territory supersedes any hesitation. Best not to let the mind wander. That’s actually a good thing.You don’t think of things like going home or all the responsibilities waiting there. The moment is all about safety and focus. We left a big open section of water behind and entered a section where my stomach churned with a mix of apprehension and excitement.Numerous small clusters of bare rocks jutting out from the points of small islands. I throttled way down and we probed our way into a section of bays with sandy beaches. We consulted the map briefly and tried to figure out how to reach Cabin 3. We decided that it must lie behind a long narrow peninsula to the left of the bow. I pushed back out into a larger section of open water and throttled back up. We rounded the peninsula and spotted a beach that begged cabin site. Yup! There it was! The person or persons who had decided to build here had chosen wisely. I tried to imagine what it must have been like to have been those people. To see the possibilities and set a plan into motion. The metric tons of work involved. The logistics of getting the materials into the bush. The logging roads we had traveled hadn’t always been there Eric later told me. Bush planes had been the norm. This entire lake had once been a fly in destination. The work they had accomplished was impressive and must have taken a lot of time.

We cautiously entered the bay that led to the cabin. I trimmed the motor up manually as I had done so often during the week and we eased towards. There were several strange looking groups of rock that seemed unnatural. As we approached them we realized that they were the remains of dock cribs.In some distant time there had been some sort of elaborate docking system here. The cabin looked deserted like no one had been there in awhile. A strange feeling came over me then. The deserted cabin and dock remains had a story behind them. We beached the boat and stepped onto a sandy beach with no human tracks on its surface. The area behind the beach was littered with old pieces of dock. Weathered and untouched for some time it appeared. There was a large deck missing it’s steps. It was entering a ghost town.The grass was long and weeds covered what had once been a yard. There was a leaning water platform similar to our cabin set up but much higher. There was no ridge to place the tanks on so the builder had built a tower. Still standing but a little tired. We entered the bush cabin because we knew it wasn’t occupied by any party of fisherman. There are never any locks on bush cabins. We follow the unwritten rules of bush etiquette. Never enter an occupied cabin without permission and respect others privacy. The cabin obviously hadn’t been occupied in awhile. There were signs of rodents everywhere. I thought about Mr. Jangles and doubted that he would like this cabin. Slim pickings and no humans to keep him company. No games of cat and mouse so it would be most boring for him. After all he was no ordinary rodent.In fact the term rodent was a bit below him. He was best represented by the word Muridae. It speaks of family and belonging to a higher order. It spoke of history and painful evolution. Nature at its finest moment. And what gives me the right to judge any life form? We as humans consider ourselves the God Species.Gods of arrogance perhaps. Best exit that unstable ground. More importantly was my twisted relationship with Mr. Jangles! I was ready for another round with him. I politely told Zane that he was out of the game. It wasn’t fair two on one! Funny the thoughts that were triggered stepping into that cabin 3.

The place had been rather nice once.Big for a bush cabin and on a remote part of the lake. With a good cleaning crew it could be brought back to life. The roof seemed intact and it was very well furnished. We pinched a nice cooking pot since our cabin lacked one. That’s bush life survival we adopted in 2016 when our outfitter didn’t provide us with everything they promised. Wrong maybe but we needed things and had no way to get them. I called it raiding and Zane loved it! I told him we were like Vikings storming a beach! We weren’t stealing since everything belonged to the same outfitter. We had found two abandoned cabins and helped ourselves to the firewood woodsheds. Our cabin woodshed had been totally empty and the nights were cold. We pinched a piece of cookware that time also. Shame on them and us! That is quite another story. Very real and a happy memory. Pure bush country MOONTABS.

We wrote cabin 3 off after that and headed back onto the lake. Eric was coming to fix the plumbing after brunch. We explored a few hidden coves before heading back. There was so much of it out there! I had hoped to explore the outlet of the lake. The map shows a set of rapids. I love waterfalls and whitewater. But there was no time for it. Greg had been clever this time around! He had brought his gps unit along and had our route mapped out. I simply followed the course it had plotted and we had full throttle cruising with no fear of sunken shoals. To think that I had considered throwing the technology overboard! Was I crazy? I do struggle with my own lemming like race into technology’s embrace sometimes. It’s recorded on these pages that live in the cloud. We are getting dangerously close to Tazmania and I would rather be cruising the lake.

The ride back was uneventful and beautiful like always. We were all thinking about leaving tomorrow I knew but we were dodging it like a squirrel crossing a busy road. The scenery drew me back into the now where I knew I was supposed to be. There was still time. And what a trip! Eric showed up shortly after we finished brunch and found the problem with the shower valve. It was plugged from debris that had collected in the gravity tanks. I liked Eric and envied his laid approach to everything even if I didn’t agreed with his idea of maintenance. But his true character was about to show itself in his disregard for convention and love of a lifestyle far from modern society. I volunteered to go help him with the leaks under the cabin. I used the opportunity to grill him with questions and soon began to build out the puzzle. The events of 2020 had really thrown the business into a tailspin. He obviously loved his girls and needed to provide for his family. 70 percent of their business had been lost over the last two years but he was counting his blessings still. Maintenance had taken the backseat by necessity. They don’t own the lake or the land. They pay an annual lease of some magnitude. He’s made it 25 years since the previous owner. I enjoyed hearing his honest testimony. Not complaining just accepting the reality. I asked him about the fish that were in the deep section of the lake. I asked if anyone ever caught lake trout here. Years ago he said but rarely now although a fellow had caught a 17 pound one a couple years back. We had been there a week and had seen very few people at all. We never saw anyone fishing for trout period.My mind began to percolate with possibilities. Things were continuing to add up.

We still hadn’t paid for trip yet and Eric hadn’t even mentioned it. We asked if they took credit cards but they weren’t set up for that. We had wondered about paying so we had brought fat stacks of Canadian money. Eric didn’t know that yet though. He said that he would tally up our bills right then and there. You can wire me the money when you return to the states he calmly stated. Talk about trust! They had never even asked for a deposit in the first place. His comment gave me pause for reflection. Such trust in these modern times! We said no worries we brought cash just in case! At the table he wrote up our bills and then turned it over to us. Sorry for all the problems with the cabin he said. I tweaked your bill. Is this amount ok? Greg and I took a quick glance then said absolutely! He had been totally fair. I then asked him the big question that I had been mulling on after discussions with my companions. How many people would we need to rent the big cabin 6? Four would seal the deal Eric said with no hesitation in his voice and no deliberation. A shock as it can accommodate over 12. I told Eric that we would discuss things and let him know.We had toured cabin 6 earlier in the week before the gun toting party crew had arrived. I immediately liked the size of it and it’s log cabin construction. Someone had taken pride in the building and it was still in pretty good shape. The ice house was adjacent to it as well. Enter another new character: Raquel. She was cleaning the cabin with one of Eric’s daughters the day we met her. On vacation herself and helping out. She was smoking on a cigarette and sipping a hard seltzer while she gave us a tour. I got a little of her story. She worked in a location that I won’t mention to respect her privacy. She fished with Eric’s girls and helped take care of them. She was French but spoke excellent English. I could hear the accent in her voice. I liked her friendly openness and hospitality letting us tour the cabin. After we left I asked Greg and Zane what they thought of cabin.They both thought it was nice. I said that I thought it was an upgrade from our cabin most certainly. We spoke of it occasionally throughout the remainder of the week.

We all enjoyed the newly functioning shower after Eric departed. Strange to think that all commuting here was by boat. I hadn’t missed driving a vehicle or had even thought about it to any degree. And just like that the day ticking forward. We decided to skip our naps and go all the way down to the outfitter’s landing. We would go right to the evening fishing locations immediately after. Our phones were all but dead. Our battery backup units were dead. We needed a generator to get things charged back up. It was a nice cruise although we hit some chop on the way while cruising the big open section where days before we had battled the storm. We recognized much of the landscape now. The familiar sight of Garbage Island rising straight up out a deep section of the lake. We had history here now. No longer greenhorns of the lake. Our walleye count was at an impressive 211! Greg was so far in the lead at this point the competition was over for Zane and I. But we all knew that it had taken a team effort to reach the count. What a week! And there was still time! The motor hummed with steady rhythm and I was awash in brilliant sunshine enjoying my surrender to the bush.

We arrived at the landing and cautiously approached the small house greeted again by the old grumpy dog. He was very protective of the girls and although I love dogs I never tried to pet him. Eric’s daughter came out to see what we wanted. We got set up for charging and learned that we could jump onto their Wi-Fi. The messages started dinging across phones as we reentered the modern world. Greg got word out to his wife on my phone as he had no service in Canada. I sent my sister a brief message letting her know that I was alive. I had a message from my foreman in Lake Placid. Enter the impending return to reality. Zane contacted his mom and just like that we were much closer to our lives back home. Raquel showed up by boat and I asked her if cabin 6 was available next August. She consulted the hand written booking journal and asked for a date. August 11th I decided after checking my phone calendar. And to think I had considered throwing my technology overboard! It’s open Raquel said. I asked Greg what he thought but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to decide so quickly. I mentioned that we should decide then or we might not get the booking. I knew both he and Zane were eager to return. They just needed a small nudge. Cabin 6 was open for the dates we wanted so I asked Raquel how much it would cost to reserve it. $100/person was needed. Raquel said we could send it after we got back to the states. I said I’ve got it right here! $300 Canadian that I don’t need back in the states. So just like that it was done! We would be returning in 2023. There was a comfort in that moment that’s difficult to put into words but I have a good idea what I was reaching for with impulsive reckless. Hope. That good health and good fortune would bring us all back to this special place with others whom we wanted to share it with. And me the pensive one felt something else. A chill below my happy surface. Too many times life had happened with no warning. Changed everything in the blink of an eye. Someday I will share portions of the story Escape Velocity. Written in May of 2018 it was as deep a place as I ever dove as a lover of words. I never finished it. It wasn’t meant to be finished I suppose. How do you finish what has just begun? But the sun was too warm for chills to linger long that afternoon.Inside or out. It was time to move past the brambles that scratch at hope.

We headed back towards the fishing spot and I took a slightly different route to mess with Greg. I knew that he’d notice eventually and I was full of mischief. Ile Quabie is massive and in my mind I had it all mapped out. This isn’t right Greg suddenly said! Really? I feigned ignorance. He caught onto my treachery when the familiar sight of Raspberry appeared with startling clarity. I privately reveled in the strength of my inner compass. It’s always been there for me.My imagination likes to think that I have some special connection to the magnetic poles. Probably it but I do know one thing thing. My compass does love to pull north.Someday I intend to head up beyond the trees all the way to Hudson Bay. I suppose my compass pulls in all four directions at once sometimes. That’s tricky.

Greg ruled the last evening of fishing although Zane and I did well. We had reached the point where we couldn’t keep any walleye so we were throwing everything back. Under sized fish were known as throwbacks. Sometime during the week Greg and Zane had started calling them “Becksteads”. In reference to a fellow colleague that Greg and I worked with years ago. (New character enter and exit). The walleye were turned on in a feeding frenzy and we were racing through our remaining bait. There came the time of the last worm. Zane got it and hooked a walleye with it. In the process of Greg netting it for him the worm dropped into the water where it began to slowly sink. I made a daring leap from my seat and made what’s know as a glove save. Wow! Greg was shaking his head and called me crazy! Didn’t go overboard though! I was down to my last leech just as it was turning dusk when I felt a huge weight on my line. I set the hook and the fight was on! The biggest one I had hooked for the trip! But it shook free without breaking my line. I was pretty bummed for awhile after that but forgot about it as we headed back watching yet another beautiful sunset. No two were ever the same. This was the final night! We settled into the evening routine a little later then usual and sat around the table while Greg tallied up the fish count. We had a combined catch of 240 walleye! A mix of keepers and Becksteads and an impressive catch on new water. We weren’t expecting any visitors but one showed up unannounced!

I was sitting in my usual spot at the end of the table when Greg nodded his head towards the stove. There he was! Mr. Jangles! But a shiver ran down my spine and I was frozen in my seat by what I was seeing! Mr. Jangles was hard at work trying to get an old smear of peanut butter from the trigger of one of the mouse traps! I hadn’t sprung them but I hadn’t baited them either. Greg thought it was funny but I watched in horror as he continued to feed. Mr. Jangles was a true master of stripping a trap. He was nonchalantly oblivious to the danger that he was in. I was worried that if I startled him it would spell disaster. He worked carefully though I soon realized. Like a safe cracker working the dial of a vault. His tiny whiskers accented his face perfectly. He had a look of elderly class. Well groomed with shiny fur unlike the other mice that had been killed early on . His eyes were small but intelligent and he made eye contact with me for a moment. Careful Mr. Jangles! Focus! It seemed like an eternity but he suddenly stepped off the trap and headed across the kitchen floor. To my great relief he ignored the other trap. Zane was headed out of the bathroom and was eager to engage Mr. Jangles but I ordered him to stand down. He obeyed my orders and Mr. Jangles disappeared into the bathroom. We never saw him again and I later regretted not trying to strike up a truce by offering him some peanut butter with crackers. Why did I surrender to Mr.Jangles? That’s tough to explain but I will take a stab at it. Perhaps I grew to respect his knack for survival. His reckless behavior. His almost playful and social demeanor. His energy of purpose when chewing through the cabin walls. A bush mouse has numerous predators. They come from all directions.Birds of prey by day and night. Weasels and mink by ground. Foxes too if they inhabit that part of the bush. A mouse’s life is short.Especially if it enters a human dwelling. Why is this so important or impressive to me? At this point in life I have developed a knack for survival. I was once reckless. I am playful and full of energy. As for predators in human society they too exist. Human not animal. Mr. Jangles shares survival with us. It’s just a different type. I see the connections to nature everywhere. They need time to show themselves on occasion. As for the mice in my farm warehouse destroying everything? Sorry! No surrender!

So we are almost at the end of this fabulous week in the Quebec bush! But it’s never over till it’s over as they say! Especially not with my companions. We had our final fish fry but not before having a campfire happy hour on the beach. We talked about 2023 and what things needed to be added to our packing lists. We had been adding to them all week. It would be time in 2023 for classic 6 “Ps” doctrine. “Proper preparation prevents piss poor performance”. I have huge plans for 2023! A generator and Keurig coffee maker. Tools and repair items. Extra phone battery backups. Who knows what else. A satellite phone would be nice. That drone set up too. Vlogging kit along for the ride. And me who had considered throwing technology overboard! We’ll be introducing some new characters we hope and checking up on some old ones. My chill had been beaten back by all that was possible. It seemed funny as we went to our bunks that we would be sleeping back home the next night. I had taken the mouse traps out of commission. We packed quickly the next morning after coffee and breakfast. Eric had dropped off a second boat for us Tuesday night because we still had to hoss a lot of freight even though we had used most of our supplies. We did the dishes,swept up, and took out our garbage. Leave no trace principles inside.We loaded our boats carefully and took a last look around. As we were leaving Zane and I were overcome by laughter that hurt. Greg couldn’t get his boat started and it was so hilarious watching him! We laughed so hard we had to move away from him! He got his motor going eventually and made it out into deeper water but stalled out. Being a team player we headed over to help him.Not! Being who we are we approached him at full speed and turned suddenly hitting his boat with a huge wake! More laughter till our sides hurt! Greg got going and decided to retaliate in kind. It was on! Bush lake chicken fights! Our heavy boat was no match for Greg’s but he was a good sport and hit us with numerous wakes. It was the perfect way to end the trip! Full of life and making the most of every moment possible. We settled into the long ride back but encountered some heavy waves in the biggest section of the lake. It was cool and cloudy when we reached the beach and said goodbyes to the family. We loaded the truck and gave the girls a tip for helping us. As I stood there I said a silent blessing to the sky. May we return to this beautiful and special lake. May this family survive all obstacles and their business survive as well. May we be blessed to return together… I don’t think that I have ever left a bush camp without being changed in some manner. I would think of this place often and picture it as we left it. The drive out was long and uneventful. We stopped on a large bridge above a place Eric called a walleye spawning sanctuary. In the spring when the ice leaves the lakes their glowing eyes number in the thousands at night. That is the draw here. The walleye and the hunt for them each day. But something larger finds us there. I have told you what it meant to me. The bonds we made together can not be broken now. It happened. We made it real and fun. I grew as a father and as a friend. I experienced something familiar in a new location. Back in the valley someone will always ask: why waste all that money and go so far? We have walleye right here. I nod my head and say yes! You are right! Then walk away to hide my knowing smile!Not everyone charges their spirit battery the same way! MOONTABS aren’t for everyone.✍️

We wrote

The Turn Of Thoughts

Posted on February 11, 2022February 11, 2022 by Greg Washburn

We approach the middle of February and last night on the long drive home from Lake Placid I had plenty of time to think. My work there is only part time now since December. That’s fine with me because I have more time to write and get caught up on some of the things I let slide. Speaking of time it’s become a frequent subject of discussion with a young coworker of mine on the project. In his late twenties his perception of it is noteworthy given my obsession with it. Despite the differences in our ages we walk common ground when discussing time and how we choose to manage it. We also shared thoughts on memories or lack there of sometimes. The realization that we can’t remember everything and certain things are lost in the haze of busy existence. I exposed him to the blog the other day. I then encouraged him to consider writing private life journals as a way of preserving his own memories. I kept hand written journals for years. (long before the creation of this blog and the very public sharing of my personal life).Just before beginning this post I did a quick review of my previously published titles and content.Time is a reoccurring subject and one I mention rather often. Some of my followers have told me they enjoy the stories of my life on the farm and roaming the forests of Macomb as a boy. For me those stories bring back many memories! I hope to continue to blend the old with the new this year as the seasons bring the different tasks and hobbies into play. A warm stretch of weather these past few days has certainly aided in turning my thoughts to the upcoming syrup season. Mid February does that to me regardless of temperature typically. I begin to consider those activities of winter that must be experienced before syrup season begins or they will need to wait till next winter. That’s a fact of time.There’s a certain energy in the sunshine now that can’t be denied or ignored. Dripping icicles and tiny rivulets of runoff that begin to flow bring a certain expectation to lovers of producing maple syrup. It’s almost that time of year again! I wrote several posts last year about sugaring if you haven’t read them. I will no doubt take a path of redundancy again this spring writing about sugaring. I suppose that I am trying to set a stage of sorts. One where the actors perform a yearly tradition. If asked what my message might be I would have to say that it’s one of the magic of seasonal transition and the power it brings to my now. Something that I have written about many times. Something real that can’t be bottled or sold. Something elemental in its simplicity and interconnected with nature as only certain experiences can be. If this seems like my same old story it’s because it is! There is a solid positive energy in traditional hobby and task. In a world of ever changing circumstances there is comfort in the approach of sugaring. Predictable to a degree yet still very variable. As I enter the forest as part of a daily routine I will find peace there despite the physical challenges the weather may bring. Or the challenges of life itself. I learned this fact of time most painfully once. The year 2007 was to be the final syrup season that I would share with my father although I didn’t know it at the start. I was busy with balancing the realities of time. A household, a young son, and my barn wood salvage business. Being able to help my father with the annual syrup season was a big part of why I wanted to be self employed in the first place. It was a time thing make no mistake of it. I temporarily left construction suddenly in March of 2006 after becoming ill with a double lung infection from breathing fire proofing all winter on an inside project. The year from March 2006 to March 2007 was a year that I will never forget! Freedom and a new lifestyle where I chased a dream of controlling time. I had done it! Taken control of time! But life is never that simple it seems. That year changed me though. So many great memories and then those I would like to forget. My father began to have some changes in health in the winter of 2007. It started with some strange accidents and memory quirks at times. But things were pretty normal for the most part. We tapped trees in mid March as was our custom but my father was not feeling all that great and went to his doctor. He underwent some tests soon after.He was fearful of dementia he told me one day while we were working together. His sudden changes in mental state were a concern. And then the fateful day. I was boiling sap in the evaporator and could see him walking towards the sugar house. He seemed bent over and I knew something wasn’t quite right. He stepped into the sugar house and we exchanged some simple banter about the quality of the syrup or subjects of that nature. He surprised me suddenly with an sudden outburst. “ I have good news! I don’t have Alzheimer’s! But I do have brain tumors. Two of them on one side of my head.They don’t know much more than that right now.” To this day I can’t remember what I said to him then. But I will never forget my sudden thoughts. I knew at that moment that we would be losing our father. Me a trusted friend. My son his grandfather. I know it sounds very negative but I was being painfully honest with myself. There were times in the coming weeks when I would be hopeful and positive. The doctors would operate and cure him we prayed. But lose him we did by the middle of June. To honor him I wrote my first ever rhyming story “For Pop”-A son’s story of life. And just like that, the aspiring writer in me began to evolve. Why do I share such a sad personal story? Because of time. It is not certain and not without circumstances. It is not guaranteed. I am forever thankful for whatever force told me to become self employed in 2006. The time that I shared with my father that year and into 2007 cannot be altered by any circumstances.It was carved out with deed not words of wishful thinking. I ultimately returned to construction for another 10 years but never again questioned my drive to manipulate time itself. As for what followed in 2009 when cancer was found in my body?Life would take on new meaning and purpose. Time would be on my side throughout that fateful journey. As in “they found my cancer in time to rid my body of it”. And in these moments of my present now I know of several who wrestle greatly with time and much more.Just how much remains for them? A stark reality for all who love them.All this may seem dark and cloudy in the face of a large storm. I apologize. It is not dark to me. It is just very real that’s all. Immortality is not a gift of natural world nor should it be considered.Acknowledging our own mortality need not be dark or foreboding . It’s rather the opposite really. It’s that chance for us to truly reflect on our choices for today and for tomorrow. How best to spend our time and are we happy with our choices. It’s about saying why not do that? Why wait? Why not take that vacation or visit that person? There’s not always a clear path in front of us. It’s not always easy to make the best choices or recognize them as the best ones. For me the answers may be found staying in motion I have decided. Chasing the seasons of nature and finding the magic hidden in each one of them. For time and love are greatly connected I feel. That’s a tough one to explain. If you took the time to read this far thank you! After all I took the time to write it for you! I promise a fun story soon! I simply ask you to reflect on time today and find the small blessings that surround you. ✍️

Home Is Where You Hang Your Hat

Posted on March 16, 2021March 16, 2021 by Greg Washburn

A March cold snap has postponed our maple syrup season momentarily so my thoughts run in a different direction today. Yesterday I wrote of the freedoms of having a blog site to basically write whatever subject matter seems pertinent at any given moment. While my blog is heavily nature themed most of the time there are other topics that invite pragmatic muses. A while back I wrote a post titled It’s About Time. I mentioned Hill House where we have lived for close to 6 years now. I have been wanting to sell it for almost 2 years but despite two different realtors efforts nothing happened. Just a couple totally ridiculous offers that I refused. On social media recently I have hinted around about being busy and making apologies for being a bit behind with my blogging. What most people don’t know is that we have been packing and moving our belongings out!We are selling Hill House and will be spending our last night here very soon. The story of how we came to be here in the first place really doesn’t need to be told. Let’s simply say that it was part of my “old life”. 2017 would be one of the most challenging years of my life. I was faced with many tough decisions. I tackled them one day at a time. I threw myself into my two large work projects and decided that they would be my last. I retired that November. It was one of the best decisions that I have ever made! The way forward wasn’t always clear but time passed. I put my son Zane’s happiness and needs at the forefront of all my plans. We bonded greatly through those days of massive change. He kept me focused and on track. I found more time for writing and nature once again. We continued living at Hill House despite the fact that it was way too large for us. I wasn’t ready to uproot Zane. I felt that he needed that sense of home and stability. We ditched Hill House in the summer of 2018 and moved to our cottage on Black Lake for a few months. We lived a carefree existence of camping and hiking in the Adirondack Mountains a few days each month. Adventure became our theme. Hill House was still home base but I think the lesson that I was presenting to Zane was beginning to take hold. We could feel at home wherever we found ourselves. In a wind swept tent on an Adirondack camp site buffeted by rain and struggling to keep dry. Emerging in the morning and laughing about our harrowing night! Or in a sketchy motel room with no locks where we barricaded the door with furniture. In the old cottage at Black Lake where we shared evenings paddling and hunting beaver sticks. Barbecuing and sharing dinner with family right next door. It was proof of the old adage “home is where the heart is”. Back at Hill House in the fall of 2018 big chances were about to come. Jennifer would enter my life in October of 2018. She’d bring joy and new meaning to our time spent at Hill House.Meals shared together and a most special memory of the Xmas we decorated a freshly cut tree together. Time spent safely tucked within its warm,safe haven as winter blanketed the north country. Home yet sometimes falling under the shadow of the old life. We’d feel moments of home in the tiny unfinished interior of our farm cabin during maple syrup season in the spring of 2019. Gathered around the wood stove for lunch before returning to work in the sugarbush. Summer 2019 more tenting and camping in the Adirondacks. Again that sense of home. Camping and traveling with Jennifer to Limekiln State Park near Old Forge, N.Y. with her nephew. Tents our home for a few. Fall 2019 the first of our Adirondack rental cabins. A week of home within a log cabin. A wonderful fireplace for basking with morning cups of coffee and chilly October evenings. Another fall at Hill House stacking in the large piles of firewood to heat it and the garage. Sometimes we’d stay at Jennifer’s house where we always felt at home after a day of adventures. Home was wherever we were together. Summer 2020 would find us calling the Adirondacks home more frequently. Tenting in the backcountry as we continued our 46 high peaks quest. Back to the log cabin rental once again at Tupper Lake. I’d leave for Pennslyvania to work for a few months and share a small apartment with my two friends. It was a home of necessity but I never cared much for living there. Dinner times when we shared a meals and conversations were the only time I felt a small sense of home. Sleepless nights missing my loved ones would become my norm as I searched the Pennslyvania countryside looking for a place for them to visit. Fate would not allow it however. I’d return home for good in October shortly after spending a most wonderful week with Jennifer,Zane, and her family at an Adirondack rental in Cranberry Lake. Once again proving that home is not one fixed destination. I spent a couple weeks in late October working on a project on Whiteface Mountain near Lake Placid,N.Y. Once again calling the Adirondacks home for a few. My motel room near Lake Placid was less than home so I moved to a small Airbnb in Saranac Lake. The moment I stepped into my new space I felt at home! Missing my loved ones but knowing they were only a short distance away. Something that was impossible to feel in the suburb city of Beaver, Pennslyvania weeks earlier.December 2020. Jennifer and I spend a few days in a cozy Adirondack Airbnb in Wilmington. That sense of temporary home again as we returned from our daily adventures. I did a quick count just now! I have used the word home 19 times give or take a few! Totally my intent! My objective was simple this morning. I hope that I have succeeded in making you think about all the places you’ve called home over the years. I mentioned just some of mine. We are about to close the door forever here at Hill House. The final door of the old life. The closing of a chapter. Zane is feeling a little sad these days at times but he’s traveled enough now to know that home can be many places for us. As for me I feel little sadness leaving here. I will miss our beautiful views of the lake. Our private location. Our good friends and neighbors who live just down from us.But home for us becomes a blank page once again and a new year of adventures await us. We’ll live at the old cottage for the moment while we decide our next destination. Home will be many places once again this year. We leave Hill House with our many MOONTABS. Home will be where we hang our hats! Always!

Not Castle!Palace!

Posted on January 31, 2021January 31, 2021 by Greg Washburn

I’ve always had a fascination with ice! That should come as no surprise as I have lived my entire life here in the Macomb/Hammond,New York area. We experience the full benefits of four seasons of change. Winter brings its share of snow and ice each year. I mentioned it recently in a post. My father remembered a time when ice was harvested for storage. He spoke of it occasionally. There would come a time each winter when the ice of ponds and lakes would reach the desired thickness to harvest. People constructed ice houses where the harvested blocks would be stacked in layers using saw dust to insulate the thermal mass. It was then used during the warmer months in ice boxes as refrigerators and electricity had not become commonplace. We as modern people do not fully appreciate all our ancestors endured as part of their daily routines. It’s a subject worthy of a blog story. Today I tell a different story. Our lives take many turns and sometimes where we find ourselves can be the cause of some serious reflection. Prior to yesterday I had nothing but some rudimentary knowledge of ice harvesting. My father had once pointed out to me a location on Beaver Creek near Dekalb where some Amish were harvesting ice. It’s not very common here in the St. Law. Valley anymore. Fast forward many years.Winter 2019. My girlfriend Jennifer took me to the Saranac Lake Winter Carnival for the first time! Very fun! A parade,food,drinking,and dancing in the local bars. A room at the renovated Hotel Saranac. “Hot Sara” to the locals in reference to some burned out neon lights on it’s roof prior to the renovation.We went cross country skiing at nearby Cascade Ski Center as well. But it was on a walk to the shores of Lake Flower that this story truly began. One that is forged by my fascination with ice! For someone who had lived so long in the north country, I had never spent much time in the Adirondacks during the winter months. A little snowmobiling years ago but that’s about it. It was Jennifer who would introduce me to a walk through an ice palace for the first time! We bundled up and strolled through the ice palace.Took photos and enjoyed the moment! We were talking to a local gentleman when I used the term “ ice castle”.He corrected me immediately! “It’s not called a castle! It’s called a palace!” I was a little taken back as it appeared that I had offended this man! Some research has uncovered that at one point it was referred to as a fortress as well as a palace. Further research has uncovered the origins of the Winter Carnival and some history of ice palace construction. An interesting story of human endeavor and love of community. It dates back to 1896. The first palace was constructed in 1898. The ice palace construction was put out to bid each year to local ice harvesting contractors.It hasn’t been constructed every year since the carnival began I also learned. There are gaps in the timeline. But it’s been a yearly fixture since around the 1950’s. During World War 1,the Great Depression,and World War 2 construction didn’t occur at all. After 1960 the project became a volunteer effort due to cost constraints.This is a point where I think the story truly becomes even more remarkable! That place where local colleges,businesses,and dedicated individuals work together for a huge undertaking!My timeline of Adirondack adventure began to spike in 2018 when Zane and I pursued our high peaks quest in earnest. How ironic I’d meet Jennifer that October. The Adirondacks are a favorite destination of hers! Things began to ramp up! Standing under the sturdy walls of the ice palace in 2019 I began to grow curious about its construction. After spending over 35 years working construction I could appreciate the work that had occurred to construct it. I told Jennifer that one day I’d love to volunteer for the build!January 2020 would find both of us missing Winter Carnival due to surgery recoveries. Then the bad news in autumn 2020 that Winter Carnival would be modified due to the pandemic. The good news was that the palace construction would occur! Volunteers were needed!While staying at a Saranac Airbnb on a work adventure, I got some great intel from the owners. I was added to the volunteer email list and waited for our possible chance to get involved. We followed the weather and progression of the formation of the ice. The construction start date was January 28th we learned. We were unable to volunteer until January 30th. We’d miss some of the build!Cutting ice was the draw for me! Twenty something years ago I had purchased an ice saw from a local junker. I didn’t even know what it’s purpose was until he told me. I just knew I had to have it! I asked him how much to purchase it. I held my breath as I waited for his reply. $30 he said. Sold! I didn’t know if I had gotten a good deal or not but my prize was worth all that to me! It’s the curse of a hoarder, junker! When a piece “speaks” to me I must try to leave with it! Often taken home and stored for some uncertain purpose. I really didn’t think I would ever wish to cut ice but it could make a nice rustic wall piece. Heavy though and super sharp!The ice saw was hanging in my garage in 2012 when the house fire engulfed it. The firemen were able to extinguish the garage fire but it was a total loss. I scoured the charred walls trying to salvage things. I found my ice saw. Black and covered with a greasy ash film. The wooden handle badly burned with an outer layer of charcoal. But still ok it appeared. I gave it a simple cleaning and stuck it in the back of one of my barns. It has set there for over 8 years. I dragged it out last week. Took it home and wire brushed it back to bare metal. Sanded the charred handle and stained it. Built a simple transport guard. Got it packed into the car. Yesterday we were there on the shores of the lake ready to volunteer at 8am. Signed in and put to work. Given some basic training by the experienced volunteers. I asked if I could bring my saw to the ice field. Yes! It became that moment that a hoarder dreams of experiencing! That moment when your prize becomes something more! Would it even work properly? Too dull or ruined by the fire? No! Once I learned the trick of handling it I made cuts until my arms grew weary. The end of the ice field became a goal to reach. The harvest is a team effort. We were invited onto the ice as part of that team. Zane didn’t find the cutting all that interesting so found his niche with the spud crew. Three people striking in unison to free the 2×4 feet blocks out into the leading edge of the open ice field. We had been warned of potential shears from cracks and told what to do if one occurred. It happened suddenly with no warning! Zane was the closest to the open water of the now large float section. A couple yells were all I heard before I realized something was up! It was over quickly! I turned to see Zane and the other two guys leaping from a freed section of sheared ice to the safety of solid surfaces. Close call! Lots of nervous laughs after! A short pause then the return to our task. But I was on alert after that! But proud of Zane! He took his spot and returned to work like nothing had happened! We finished the cutting shortly after and put away the cutting equipment. My ice saw carried from the ice with a new found reverence. In a few short hours I had learned a new skill! As a lover of rural heritage I found positivity and connection to history under the cold but sunny skies of Saranac Lake. I have a connection to our lands in Macomb that time has forged with blood,sweat, and tears. It will never break for time lived there was the beginning of all I would become. Yet an inner voice calls me to the Adirondacks. To call it home for an unknown length of time. Yesterday was more than just hard work and volunteering. It represents something much larger. I must return soon and saw the ice once again before this opportunity falls behind. I can be quoted as saying that “ a person has a finite number of syrup seasons in their life! They should never be missed!”Perhaps it’s true of ice cutting and ice palace construction. We met some truly, great people yesterday!I got an interesting story from one fellow and made a new friend! The citizens of this community radiant warmth and positive energy. I know exactly what I will do when I return. I will stand at the end of the open waters of the ice field we have cleared and face the sun. Listen to the voice that continues to speak softly but louder with each passing season. I will listen for the answers out there. The slush makers who cement the ice palace together desire a certain blend. That perfect mix of snow and water. Life can be compared to that. Spirit energy fuels dreams. Lends strength to decisions. Those moments when you step out and explore. That place where history meets the present. A destination of now. Adventure keeps us young and growing. On the drive home yesterday I told Zane that I am regressing in mental age. Traveling backwards now to a place where we will meet. It’s the boy inside the man who whispers from that inner place. Home can be many places. My heart knows that the Adirondacks will be called home. The seasons of chance are meant to embrace .