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 Secret:Watching My Movies

Posted on September 28, 2022September 28, 2022 by Greg Washburn

It’s a rather chilly morning here on Black Lake as September 2022 ushers in its final days. This morning’s temperature will seem like a heat wave a couple months from now just ahead of the annual ice up of the entire lake. Autumn is one of nature’s most vivid seasons here in our four season climate. I am a person who loves to reflect deeply about the power and purpose of seasonal change. Autumn is a time for new discovery in the midst of the transformation. Beauty will be found in the smallest places and in the smallest observations. It is the time of the whitetail deer in this region to live out their finest moments of the year. Natural selection at it’s finest by mid November. The lessons of the deer will be waiting to be read by those who wander the forest.Today I doubt that the people who live in the path of hurricane Ian are headed off to school. They are probably not seeing beauty in nature at this moment. I am not there but I feel humbled in the face of nature’s fury. The power of nature is supreme. Those things that we as humans can not control. Leaves that will fall from the trees and lakes that will freeze. Nature is best represented by a circle. No corners or sharp angles. We as humans seem to live in a box at times. That’s a fun place to explore on a different day.

The other morning I had worked on dual subject post that was mostly lost. Exactly how that happened is still under investigation and people are being skeptical about the whole Mr. Jangles conspiracy that I presented. It’s best to sleeping dogs lay as they say. Besides this isn’t a debate page anymore then I have the ability to solve the unexplained. The truth always comes through in the end. Abraham Lincoln once said that no person has a good enough memory to be a successful liar. Smart man! Also noteworthy this quote by Mark Twain:If you tell the truth you don’t have to remember anything. Enter my research project: the works of Mark Twain. Today is a good day to learn something new.

The first letter of MOONTABS stands for memories. Mine, yours,and everyone’s. Today my own as I try to get the stories of my journey of life told with accurate detail. It’s always bothered me what I can’t remember and how much I was forgetting as time passed. I think a lot people feel like that given conversations I have gotten into over the years. I have some good news for anyone who is getting anxious right now! We aren’t wired to remember everything. Ponder something I read once although I can’t remember when. The average person has some 70,000 random thoughts per day.Hmmm. It’s 8:12 AM and I feel like my count is already passing 40,000. Coffee’s great!At night when we sleep our brain shifts through them and imprints some to our permanent memories. The remaining multitude of information gets flushed down the proverbial drain. It’s much more complicated then that of course and I can’t remember the rest of it. Big tip! I can look up such random information again! To bad I can’t do that with every detail of my personal journey. Why is all this so important to me? That’s a slippery slope to snowboard down. ( I had my hands on my snowboard yesterday!) The importance of certain memories is a future post that I will write once I finish a family genealogy research project. I hope that you are remembering all the posts I have been promising to write for you up to this point. I have forgotten. But a promise is never broken until it is never kept.

If you follow and have read my posts then you are familiar with the house fire of 2012 that my family experienced. One of the worst days of my life. But also a new intersection in my journey that would profoundly shape the future. A day that would ultimately drive me to empty Quill writing pads and stuff the scribbled words into simply titled and stash them away. I would eventually write on Facebook and be led to blogging. This is getting complicated for me and I am the orchestrator of my life’s symphony.Time to hit the slippery slopes and head down towards the Secret.

This trip down the slope is tricky and if I take us over that big jump we will probably wipe out! Best to turn off and take that easier trail through the forest. We will get to the bottom of the slope that way.One word is as solid as a sturdy set of Burton bindings. Journals! Diary’s for some. Handwritten by most people. My ground zero of writing where pensive creativity hadn’t found me yet. My simple journals spanned decades of my life.It’s a story best told in greater detail. Not today though. Another story and yet another promise I know. Don’t worry I am writing them down on paper now. Maybe you should as well just in case I lose my list. Lists for me are still handwritten on paper even though I could go digital. As are all my rhyming story poems. That story must also wait. Consider it more tangible to me. I feel telling a story properly takes time and involves an intense retrieval process. The memories are all there. I just need to unearth all the myriad of small details. Then place them upon this page.Do you remember what Mr. Jangles said? And you thought being me was simple! Silly you!

Enter one part of the secret:Writing things down with a ballpoint pen on paper helps me remember them better. That’s always been an important component to me when writing journals and to hold an old one in my hands is priceless. Mine were mostly written in simple school three subject notebooks that were never the same size or containing the same number of pages. They would get bent and wrinkled by abuse. The quality of what lies inside something or someone can’t be judged by a cover. Some of my best rhyming stories started out on cardboard boxes. Written with a black Sharpe. When inspiration surfaces it’s got to be recorded quickly or the moment can be lost. If you’ve ever read the story behind the origins of the poem Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge then that might sense. He was interrupted while creating it and the inspiration was suddenly lost. My inspiration comes from a far different source but I identified with something there. That being said it wasn’t the quality of the paper or the ink that was important. It was the words themselves. And in the small details that would live in them. But my tragedy was in the paper itself. There was no backup if the journals were lost. And lost they were. To fire. Don’t be sad! I longer feel that way. I went to the pity party for awhile but didn’t stay too long. I was bored there and it was so dark I couldn’t see. There’s a happy ending to this story that I believe I mentioned once. Things that shaped me show up over and over on these pages. I am going to need a digital tool to handle that redundancy someday.

What’s important right now is to begin to share the secret! The story behind the movie itself! Picture this: me sitting in my plush recliner in my office at the farm. The room was awesome! I had my personal stamp on everything. This my room and I had built it out with a rustic themed concept. It looked like the inside of an ancient barn. Hand hewed corner posts and a wooden ceiling with hemlock support rafters. An oak plank floor put down with antique nails. A decent sized window that looked out over our main meadow behind the house. My father and stepmom had used this very same room for a sitting room. My recliner was in the same place our father’s had been placed. I had an entire wall of bookshelves filled beyond capacity. A gun cabinet full of my guns and those that had belonged to my father. There was a tv as well but that was more for Zane then me. I had given him a place to stamp his personality into my small office. Just below my tv platform he had a child’s desk and chair. There was a section of wall for displaying his artwork and pictures. I wanted him to always feel welcome in my private sanctuary. In evenings he would come in and climb up into the recliner with me while I was reading. I read to him quite often and he had a section of the office for his own books. I also had an antique desk of our father’s that I used for my mail and financial paperwork. There was a large oaken chest and all my photo albums in the room as well. I could write an entire story about the 2008 farm house renovation. I put a lot of myself into that project and even managed to lose my job over it! I just added that story to the promised list.

Back to the recliner now. It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon and there’s no work till tomorrow. The cattle are all in behind the fences and they are feeding across the meadow. That’s a plus! When they get out? Yuck! It’s a private moment of quiet where I am getting ready to begin adding to my current journal. It’s not something I make the time for everyday and that’s why it’s special. Tomorrow I will jumping back into the fray of a Monday. Farming keeps me busy and so does work. There’s a bigger plan in the farming. A stash of “Mad Money”. Never entered into the family’s financial needs unless it’s an emergency. It’s my traveling money. Bush trips mostly but something much more adventurous is brewing. Alaska someday. I will need to cull the herd for that one I think to myself. The mixed breed herd is about 20 strong now and growing. They all have names that are as wacky as can be! I see Crazy Face and Gladiator. Snow Ball and Little Herf. South Dev and all the ones that I can’t remember now. The rain intensifies and I don’t feel the need to be outside. This is perfect. I could watch a movie on tv I thought. No I would rather write today. But before I start I think I will revisit an old journal in the stack. There’s a movie waiting right there for me. I already know how it ends but that’s ok. I can’t remember everything that happened and I haven’t seen it in awhile.

I open the journal and immediately smell the old dried ink left on the paper. There’s a starting date and an opening line. And the movie begins. It’s a strange thing I think. My eyes reading and my memories that flood in as the movie picks up pace. I am the main character but there’s almost always others. Although my writing sometimes dove to hidden levels of privacy where no other characters appeared. I kept my journals locked up and no one was allowed to read them. So what’s the big deal or the big secret of the movie? It’s in those small flushed details that I didn’t have a prayer of remembering. Reading the words that I had written brings them back immediately. Thus the term The Movie. I expect someone else has written about this but I have never researched it . (new addition to research project list). I read on and the forgotten details now are refreshed. Weather events. Work. Plans. Dreams. Hope. All there in the movie! Then the epiphanies. Oh wow! How could I have ever forgotten that funny moment or that awesome day? It’s a past me that I can examine with no chance of time buffering over the details. It’s all here. My real life as it was lived. I stop reading for a moment and pause the movie. Where am I now I ponder? Have I stayed on track? Then the echoes of the what “ifs”. What if I had listened to my inner voice? What if I had only known that? What if I had known this was coming and could have planned better? It’s not a place of regret. Nor longing for days gone past. I was much to down to earth to worry about that sort of thing or the rattling chains of ghosts from the past. They were harmless in my sense of now. My focus was on the future. I was strong and capable. Feet grounded on the acres of the farm and connected to nature. What was I learning while filming the movie?Was I the best possible me?What else? That was too heavy for a relaxing Sunday afternoon I would think. I could always revisit that subject on the way to work tomorrow if I got bored driving. I read on and the movie begins again. I would get lost in the moment.

Eventually I’d reach a point where I would stop reading and jump into writing in my current journal . Or maybe I would go outside and tackle some farm task. Any thoughts of writing books never occurred to me in those busy days of endless push. Dreams of retirement kept me dialed in and focused. Fast forward. The fire and post fire days. Many things were destined to happen and they did. But like any of us I pressed forward.Life got better and we were figuring things out. The Alaska trip happened. There were many days of mundane routine in that race to the future.But I was pretty good at getting time off from work when I needed it to reboot. Enter the first thoughts of the importance of leaving a written family legacy. Not just my story but my family’s story. I resumed some journal writing but in a different capacity. Bigger things were waiting for me and I had no clue. The words were building up far below my surface far beyond any small surge I had ever experienced. They were like a natural defense that would someday protect me in my push forward. Call it my spirit energy immune system. That’s heavy!😂

So that’s my secret in this my very personal continuing introduction. Why so personal? The Intersection series. That story needs to wait a bit as I piece it together.It’s connected to events and time with a two year set of details. It’s a tricky write honestly.My secret will sound familiar to some people. It may sound similar to something else you’ve read. Maybe it makes no sense at all. The happy ending? Not all my journals were lost. A few survived. And if I told you that 10 times alright then you know that’s it important to me. The rest is a little more complicated. That which I once wrote on paper is going to be easier to retrieve. Albeit it’s going to take time. Those words may be waiting on the other end of the line when I hear those custom ringtones I mentioned awhile ago. That’s pretty heavy too.I have helped build out many construction projects over the years. This is far different. MOONTABS will be by far my largest ever personal endeavor and it had to start with a foundation. My journey of survival is the foundation. Nature has taught me many things but most of all survival. Not of the fittest but as a part of a bigger whole.I hope to build something that others will enjoy as much as I enjoy building it.It’s not just mine to build or occupy. It’s going to take the cast of characters all learning skills and gaining insight.Building as we go. There’s a bigger place of understanding here that I don’t always recognize myself. So I don’t have all the answers yet. The search is very real as is the surge. The fictional forests of Tasmania symbolize my connection to nature in ways my imagination and curiosity can’t even begin to fathom. Each tree a story. The big and the small. The living and the dead. All things are connected by energy I feel. One more thing! Mr. Jangles is very real! He lives in Western Quebec! Or have you forgotten already?✍️

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.. ✍️

3 AM: Introductions To The Ever Changing Me

Posted on September 23, 2022August 7, 2023 by Greg Washburn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bush Days:The Balance Is Struck

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We wrote

Surrendering To The Bush

Posted on September 21, 2022August 7, 2023 by Greg Washburn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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