Why Wait?

Posted on December 22, 2025December 22, 2025 by Greg Washburn

Yesterday was Winter Solstice! Now the daylight will begin its slow return to later sunsets! Earlier sunrises too for that matter. Regardless, it’s a slow process at first but it will become more noticeable in time. For me the best days of winter often come later in the season.

I have gotten ready for Xmas and didn’t wait till the last minute to do my shopping like I did years ago. Ordering online sure has helped with that! We cut a Xmas tree just over one week ago and it was a fun outing despite the deep snow near St. Regis Falls. We were unable to get a balsam so we settled for a white spruce that was around 7’ tall. It’s a nice tree and it provides a truly traditional look to the house.

As the year draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on the months now past much like I do most years. I decided to do a writing and photo series on Facebook that I titled “The Year In The Rear”. It doesn’t really interest people to be honest. But neither did a similar project I did last year. That’s ok, as I find taking the time to reflect on the months now past a good writing exercise overall. It’s beneficial to observe my activities month by month to gauge where I invest my time. True to form, my activities are quite predictable actually, following the seasons that include my favorite hobbies and annual adventures. I suppose at some point you could stop reading the blog and pretty much guess what I am up to at certain times of the year. But don’t get too comfortable doing that as I may surprise you from time to time. And while many of my activities are typical for me, the individual stories and memories that are made are quite different indeed. And this past summer was far from ordinary!

As my posts would indicate, I spent much of my summer chasing adventures in Canada, living in the Airstream out of a base camp setting in Quebec. What a great experience! And all these months later I still haven’t shared all my stories about my experiences! As winter settles in and I spend less time outdoors, I find myself wanting to write more about those experiences. And one thing you will notice is me jumping around on the timelines. Think of it as time travel of sorts. A jump from the now to the past and back again in a grand spin of time. Time travel isn’t possible in real life (although some scientists will disagree) but in writing it poses no problem. With some words,I could accurately describe a future location where I will be going this winter and hopefully make you feel like you are there. It’s easy to visualize the now. And with photos from my gallery, it’s easy to portray a journey back in time. No big revelations there I guess. Writing in chronological order doesn’t necessarily suit me it would seem. It’s time to share an adventure from last July. It’s a place quite familiar if you’ve followed my blog any length of time. But the circumstances were slightly different. I made a sudden decision one day while in Quebec shortly after returning from the states with my small boat and followed through with it. I was tired of waiting for good fishing success to find me! Why wait I thought?

It didn’t take me long out on the big lake at the outpost ( Kipawa Lake) to realize that fishing was going to be challenging for me. Some early success was followed by some struggles to catch walleye. The lake trout fishing was equally challenging for me as well. I tried new locations and explored around the lake but I just wasn’t having any degree of success. Other fishermen at the outpost were doing better but they were traveling some distance to make decent catches. And the sheer size of the lake was often a little daunting in my 14’ boat. Wind and big waves were a detriment and a deterrent on several occasions, keeping me from going out fishing in the first place. I was beginning to get a little disappointed with my decision to place myself on such a large lake. Something needed to change! I decided that I wanted to go to a place I knew well and try for walleye!

I made contact with the outfitter where we were going to be spending a week in late August ,on our annual trip fishing trip ,and asked if I could rent a boat and camp on an island there. It was too rough a journey in to beat my boat and trailer getting it there so renting a boat was necessary.They said no problem but there was a cost to camp and to fish in the lake. When I factored in the costs and the fact that the bugs were still so bad,I began to reconsider camping. I asked if any cabins were available and they said they had one that I could rent near my preferred location on the lake. I had seen the cabin from a distance before but had never been inside it. They said that the water and fridge would be turned on for me if I wanted to come for a few days. It was a no brainer really for the added cost to the trip. I said yes and booked a three night stay. I would have more than enough room and all the amenities! Why bother camping? I began to prepare for my departure on July 2nd.

Getting to the landing of the lake where I would pick up my boat for the trip to my cabin would be an arduous 4 hour drive total. The logging roads get worse the further you travel in on them. I was very familiar with the main dirt road towards the outfitter for the first 38 kilometers. It’s was the “819” that I had been traveling since arriving in Quebec and I knew those first kilometers would be the fastest and easiest. After that things would slow down considerably. I made sure that I had my bow saw and brush nippers loaded into the truck. Sometimes on previous trips we have needed to use them. All part of the adventure. I was wondering what the conditions of the roads would be as there had been a couple windy thunderstorms in the last few days. And there’s usually beaver dams flooding sections of the road. It’s always a gamble!

I left late in the morning ,right on schedule, on July 2nd as planned. I had my bait, food, and everything else I knew I needed from previous trips. There’s no getting anything once you’ve there! The road was good until about half way in and then I had to start getting out of the truck to cut back brush that was hanging into the road. No doubt from the recent storms and apparently no one else had been through yet. At one point there was a big black spruce most of the way across the road that took some time to clear away. I had to continue to stop more frequently as the journey continued and I was getting overheated, not to mention the attacking mosquitoes that would find me. I did eventually reach the outfitter after a 5 hour trip to reach the landing. Step one was complete!

The outfitter and his daughter were at the landing fortunately. They helped me get loaded up while we talked and caught up with life. We know each other fairly well now. I was happy to hear that they had gotten brand new Yamaha 15 hp outboard motors. These modern 4 stroke engines sip gas! Gracie took her spot in the bow of the boat which is typical for her.The boat was roomy but loaded. I had a lot of gear for one person it seemed! The lake was quite calm for the time of day so I expected that it would be a smoother boat ride to the cabin. It takes about 20 minutes to get there. At least I know where most of the rocks are located. That’s handy as the outfitter doesn’t always mark them well.I would be at my cabin in time to settle in and still make it out for the evening walleye fishing. Perfect! The outfitter had said that the fish were biting good in fairly shallow water. I knew exactly where I would be going as I know the lake rather well and we have several favorite spots. That’s a comfortable place to find yourself I feel.

I found my cabin ready for me with a cold fridge and the water working. All was well! I didn’t care for the sliding entrance door though as it looked like mosquitoes might find a way inside. We will find out ,I thought.After a quick snack, Gracie and I headed out towards our fishing spot that would take about 10 minutes to reach. The lake was still fairly calm which is always a plus although we never mind the small waves we call “ walleye chop”. Minus our gear we zipped right a long at full throttle. We reached our destination and set up the fish finder to hit the depth I wanted, then dropped the anchor. It was nice to be back at the lake, anchored off an island at a place we call Raspberry Point. My timing was perfect for the evening fish!

I quickly got my pole baited up with a leech on a bait float in about 15’ of water and settled in to wait for a bite. The fish finder showed some activity near the bottom of the lake. Usually a sure sign of walleye as they feed just above the bottom most of the time. The bite started slow but picked up soon. It was exciting when my pole nodded gently as a walleye toyed with the bait. I soon had one hooked after that! A nice 19” one that I had to net by myself. That can be challenging at times! I was really enjoying myself as the fish that were biting were decent sized. Well before dark I had 4 walleye in the boat. More than I could eat in one meal as they were all in the 16-19” range. I didn’t catch throwbacks at all. We call them Beckies. They’re the ones under 15”. Some days we catch lots of them. Due to my good fortune, I decided to head back early to clean fish before it got dark. I still had plenty of time to catch my take home limit of 6 keepers in the next couple days. After all the tough fishing on Kipawa Lake it was nice to get some quality walleye fishing in with little effort. I knew that I had made a good decision to come! I felt totally in touch with nature. A true hunter gatherer moment.

When Gracie and I arrived back at camp it was still light. Darkness wouldn’t hit until almost 10pm. The forest behind the cabin was alive with a buzzing hum. Could it possibly be all mosquitoes? I soon realized that yes that’s what I was hearing! And they began to swarm around me and Gracie. We retreated to the cabin and I decided to clean the fish inside. I made a dinner of fried walleye and potatoes as darkness finally settled over the lake as the last of the sunset disappeared from view. We were hundreds of miles from home and way back in the bush on a remote lake with almost no one around. There were some other fisherman in a cabin about a half a mile away and the outfitter was at the caretaker cabin past that. The night was incredibly dark and quiet except for the buzzing of mosquitoes. It was strange being there alone but I was ok with that. Later on, I turned out all the gas lights, then Gracie and I crashed out in one of the bedrooms and discovered that some mosquitoes had managed to get into the cabin. I killed a few and eventually passed out from exhaustion. It had been a long day!

The next morning Gracie and I woke up to windy conditions. After coffee we went out to fish but were driven in by the waves with no luck. Gracie doesn’t mind the waves usually but these ones were bad. We couldn’t set our anchor and get it to hold in our fishing spots so we went back to camp for brunch. I had frozen 2 of the biggest walleye the night before just to guarantee some take home fish. I wasn’t planning on eating walleye everyday but I was hoping to be able to catch fish that evening. We sat out the day doing camp chores and taking a nap at one point after getting a nice hot shower. This sure beat camping out! Time was already speeding by as it always does at bush camp.

As evening came on the wind subsided some and we headed out to fish. It turned out to be a beautiful evening and the bite was turned on! It was none stop action! I caught some nice walleye and threw most of them back. The size was mixed but there plenty of fish biting and I went through a bunch of bait. I had worms and leeches but the walleye preferred the leeches. Luckily I had brought plenty! We headed back early again before dark and the sunset was wonderful! That’s always been a plus of this lake, beautiful sunsets! My walleye count was adding up and the less than perfect fishing on the other lake no longer bothered me. This was living! It was a little strange being there by myself but I had Gracie for company so I didn’t mind. I was able to call home on my satellite phone and check in so everyone knew that I was doing fine.

It was another typical night at the cabin. I had closed up windows to try and keep the mosquitoes out but they still managed to get it. I had some fogger and put it to use around the screens and window frames. Fighting back against the mosquitos felt good actually. I realized how bad it would have been for me had I been camping out of a tent! I made walleye,beans, and potatoes for dinner. I put them on a plate together to create a dish that I call “The Hot Mess”. It’s awesome! And just like that it was bedtime again. I had a good screen on my bedroom window and had my window open. I could hear the buzzing of the bugs in the forest but it didn’t bother me. I drifted off to sleep as a bit of moon glow lit the clearing by the cabin.

I don’t know what time it happened but I awoke to hear a blood curdling sound of some sort. I believe it happened twice but I only really heard it good one time. I still don’t know what made the sound but it was big! I jumped out of bed really alarmed and grabbed for my fillet knife. I went to the window but saw or heard nothing. I had trouble sleeping after that and put my two knives within reach. Gracie seemed indifferent and not disturbed at all. What could have made that sound? A moose? A bear? A lynx? Or sometime that I decided not to think about! An alien! Or a Sasquatch! Needless to say I didn’t fall asleep right away. But the rest of the night passed without incident.

The morning dawned calm and cool. After coffee I got out for some fishing and added to my total count. I now had my limit of take home fish in the freezer. 6 nice ones! My numbers were adding up and if things continued to go well I would leave the lake with some respectable fish catch numbers. Later in the day as I was relaxing in the cabin I saw something swimming across a narrower section of the lake near the cabin. It was a moose I soon learned! I chose not to take the boat over for a closer inspection and watched it until it disappeared onto the shoreline. After that the outfitter’s daughters came by looking for a section of missing dock. I helped them load it onto their boat and haul into place. It was pretty beat up but was still usable. I headed out for my final evening fish and it was another productive catch night! Everything had to be released though as I had all that I could legally keep. It was plenty and I had eaten some also.

Gracie and I headed back early from fishing and I decided to have a fire despite the mosquitoes. The sunset was fabulous and next to the fire the bugs were tolerable. I didn’t have much firewood so I had to call it an early night once the bugs got worse. My final night in the cabin was uneventful and quiet. But I hadn’t forgotten about the unidentified sounds from the night before and my knives were close by!

And just like that my mini trip was over! It was time for the drive back out. At least the road was in better condition! I had caught an impressive 64 walleye in just three days! My techniques for fast catch, net, and release provide for the best possible conservation practices. Severely wounded fish make it to the fish fry or take home count. Protecting a lake like this one is important as they are not easy to find these days. I was feeling great about finally catching some walleye! I had truly enjoyed the solitude and quiet time away from everything. My accommodations had been simple and adequate.The fishing had been a total rush for me! There’s nothing quite like watching a walleye thump cautiously on your bait! And the fight that follows if you set the hook! And of course who can’t be mesmerized up by the remoteness of the lake and the miles of undeveloped shorelines? The big skies and the always fabulous sunsets! I find the experience a total battery charging moment in time. There’s really nothing quite like it really! And when Zane and my friends are there too? Over the top fun! I hope to continue to do this for as long as I live! I truly love the bush country lakes of Quebec! ✍️

The Salvation Of The Beaver: Part 2

Posted on November 12, 2025November 12, 2025 by Greg Washburn

The camping trip to Lac Sairs in Quebec has reached noon of the second day. Gracie and I have returned to TP Island to have lunch and regroup. We have two main priorities to achieve: a simple canoe anchor and firewood for our evening campfire.

It had turned out to be a beautiful day with mostly sunny skies. Warm and not too windy. Just as I finished lunch and was relaxing in the sun, a group of three canoeists stopped by to visit the island. They were creating a photo tour guide for a tour guiding paddle business they worked for in Ville Marie. Ville Marie sits above the Temiscaming region to the north about an hour away. While they were there the wind picked up and I watched them struggle up the lake towards the creek inlet that would bring them to a stashed vehicle at the Lac Charette launch. Tough going for them as they had heavily laden canoes full of camping gear in nice dry sack bags. Eventually they entered the creek and disappeared from sight.

I set about making an anchor for the canoe. But not just any anchor. My anchor would be more like a crib. I would set it in place and leave it temporarily only connecting to it when I needed it. In the shallows of the rift I could position it so I could anchor the canoe just past the drop off in the current. The plan involved an old washing machine drum that someone had dragged out to TP Island for some unknown reason. Filled with rocks it would make an excellent crib for anchoring the canoe! All I needed was some extra rope to get the canoe out into deeper water.But people had left some on the island also. On the sandy island rocks were scarce but I managed to find enough to weight the drum down. Getting out to the Rift and setting the anchor was challenging but I managed to get it done. I tested my new creation and was pleased to find it fully functional. Now to get after the firewood!

I decided to head up the river towards the beaver lodges in search of firewood. I found some decent birch bark on some dead trees in one spot but the steep bank made for hard gathering. I kept going looking for easier access. Near a somewhat high and dry beaver house that looking like it might still be occupied, I found a great selection of old dry beaver sticks of various sizes. I got busy with my bow saw and loaded up the canoe with everything I find. Bless those beaver I thought! This is great! A far cry from my attitude the day before as it turned out. I decided that I had enough wood for the night and headed back to the island. I was grateful for the beaver and their gifts of dry firewood. I have collected beaver sticks and beaver firewood many times over the years. I truly do share a special connection with them. Thus damnation was salvation in a twist of fate.

As I neared the island I realized that it was going to be difficult to haul all that wood up across the beach to the fire ring. It was windy up there also. Down closer to the water was another old fire ring out of the wind. An idea came to me then. Why not have my evening fire down closer to the canoe and the supply of wood? So I spruced up the fire ring into a three sided one with a higher back to reflect some of the heat back. I had my folding chair so a comfortable spot would be easy to find next to the fire.

As I moved around on the sand I noticed how much the sun had warmed it. And how soft the deep layers of it felt. An idea came to me suddenly! Since there were no biting insects why not sleep right on the beach next to the fire? Someone had abandoned a torn sleeping bag on the island and it was tangled up in one of the clothes lines they had left. It seemed clean enough after being rained on several times recently. It would make a great mattress after I put my tarp over it. I put things together and tested out my new mattress. Perfect! Way better than the hard ground inside the tent. I was excited about spending the night on the beach! I set my mattress away from the fire ring to use later and got ready for the evening fish. But first I took a quick bath in the lake and washed my hair. I felt so much better after that even though it was chilly.

Fishing started out slow at the Rift but my anchor worked great! Eventually I started getting bites and was getting excited about catching a walleye. I hooked a biter and as I got it to the surface I realized that it was a bullhead not a walleye. I moved around some near the Rift but all I caught was several more bullhead. I decided to head in and enjoy some campfire time. The walleye fishing was proving to be a little difficult unfortunately. And there weren’t many fish showing up on the fish finder. Fishing is great but it’s not everything for every moment. I would try again in the morning.

Back at the beach I scrounged up some additional firewood around the island and picked up more garbage also. I had collected quite a bit of miscellaneous garbage to haul out with me by this time. Some super dry TP was skewered and later tossed into the fire. I was tired of looking at it. I started the fire and settled in to relax.

I decided to keep dinner simple and opted for a Mountain House freeze dried meal in a pouch. All that’s needed is some boiling water and some stirring. The entrees aren’t all that bad really and super fast to make. The rocket stove makes quick work of boiling the water. I enjoyed a beef stew with veggies while Gracie had her canned dog food. Dessert was dried fruit.

It was a lovely evening and the wind died down as the sun set. It had cooled down some and the sky had cleared of clouds. Stars began to appear and nighttime came in earnest. It’s that time of day when I realize that I am committed to staying another night. Leaving in the dark would be not be impossible but certainly difficult. It’s a strange thing that I often consider when I place myself in such positions. Not based on fear but something different. It’s connected to the survival outside the normals for me. Life is very different when out camping as most campers will probably agree. The tasks. The chores. Most everything we do is done differently. As are our shelters that we use. My decision to sleep out in the open was part of something bigger for me. I hadn’t done it in years actually. Sleeping outside around the farm property these days would likely lead to one or more blood sucking ticks being imbedded on your body. I hadn’t even seen a tick in Quebec so it was a gamble that I was willing to take. By the fire I accepted the coming of night and all it represented after my busy day. The fire was great and I had found a piece of pine resin stump to burn. Bright, smoky, and deliciously fragrant from the pine pitch concentrated within the roots. My favorite!

Around the lake the loons called from various locations. Ducks came into the shallows nearby to feed for the night but were spooked by my presence. Overhead some geese were headed south I presumed. Fall was approaching and it was in the air as the heat of the day left the sand. The receded beaches smelled of wet sand and organic vegetation in the night air. I grew tired and set up my mattress bed as close to the fire as I dared. The stars came out in full force but the moon rise would eventually overtake them to a degree. I lay on my back and began counting orbiting satellites overhead. I was amazed at the number I saw before the moonlight made them hard to spot. Technology is difficult to escape even if we want to these days. And I wondered if any of the satellites I saw were part of the group that my Iridium 3 satellite phone communicates with when I use it in the back bush country. My thoughts turned to home and everyone there far so from me. But I didn’t call anyone. I was pretty content in the now moment. I threw on the last of the wood and drifted off to sleep with Gracie curled up nearby.

Morning came early with a wet, heavy mist covering everything. I was reluctant to leave my warm sleeping bag but eventually did to get some coffee brewing. The sun was trying to burn through the mist but it was going to take some time. After coffee I went out to the Rift to fish. I managed to catch 2 walleye. A keeper and a throwback. I went back to camp for brunch then cleaned my keeper fish to take with me. I still had plenty of ice in my cooler. Getting packed up took some time but I got it done eventually. I set out across mostly calm water and reached the safety of the creek. But let’s not forget about those beaver dams! I ended up having to get out and pull the canoe across all three. The last and biggest one was almost too much for me. I made Gracie get out and take to the shore. I struggled across it after some rigorous tugging and picked up a rather anxious Gracie who swam after me even though she could have just waited.

Back at the truck we loaded up under cloudy skies and headed back to home base ahead of the rain that came later. I began to research for any information that I could find out about the mine on the island in Lac Sairs. But first I had used an app to identify my rocks. My green rocks were amazonite I soon learned. From there my research began to gather some momentum. I later learned that the island I visited is a premier site for finding amazonite in Canada! One of only two locations. I had stumbled onto something by accident! I then learned that amazonite is a mineral know for its healing properties according to some people. Valuable in larger pieces and sought after by rock hounds. I found references to an article from 1965 about amazonite prospecting on the island but not many other details. And I suddenly realized that I had never made even a remote connection to the name of the island when looking at maps of Lac Sairs. The island is named “Ile de l’Amazonite”. Of course at the time that would have meant nothing to me. Now it’s obvious! Further research is necessary to better understand the history of the island mine.

In the picture you can clearly see the island that I visited. And directly above is TP Island and the Kipawa River I paddled. The Rift however is very different in the picture. Flooded and very different than what I experienced.

I left Canada shortly after returning from my camping trip with the Airstream in tow. I had enjoyed a memorable time exploring and fishing the Quebec bush country. There are other stories to tell of my experiences and adventures in Quebec. I hope to get them told at some point. One things for certain though. I hope to return to Amazonite Island with Zane to prospect more. And make the journey up to the Turner Chute to see the waterfalls. And maybe even camp at TP Island if it’s not to contaminated. Who can say for sure when that will be or how many other cool destinations are waiting for us out there? I have another lead on another mining location near Temiscaming. Time will tell. ✍️

One Would Be Missing

Posted on August 17, 2024August 17, 2024 by Greg Washburn

Wow what a summer! So much for recent blogs! I don’t even know where to begin really. Life changes fast sometimes and it’s difficult to keep up at times. But we all live within the same 24 hours don’t we when you really stop to think about it? And isn’t everyone rather busy with something? My situation has changed dramatically since my last post. I spent some of July in the Adirondacks but was asked if I would return to work in mid July. I accepted and stepped on the job on July 17th. I liked the project immediately as it turned out. I was assigned to a methane digester project on a large farm outside of Madrid, New York. It’s much different then most projects I have worked. Why work when I am already retired? Money of course! As in extra for travel and things like that. Yes it ties up my time and occupies my days but the perks are worth it considering the short time I will be there ultimately.So I have made my decision and will stand behind it now. I remain loyal to my employer of 3 years now although I had almost no work in 2023. Loyalty is important to a guy like me. I take it very seriously. No matter whether it’s work,family,or in a relationship. So work has been interfering with my life to use an old joke of mine!😂

Another big reason for returning to the valley has been Zane. He’s been working himself this summer. He got a job with NYS Parks and Recreation at a campground near here. It’s his first real job and it’s been good for him. But his schedule doesn’t align with mine so we don’t get much time together. That’s difficult for both of us. There are other reasons for my return to living full time in the valley but they are of a more complicated and personal nature. Connected to the universal flow of energy in some sort of natural progression it appears. Not easily described even if I were so inclined. Suffice it to say that the winds of change have been blowing and I have been surfing some heavy waves. All this is rather confusing and sudden but necessary as I struggle with some growing pains in my journey for ascension. Internal turmoil be challenging at times. What does all this have to do with connections to nature? More then you might consider actually. For my personal challenges loosen my connection to nature and I can become off balance. Out of synch and out of focus. Thus a lack of words to share. Life isn’t perfect right? I never give up trying to make the best possible decisions for myself. After all, my own survival is paramount in my desire to protect those I care about. There’s a connection to nature perhaps but it’s a bit slippery to grasp. So I must leave it alone for now. I am positive that things will continue to show themselves. I must trust in the now and my 5+1 senses to serve as a guide.

Out on the project the storm approaches. How appropriate.

I was fortunate to get to spend time with my cousin Gerry ahead of the Washburn family reunion on the 28th. We spent some time helping our Uncles with hay and picking black berries. Picking berries is great meditation if I truly consider the experience. Gerry and I would chat while picking and share lots of personal information. We did well as the berries were plentiful and ripe. We could pick a lot in a fairly short outing. I froze most of mine although one pie made it to the table briefly. It didn’t last very long!Eating seemed to be a big thing around the family reunion time. Not so good for my body but I tried to be moderate. Mosquitoes and deer flies harassed us severely while we were picking but we persevered through most of them.

As July progressed it became obvious that Zane could not get time off to accompany us on our upcoming Quebec fishing trip. I don’t know who was more disappointed. Zane or I. I began assembling my gear in a pile in the kitchen at Camp Edith. Realizing that Zane wasn’t going was a bitter pill to swallow. He had gone on the fishing trips of 2015,2016, 2022,and 2023. He had changed immensely since being a boy of 10 that first trip to a young man of 18 last year. Such things are not lost on me and I pondered it often in the days before we were to leave. August 9th was our departure date and it was arriving quickly. Zane was obviously disappointed but there was nothing to be done about the situation. Adulthood was truly finding him with all its responsibilities and commitments. I was about to break a promise I had made myself while on a fly in fishing trip in 2013 when I was missing Zane greatly while I was gone to the bush country of eastern Quebec. I had vowed to never leave him home again if I went to the bush fishing. And I hadn’t. Zane had made his debut there in 2015 and despite his mother’s reservations he had thrived there. He took to walleye fishing like it was his calling and boated the two biggest walleye of the trip on the big waters of Lac Echouani while fishing with my friend and I. Those are precious MOONTABS of a time now past and other trips would follow. Each uniquely special and full of wonderful moments. Zane would continue to advance as a fisherman and I would spend much of my time netting fish for him. Always helping him get his gear in shape and his baits into the water. On a second trip to Lac Echouani in 2016 he would master the art of jigging walleye with these frozen minnows we had purchased at the outfitter. We called them “Fred Minnows” since a guy named Fred who worked at the outfitter recommended them. Zane would manage to catch the most walleye that trip. He beat out all three of us overall in numbers. Sure some of them were small! But walleye are walleye at the end of the day!

2017 would find me buried in projects and dealing with a failed marriage so there was no fishing trip. But I retired that November and the things underwent a huge change. Zane and I would tackle our quest for the Adirondack 46 high peaks in earnest in the summers of 2018 and 2019. Covid kept us from fishing in Canada in 2020 but we finished the high peaks in September that year. 2021 was busy camping with the newly purchased Airstream and our fishing was limited to the Adirondacks and home. But in 2022 we would return to Canada on a sudden whim after being asked by our friend if we would go back to Canada if he could secure a booking which he did. Zane would join us once again on the new waters of Lac Dumoine in western Quebec that August. It is the lake that inspired the five part blog series that included “The Solace Of The Bush”. Some of the most enjoyable blog writing that I have ever created in my opinion! And we would return there in 2023 but I only wrote one blog post about that trip. Too bad as it was an epic trip with impressive numbers of walleye caught and released. It’s never too late to resume the stories though. The stories are safely secured in numerous photographs and locked within my memories. As I traveled around Lac Dumoine last week those memories came flooding back. At night in the upstairs of our cabin that I had shared with Zane in 2023 it was eerily different without him. And my heart would grow heavy despite all the fun times I was having. I decided that he must return there with me in 2025 regardless of circumstances. Time will not wait for us forever. We will need to take charge of it and make it happen. For 2024 has been a year of tremendous change for me and I realize the importance of not waiting to go on adventures. So we shouldn’t and I hope we won’t.

So this summer’s trip just ended yesterday and I am preparing to write about it’s highlights. But I felt the need to regress some and reflect on the past. What better way to move forward in the now? What better way to plan for the future? Because this summer one would be missing on the trip. One would be missed greatly during the trip. One would be absent from the photos. I can’t change that now but I can attempt to change what happens next if possible. That’s the message here. Dream and hope for tomorrow. A lot can happen in one year. A lot will happen. Of that I have no doubt. And how might we live our best lives? With wise decisions and carefully laid plans? We won’t always make the best decisions. But can we live with those things we decided? We have to regardless. It is a growing process after all is said and done. And we are all in different stages of our own personal growing seasons. One thing is most certain: my son loves the wild places and yearns to go there with me still. It is enough. I have returned with my internal batteries charged from a different energy source this time in some strange fashion. They charge differently away from the Adirondacks or at the farm property. The wilds of Canada are far different then here. Different roads and trails to follow. Different trees and mountains. That is the draw of adventure. There must be one final trip to Lac Dumoine before we branch out in new directions. The Canadian bush country is vast and mostly unknown to me. I will run out of time before I can explore it all. But that is the way of exploration. And who’s to say what’s possible beyond this moment? I am considering different options presently. Ones that will break away from my past methods and timelines. The big question is will I follow that path? It’s hard to say really. I must listen closely and choose wisely. Things may yet reveal themselves to me. For now I must regroup for awhile and reflect. ✍️

Milling Around

Posted on June 27, 2024July 7, 2024 by Greg Washburn

This post was started awhile back and there were a few technical glitches that have since been resolved fortunately! It doesn’t take long for the central theme of a post to suddenly change direction some! I originally was staying in Saranac Lake when I began writing it but am currently here at Camp Edith getting it finished. I just got fully moved in this afternoon. Amy and I have been working at getting it cleaned and ready the past couple weeks.Thursday night was our first night here and we stayed here all weekend. It’s really shaped up with some TLC! Amy has done a wonderful job transforming the functionality of the space. It’s very cozy now! I had a lot of decluttering to do!Things have wrapped up mostly on the project in Saranac Lake and I will be spending more time back here now. It’s been a rewarding experience living and working in the village. There’s plenty of work to do at the farm and some catching up to do with miscellaneous things. I recently got a gel shot in my left knee to try to relieve some of my pain and discomfort. My meniscus injury may very well require surgery but I am postponing that for as long as possible. At this point it’s still unclear how the injury even happened but it may go all the way back to last November when Zane and I tipped over the side by side one night by accident while burning off the meadows across the road at the farm. It’s the only thing that I can think of really. That was a rather wild evening of burning! But we had everything under control! Mostly… but that’s another story all together. The focus now will be shifting to resetting the sawmill and getting some logs run through it. It’s been stored in the warehouse since it got back from Winthrop in late May. I got it back out and set it back up recently one Friday night after returning from Saranac Lake.

Back in February I had cut logs with my friend Gregger in his big woods up behind his home in Winthrop. I stayed in his cabin for a night and we cut logs for a couple days. We targeted hemlock for me for my Homestead cabin siding. Four trees made a rather large pile of logs. For him we cut cherry and yellow birch. With the snow covered ground we made good progress and we’re soon finished with the project. The plan was to leave the logs till spring when we could bring the sawmill up to run them through.

It was mid May before I finally got the mill up to Gregger’s. I packed some food and extra gear so I could spend a night in his cabin then work a second day without doing all the extra driving. We got the mill set up and Zane came up to help out. We got a few hardwood logs run through that first day before making a nice dinner of venison and fish. Zane spent the night at the cabin with me but had things to do the next morning. Gregger and I ran a bunch more logs through the mill and stickered all the lumber up on his trailer under a tarp. Rain was a little bit of an issue but we worked around it as best we could. By the end of day 2 we had made a decent start on the hardwood log pile.

There was a gap in our sawmill activity when Amy and I traveled for a long weekend to the Brimfield Flea Market in Massachusetts. It was quite the event! We ended up purchasing a number of things that easily fit into her car. We tried to buy sensibly but impulse purchases of collectibles can be difficult to control! While we were in Massachusetts we traveled to nearby Connecticut to tour her former hometown. Saturday would find us on the beach at Watchhill, Rhode Island. It’s a lovely sanctuary that has preserved and will remain undeveloped. There’s nothing like the ocean to stir the inner spirit. It was our first traveling experience together and we had a really great time!

May was moving right along and there was only one week left before the Saranac Lake deck project was slated to begin. It was obvious that Gregger and I could never finish sawing his hardwood logs and all of my hemlock. I decided to truck all my logs to the Homestead instead. So we sawed during the day and I hauled a load home every night. We cut up some of the hardwood slabs to weigh down the truck also. Cut into 10” chunks they were stored in the Homestead woodshed each night to dry for the tiny cabin wood stove to be used during the next heating season. We completed all of Gregger’s hardwood logs and some hemlock he needed before finally beginning to concentrate on cleaning up his landing. I hauled a couple big loads of slab wood to the Homestead for sugarwood as part of this process.It was time consuming and tedious work but one with a larger purpose. I was beginning to get a little road weary but stayed with the pace. The final morning would find me following Gregger as he trucked the sawmill back to the Homestead.

I had received an offer to pick up some hemlock logs from a friend of a friend over by Sixberry Lake awhile back. I had picked up one load the day we returned the sawmill to the Homestead and dumped them off in the meadow near the warehouse.The fellow who gave them to me wanted two 14’ 6×6’s in exchange for the logs. A very fair proposition to which I readily agreed! I hadn’t gotten them done however and his July deadline was fast approaching. I picked out three decent logs but ended up needing four as one turned out to be “shaky”. Wind shake causes the growth rings in hemlock to break out when sawn into lumber. It’s not super common but sometimes happens in hemlock. The boards and timbers fall apart when shake shows up. It’s a frustrating thing when it happens and often those pieces of lumber end up in the sugar house for firewood! I ended up making the fellow three decent 6×6 timbers and one decent 4×4 timber. It seemed fair. I loaded them onto the trailer and delivered them to him where he then loaded the second load of logs for me. Prior to that I had moved all the piles of logs in the meadow up onto the landing log loading platform above the actual sawmill.

Prior to delivery of the timbers,Zane and I spent the better part of Monday last week getting some pine logs that were on the log loading landing run through the mill. The pine sawyer beetles had begun to bore into them just under the bark so it was time! A couple months later it would be a different story as the beetles would have gotten inside the logs boring destructive holes through them. Nature at its finest! Sawyer beetles serve as a frontline decomposer type process that helps dead pine return to the soil. It was hot and dusty work but we managed to produce some very nice lumber. All the slab wood was dumped off the tractor loader into the big outdoor pile right outside the sugar house woodshed. Another job for another day or days most likely! We may be a little behind schedule!😂

I finally got tired out from sawing and hand peeled the last three pine logs. They won’t be bothered by the beetles with their bark gone. The lumber was stickered and stashed away in the old woodshed and in the warehouse. We had to stack and haul all the dry sap buckets that had been sitting in the woodshed for weeks first though. That’s done finally at least. Lots of task oriented work to get done. I finally called it quits but felt very happy with our accomplishments. We had done a lot! It felt good getting caught up a little and working with the sawmill! Nothing like accomplishment to stir the inner spirit and charge the batteries! All that slab wood will be used for making maple syrup. Talk about repurposing! It all seemed a little time consuming. Last winters log cutting in Winthrop. Sawing logs there as payment for the hemlock logs I got from Gregger. Hauling those hemlock logs to the Homestead from Winthrop. Then turning around and going after more hemlock logs at Sixberry Lake. And all those hemlock logs still needed to be sawn! Was it really worth all the time and effort? Why not just side the buildings with vinyl siding or rough cut pine? It represents something much larger to me however. It’s all connected in some way that many people might struggle to understand. Hemlock is gone from the farm property where it once thrived. Locked in the buildings themselves in the form of timbers, rafters, and siding. To use hemlock to transform the farm buildings and the tiny cabin seemed justified in that moment to me. Who would buy siding or lumber when the means to create it lay within my grasp? What price do I place on my goals and dreams? I have insisted on hemlock siding for my building projects and hemlock we shall have in large plentiful quantities. I will create each piece with a driven mindset of determination. The time I will have invested in creating the lumber will be significant. But so will be the MOONTABS that led to its creation. That is the very level of resolve and stubborn perseverance. There is prideful rural heritage in the tasks at hand and in the deeds themselves. It will be remembered and visible long beyond this moment. That is where the message lies if indeed there is a message at all. Perhaps I simply underestimated the very magnitude of the job itself. What does it truly matter in the end? When all is finished and slab wood burns in the evaporator from those same logs what will I think then? I will know that answer I hope if I am to be so fortunate. I will be residing within those hemlock shrouded walls of the tiny cabin and standing in front of my boiling evaporator yet another March day. Why ask so many questions anyway? What is time anyway? I will never get it all done anyway say the teachings of Abraham-Hicks. It’s an inner calling these things I desire to do. It is enough.✍️

The Mow Dawg Returns:Part 2

Posted on October 8, 2023December 15, 2023 by Greg Washburn

Part one of this story only encompassed a short two day period! In the end a much larger story would write itself with a journey that almost seems surreal as I sit here in the campground in Cranberry Lake on a very chilly October morning! A stiff north borne wind continues to bring even more rain. It began raining Friday night and has not stopped really since then. But I am warm and dry in the Airstream. Comfortably content as I finish my maple syrup laced Keurig coffee! Today will be a day to catch up. On laundry.Cooking. And if the energy strikes my inner spirit the words will flow like the suddenly rain swollen streams and rivers here. The shift in the weather is truly amazing! The shift in myself equally so it seems. Life on the Adirondack clock is a remarkable experience no matter the weather. There is a balance that can be found for living and purposeful activities. So this is the now moment before I take you back to a warmer time and place!

This was yesterday. Today is much worse!

So in the previous story we had gotten about 300 bales off of one of my meadows on Saturday. I continued to set up my farm camp on Sunday. Monday was a tough day trying to get a bearing off the baler but we finally got it.We had a little rain on Monday night but as there was no hay down it was no big deal. The long range forecast was perfect for haying well into the following week. We got the baler back together Tuesday and the decision to mow down hay Wednesday was made. I met my uncle in the field the next day to ride along while he mowed so I could learn the tractor and the rotary mower. I had mowed plenty of hay years ago with my smaller hay bind and tractor but this set up was larger.My uncle mowed a couple sections of field and I said that I was ready to go on my own. I got behind the controls and told him I could handle it. He started to walk away then came back to the tractor. “ You are not the first person to ever tell me that and then something happened” he said. I replied: “I’ve got this! Don’t worry I will be super careful!” So just like that I became the mower of hay after years of not doing it. I took down both big sections of the main meadow near campsite. We had hay down now!

The next day I mowed again and the last two meadows on my farm were done. My uncle raked and baled up a few loads of hay that totaled about 570 bales. I stayed busy drawing wagons and started to unload the wagons. I was also mowing the hay away. We were beginning to make progress! It was decided that no more hay needed to be mowed until the following Monday. So we spent the remainder of the week getting my farm cleared off. I raked a little hay one day to speed things up as the evening dew was coming on early in September. I also used the Tedder which scatters the hay out to help it dry faster.

I had mowed my Long Meadow so it could be turned into bedding round bales. I tedded it and another small meadow by the road. I had taken the time to fill in some holes in the meadow with dirt so the equipment wouldn’t be damaged. The days went by quick! It was very sunny and warm so the hay was drying well. So hay was baled each day then drawn up to my uncle’s barn to be unloaded and mowed away. We averaged about 500-600 bales per day. By Saturday night most of the hay on my farm was done.

I was getting better at being a mow Dawg and made sure to wear a dust mask. The evenings finished about 8:30 pm after dark and I was beat! But we had accomplished a lot in a week for two guys. Sunday we went up to the next big set of fields we would be haying across Beaver Creek to mark out rocks and holes as I didn’t know the land given my own fields had been a problem. The good weather was staying with us and it looked like we would need to mow Monday.We identified several rocks and one giant hole with orange marker tape. I felt better having toured the fields.

So Monday I fueled up the tractor and greased the mower and set off to mow “The Big One”. A roughly 25 acre chunk of hay where we had scouted Sunday. I broke the field into sections and after 7 hours of steady mowing the field was down. I was beat but felt accomplished and successful as nothing was broken or damaged. My uncle had done a little round baling so there was no hay to handle. My farm was done and I was very happy about that! A night off!

Once again we had some serious hay down and it was decided to keep doing square bales. So I would be enduring a few more days of playing mow dawg. We were filling a new section of hay mow so it was easier to get loads into the barn. I was anxious to get the haying done as I still needed to prepare for my ADK trip. I was leaving Sunday! That Tuesday night after having tedded a part of the Big One I took the wheeler over to the next set of four hay fields that we would be haying.My friend lives right by one the fields so he helped me identify all the hazards like what had been done previously. I started mowing there on Wednesday and was visited by a hawk who was hunting mice in the freshly mown hay. The hawk got very close to the mower a couple of times and I saw it catch a couple mice. It got in front of the tractor one time and wouldn’t move! I was getting out of the tractor when it finally flew off.Two more meadows were down and drying.

So the cycle kept on going. I was drawing wagons from the fields with my Uncle’s truck due to the distance we had to travel. I did some more raking on Thursday and the bales kept coming. So did the nice weather. Friday I did my final day of mowing knocking down two more meadows. We were done with square bales so I was relieved! We had one final load of hay to unload and mow away. The Mow Dawg was free!

So that’s the story of how I spent two weeks of my life volunteering to help with hay! It was nice to hang with my Uncle Art and get my fields cleared as well as some others. It was nice to learn some new equipment also. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy myself either. Out on the land each day with the familiar scents of hay ground, tractors,and the bales themselves. We accomplished a lot in two weeks I feel. And I found the time to prepare for my trip. There’s going to be a lot of loose ends waiting for me in the valley when I return. But my battery is getting recharged here. Clearing the hay fields is important to the long term plans for the farm. But next summer is a long way off! ✍️

A Return To Volunteering

Posted on July 24, 2023July 24, 2023 by Greg Washburn

The year was 2018.A newly retired and newly single me was looking for something new. At a school conference night I stumbled upon the information desk of a local land trust called Thousand Islands Land Trust. TILT for short. Their friendly representative gave us some informational pamphlets. I soon realized that I was and had been missing out! On all sorts of things! It’s a long story that I may have elaborated on before. What’s important to note is the impact that the local land trust groups would have on not just my life but Zane’s as well. Once I realized the opportunities that volunteering offered I dove in headfirst! To think about the many seminars, events, and work days we participated in that summer amazes me now. I was searching for something and volunteering filled the void. One discovery leading to another. That summer is filled with many happy memories! New friends and acquaintances. New places and trails. A continuing education of nature and the many invasives that are attacking our beautiful region.

I first truly learned about the many invasive species here when I attended a SLELO PRISIM educational seminar. SLELO is short for St.Lawrence Eastern Lake Ontario. PRISM is the Partnership for Regional Invasive Species Management. New York State is divided into 5 PRISMs. We live in SLELO so I focused my attention on them. After attending other seminars hosted by SLELO my interest and knowledge continued to expand. I attended a water quality conference which really enhanced my knowledge of the area we call home. I also attended an A2A seminar where I first learned about the Frontenac Arch. Also called the A2A Corridor. It’s the land situate between the Adirondacks and the Algonquin Park area of Canada. Fascinating subject! But invasive species were of prime interest as the Macomb farm property is infested with the shrub wild honeysuckle and other invasive plants. I wrote a blog about it in 2021. During July of 2018 Zane and I participated in our first ever invasive species removal day as volunteers. Water chestnuts were our target. A new species to me and one I had never heard of until the seminars. It has been spreading across the northeast since about 1880 since escaping the Boston area. It was brought here as a decorative floating plant! Bad idea someone! We traveled south some 60 miles with our canoe for a hand pull event at the Lakeview Management Area near Southwick Park. It was a fun and exciting day working with other volunteers in the swamp marsh extracting bags full of fast spreading water chestnuts. Despite how it might seem hand pulling water chestnuts is a productive manner to stop their spread. An alternative is spraying the infested area with Clearcast. A product similar to the controversial Roundup we have all heard about. A glyphosate itself if my research is correct. I charge each reader to do their own personal research and form their own opinions. I will remain neutral on the subject except to simply state that glyphosates are being found in many of our food sources. They are heavily used by agriculture to supply our need for plentiful food sources. Enough said! Draw your own conclusions!

After 2018 our volunteering work fell off considerably. I still managed to do some trail stewardship work but found little time for seminars or other further education. I did manage to attend the SLELO Symposium in the spring of 2019. It was a treat to see Zane and I in the SLELO volunteering video shot in the summer of 2018! People sitting next to me said “Hey that’s you!”. 2018 certainly was a remarkable year! In the fall of 2019 I was one of the lucky individuals chosen to attend the Master Naturalist training weekend near Ithaca, New York. Hosted by Cornell it was a fun two days of education in a variety of subjects. Invasive species, micology, and so much more! As of this moment I still have not completed my requirements for my level one certification. Fast forward through the years 2020,2021, and 2022 and my volunteering efforts were not very impressive honestly. But there was always something more important to fill the days at the time in hindsight. Those days are mostly within these pages.I wanted 2023 to be different! I volunteered for a TILT trail stewardship day back in May then cooked at the TILT summer picnic in June. Then I heard about a SLELO event!

Hunting for water chestnuts on the Oswegatchie River near Heuvelton,New York.

Heuvelton, New York has a hydroelectric dam that creates a rather extensive reservoir behind it. It recent years it has become infested with water chestnuts. In 2022 SLELO volunteers conducted a hand pull in the Oswegatchie River to remove and track water chestnuts. When I read that they would be doing it again this year I decided to volunteer! The village of Heuvelton has been harvesting water chestnuts with a mechanical harvester above the dam this summer to remove the plants before they go to seed. There have been issues despite the many truck loads they removed. Shallow water and tree stumps impede their best efforts. There is a substantial population of water chestnuts remaining above the dam. This summer’s SLELO event concentrated on hand pulling and tracking growth in the sections of river below the dam. The concern is that the water chestnuts might get up into Black Lake. The largely shallow depths of the lake would be a success story for the water chestnuts and a disaster for the lake itself.

All and all the lower Oswegatchie River is not heavily infested. We did hand pull some plants however and retrieved numerous rosettes that had drifted down from above the dam. Harmless we were told as the plant is an annual requiring a seed called a “nutlet” to grow roots for a new plant. It seemed like the day was a success and it was nice to see acquaintances that I hadn’t seen in several years and meet some new people as well.

An old barn along the Oswegatchie River .

So today I once again traveled to Lakeview Management Area for a NYS DEC organized hand pull of water chestnuts. Two other state organizations were represented by workers. SCU was one. New to me. The other was State Parks and Recreation. They had worked at the Heuvelton event also. We cruised the swampy marsh and at first found very little water chestnut. But as the day moved forward we began to find and pull a lot more of it. I felt that there was less of it then in 2018 and a young lady who worked there in 2019 agreed with me.But there’s still a fair amount of it to be removed despite our team efforts. The bag retrieval boat was kept busy hauling pulled plants to the truck on shore. It was nice to back at Lakeview but I was missing Zane being there with me like in 2018. As I sat on the beach next to the sand dunes that reach out towards Lake Ontario I reflected on all that has changed and all that remained the same. The lake and the dunes seem timeless. But I attacked the water chestnuts with a forceful attitude after lunch and got into some huge clumps of floating rosettes. I was able to bring in plenty in a short time.

I drifted away from all the other workers and the retrieval boat never came over to remove my huge trash bag full. I kept pulling anyway and covered the floor of the 14 foot Old Town canoe. I pulled like a crazy man for awhile. I ended up with a slightly tippy canoe as I had about 20 gallons of swamp water in the bottom from the soggy water chestnuts. But I knew that our time to work was almost over. I didn’t want to quit as there was still so much water chestnut floating everywhere. If it goes to seed later this summer that’s not good. The nutlets will get sharp and hard too.

Green nutlet that won’t get to be a viable seed now.

Our time to quit did finally come and my heavy canoe was lightened of its cargo. I felt that we had done well. Many bags had been collected. Many water chestnuts would not be going to seed. This annual event is special to me and I hope to return again. To swap stories and meet new people. To take a stab at making a difference. Volunteering is truly rewarding I feel. Especially when it gets us out in nature! Once I never knew this beautiful place even existed. A place where a shallow marsh transitions into the lake. To be there is to checkout for a time. Lost to simple task. Wet,slightly muddy, and happy in the now. What more could anyone ask for? Consider volunteering in whatever capacity serves you! There are many different opportunities out there. And never stop learning! Nature has endless things to teach us. MOONTABS were made today!

The Icewalker’s Folly

Posted on February 17, 2023February 17, 2023 by Greg Washburn

I recently wrote about a snowshoe adventure into a new location on Sunday February 5th. The very next day I went on another snowshoe trek had been planned in advance. It was a collaboration type outing I had arranged with Patrick Bourcy several days prior. You may recognize him as the creator and energy behind the Facebook group Just Go Outside. We get together on occasion for treks where we catch up,brainstorm ideas, and basically enjoy some quality outdoor time as friends. We are a good match for outings as we enjoy challenging ourselves! We arranged for a meeting time and the weather looked favorable for a good adventure!

The plan was pretty basic for our day of fun. I had recommended that we snowshoe down the Beaver Creek gorge and visit the icefalls there. Given the variations in the weather this winter I hoped they would be better then last February. The ice falls never really formed that well in 2022. We had about a 1.5 mile trip in to reach them and given the limited snow on the surface of the wetlands I felt it would be fast traveling. I teased Patrick about becoming an Icewalker if he passed all the tests along the way. It started out as a joke that became something more by days end. We headed down across the marsh under a mostly sunny sky with temperatures rising steadily that morning.It was shaping up to be a great day! The dogs Gracie and Stella were eager to get going as they tore off ahead of us.

We reach the section known as “The Wide Channel”.

Conditions were pretty stable on the ice for the most part but there were several places where we broke through as we traveled over boggy sections that were covered with snow. Patrick was the first to break through but he didn’t get wet. He was right behind me when it happened which was strange because I hadn’t broken through at all! The trek took us past several active beaver colonies with low dams that crossed the span of the gorge. One has been there for many years off and on. The area just below it is a tricky place to cross as it’s boggy surface never freezes well. We both broke through several times but avoided getting wet as it’s quite shallow. The creek channel here is narrow and best avoided. I never trust traveling on it. There was an abundance of deer and coyote sign all over the wetlands but there was little other signs of life except for a few ravens. Our snowshoes on the crusty snow and ice generate a lot of noise anyway. Stealth is just about impossible. We soon reached the “Peninsula”. A steep rocky point of land that juts out into the marsh. We were close to the first set of icefalls!

Things were getting exciting as we got our first real look at the Western icefalls. We got quite near them and snapped a few photos before heading back to the thick ice of the “Wide Channel”. The creek here resembles a river for a short distance and the water is over 10 feet deep . I mentioned to Patrick that a smart Icewalker never remains on the channel immediately after the Wide Channel. It’s a tricky piece of ice real estate that never freezes well because of current,old beaver dams, and curves in the channel. I learned this the hard way years ago on a cold December day of -10 degrees Fahrenheit when I fell through almost up to my neck! I believe that I have mentioned it on this page previously. I wasn’t such a savvy Icewalker that particular day! We detoured on a direct route that took us directly to the first set of Eastern icefalls. Patrick was amazed! As was I! I never tire of this place since they are never the same from one year to the next.

We climbed around the icefalls and even managed to get up in behind one small section. It’s an icy playground to enjoy and Patrick was thrilled to be there! We worked our way down to the next set and they just kept getting better!

We played for quite awhile and took a lot of photos before heading out. As we left I gazed back upon the spot where a group of us had a picnic in the winter of 2021. I felt a twinge of sadness as one of our group that day passed on in 2022. But I pushed the sadness away as I remembered that happy afternoon of friendship and food. Patrick and I continued down the gorge on the ice of a much wider and open portion of the wetland. The ice was very stable here and we moved quickly with a slightly chilly breeze at our backs. I had decided that since the weather was so beautiful that we would leave the gorge and make our way up to the top of the Eastern rim where there were things that I wanted to show Patrick. We were still full of energy and had plenty of daylight left. It proved a bit more difficult snowshoeing through the deeper snow of forest ravine that led us upwards rather abruptly. We followed an old deer trail since it took the shortest and easiest route. There’s an impressive circular sinkhole about halfway up that I have always believed was created by surface water that found its way into an underground passage. Totally dry these days but very round almost as if a whirlpool had spun its banks into a perfect circle.The outlet of the swamp above disappears underground below the dam near this location.There must be an underground passage for the flow which reappears on the surface far below before entering Beaver Creek.I have always believed that there’s a connection to my theory of the sinkhole which would almost certainly be above it based on the adjacent solid rock formations. I suppose we will never know.

Gracie below the old dam that makes the shallow lake of the Black Ash Swamp.

We took a short break enjoying the sun at the start of the Black Ash Swamp.You may remember my accounts of the Black Ash Swamp as they have been part of other posts on this page. It was wonderful sitting in that warm February sun! I felt totally alive,thrilled, and vigorous in that now moment. We had to make a decision at this point of our adventure. Head out towards the vehicles or journey further down the top of the gorge. I knew of a large ledge and several beaver ponds that I hadn’t visited in years so I suggested that we trek down to them. It was tough going in the deeper snow breaking trail but we were still feeling pretty strong and capable. Besides I was excited to finally be so close to an area that I hadn’t seen in awhile. Enter a new phrase into my stories: “The Icewalker’s folly”. The tiny voice of reason in the back of my mind tried to get an audience but was drowned out by the noisy synapses of excitement and love of exploration! Thus the phrase would later take on significance. We picked our way through a forest that had once been very familiar to me when beaver trapping here years ago. We sidetracked a little to reach an opening in the forest canopy that I spotted from the small valley we were traveling along. It turned out to be a mostly abandoned beaver pond. One that I could barely remember and looking very different with the trees gone these days.

Our trek continued onward towards what I referred to as the “T” pond given its shape. I remembered it very differently as well when we arrived there. Gone were the trees here as well. They had been flooded, died, and then fell into the depths of the pond. We took advantage of all the pond ice we could since the snow was mostly gone on the surface. Much like it had been down on the ice of the gorge. I was beginning to feel a little fatigue and asked Patrick if he felt like pressing on. I told him it wasn’t much further and I sincerely believed that was true! I took us out to the rim of the gorge and we got some beautiful photos there! It was tough going though with drop offs, deep snow, and thick brush. We finally reached a small summit where I spotted the final beaver pond that we would need to cross. Our final destination was just across a steep ravine below us. I call it Sumac Mountain. There’s a wonderful cliff there to take photos.We were so close! But I was suddenly watching the ever lowering sun and realizing the distance we had to travel out. Patrick mentioned it as well so I listened to the tiny voice of reason when it said: Don’t be stupid Icewalker! It’s time to go back!

Our trip back became rather arduous as I continued to break trail back towards a place where we could intersect with our broken trail. I stopped for breaks more frequently but was still feeling pretty good. We finally reached the Black Ash Swamp. That location where we once had considered heading back! Crossing it was the best way out I decided. After that we would cross another beaver pond and head down a gap in the rim to reach the Beaver Creek ice for the remainder of the trek.

The surface of the Black Ash Swamp was a crusty, cratered moonscape of snow. The sun continued to sink lower and I knew that if we kept up our pace we could reach the vehicles before dark. I was quickly losing energy and I began considering waking up the inner zombie. I goofed around instead making a cool shadow video and taking photos. It was scenically beautiful though and that moment wasn’t lost to me or Patrick either. It was that place in time where evening is approaching and you realize that you wouldn’t want to be there all night. I was packed for winter survival but wouldn’t enjoy a night out!

We soldiered on and eventually reached the beaver pond that would bring us to the rim gap where we would descend. There wasn’t as much ice as I hoped and we foundered through some heavy deep snow. The gap was rugged and challenging as well but we finally reached the big creek ice. From there it was pretty straightforward and just required us to keep pushing. I never really needed to wake the inner zombie although I came close a couple times! The inner voice would occasionally chime in reminding me on the Icewalker’s motto: the distance in must be traveled out! So I suppose the Icewalker’s Folly is when I choose to ignore that sage self created advice!

We reached the vehicles with only a few minor incidents and break through. I told Patrick that he was now one of a special club of sorts. He had passed the initiative and even scored bonus points for breaking through a few times! His perform while climbing on the icefalls truly sealed the deal. As did the distance of our adventure. It can’t be called a total icewalk given our time on solid ground but it truly was a memorable trek! MOONTABS for both of us!

I dedicate this post to the late Gerald Naugle who made his final trip to the ice falls in 2021. He is truly missed! But we are truly blessed to have experienced that day and others with him! The Icewalker’s are few but worthy to note in their accomplishments! They are Zane Washburn,Jennifer Dashnaw, Gerald Naugle, his surviving wife Cathy, and the newly recognized Patrick Bourcy. Me of course. All have made it to the falls and back! Most have broken through! All have laughed and struggled! All have memories of those special days which nature allows us but a certain short time to enjoy each winter. The recent weather has turned the Beaver Creek gorge into an impassable mess. The big question is not if I will return. It’s when I will return. ✍️

November’s Gifts

Posted on November 14, 2022November 23, 2022 by Greg Washburn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Held In Trust

Posted on November 3, 2022November 17, 2022 by Greg Washburn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Special Day

Posted on September 25, 2022August 7, 2023 by Greg Washburn

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.. ✍️