The Thrill Of The Mill

Posted on May 19, 2023May 19, 2023 by Greg Washburn

We are just warming up again today after a cold snap of several days where the wind stayed in the north. I had to bring additional firewood from the farm twice to make Camp Edith warm enough to stay here. Wednesday night the temperatures dropped to 30 degrees! Pretty chilly for mid May.Fortunately we always seem to have an abundance of firewood to choose from at the farm. Up on the warehouse landing there was a nice selection of split mixed lengths and sizes. It was a good time to use up some of that mixed collection as I am hoping to clean up the landing later this year. It’s gotten rather messy. So I brought back smalls,weirds,and low grade pieces we call devil’s rejects. Weirds are quite simply odd shaped chunks that don’t stack well. Smalls are short chunks. Funny how we have our own lingo for firewood!

I recently got back to work on a project that Zane and I started almost two years ago. The side hill just below the log landing was a perfect location to build a gravity log loading platform for the sawmill. First I brought in some sandy roadside dirt the town had given me to level the sawmill site. Then I dragged up an old power pole that the power company had abandoned behind the barn to construct the main runner of the log loader system. I attached one end to a huge hickory tree as an anchor point and built piers out of cement blocks for the other supports. I even utilized a tree stump that I had saved for one of the supports. It should last for quite a few years hopefully.

I then backed the sawmill up parallel to the main runner and lifted it to remove the wheels that make it portable. I got it all leveled into place eventually and stationary on its six posts. This is tricky when working alone but I used the tractor’s loader for the heavy work. A small hydraulic bottle jack works well for fine tuning and leveling. I was making progress and quit for the day after spending several hours to reach that point.

The next step involved skidding in another salvaged power pole that would be sawn into planks for the perpendicular runners.Shorter five feet long 3×4’s would be sawn for the removal planks that enable the logs to be rolled onto the mill. I modeled my design after the one my father and I had built years ago at another property. In time we had added a building over top of the sawmill there and it was a nice set up to work under rain or shine! Not to mention a nice place to store the mill under cover. But before I could saw I needed to get the mill running as it has sat idle since last summer. I had bought a new sale priced battery so that was a plus. While connecting the battery I noticed that the squirrels had been chewing on some of the wiring and had chewed a small hole in the gas tank! Damn rodents and their destructive habit of chewing everything. I taped up the damaged wires as best I could. I then choked the engine and turned the key. The mill started almost immediately! I warmed it up some before ramping it up to full throttle. What a sweet noise and things were going well! I did notice some organic debris flying out of the engine compartment and fished a few pieces out but saw nothing to concern me. I managed to get all the planks sawed out from the salvaged power poles before stopping again for the day.

The next time I was at the farm I got the planks in place but lacked the 6” nails I needed to secure them. Not concerned I rolled a log onto the mill and got started with the making of my neighbor’s lumber. I did a second log but started being harassed by a bumblebee who seemed intent on getting inside the engine compartment. I soon learned that there was a nest inside and although only one bee was after me I could hear others inside buzzing away. The engine smelled a little hot also. It was time to rethink the whole situation. I built a crib to stack the lumber on to get it “stickered” up so it would dry properly. Lumber stacked on lumber will mold and a stain known as gray rot will discolor the lumber. Ants also love to occupy us stickered lumber piles. The crib took a little time to build but not knowing when my neighbor was planning on using the lumber it drove my decision to build it.

The cribbed lumber on 1×1 stickers.This was day two of sawing lumber.

The cool morning Thursday prompted me to dissemble the sawmill engine compartment. Easy with a socket set as there were only 8 bolts to remove. The bumblebees were silent so that was a plus. Upon removing the engine compartment shroud I discovered a large bees nest! I pulled most of it out in one piece and the bees began to buzz in earnest! I tossed it onto the ground and gave it a good stomping. Next I lit it on fire with my blowtorch. Mission accomplished! I finished cleaning out the remainder of the nest being sure to burn it as well. I also found a separate mouse nest that I removed and added to the smoldering honeycomb from the bees nest. Inside the engine compartment I found more chewed wires that I taped up. I reassembled the engine compartment after doing a thorough cleaning and inspection. Now I could actually start sawing again. Delays like this are quite often a daily occurrence around the farm so it’s best to just shrug it off and move forward. Nature sure does challenge all we create!

I quickly settled into sawing logs after that. I had fastened the planks down on Wednesday having purchased some 6” spikes from a local lumber yard. The gravity log loader system was a success and I used the tractor to set up the row of logs that would be rolled forward onto the mill. I was feeling pretty good at this point and glad that things were going smoothly. The mill was running smoothly and I lost myself to the task at hand to the roar of the 25 horsepower Robins Subaru engine. My hearing protection is a necessity as is eye protection. The slab wood was tossed over onto the tractor loader forks so it could easily be transported to outside the sugar house a short distance away. The plan had finally come together! Everything was in place to work quickly and efficiently. I lacked but one thing: a tailer. A tailer handles the slab wood and the finished lumber so the sawyer can keep the mill cranked up and making lumber. Zane will soon be working as my tailer and as my apprentice sawyer. He wants to learn the craft of making lumber. I often think of sawing lumber as creating and I will explain shortly.

Slab wood headed to the sugar house pile to be cut up later.

By late afternoon I was beginning to feel glimmers of fatigue. Our saw mill is very manual. It uses hydraulics for the blade tensioner only. Everything else gets done by hand. Rolling the logs on is done manually. Rotating the logs also manual. Manual raising and lowering head blocks. Head blocks hold the logs in place and must be adjusted several times while sawing a log. The log leveler rollers are also manual. As are the “dogs”. The dogs hold the log or cant firmly so it can’t move around. The high speed blade can easily break if a log gets loose. As for the “head” itself it consists of a frame, the engine, belts, pulleys,debark wheel, and the measurement gauge. Our mill uses a wheel and track head system to feed the blade into the log. The operator manually controls the feed rate by pushing the head assembly forward. It’s a very effective way to control cuts and minimize making poor lumber. There’s all sorts of further information about the mill itself but I feel that readers might find it boring. Suffice it to say that the Brubacher saw mill designers really put some thought into this small, portable band saw mill! Perhaps a instructional video some day might be in order!

A small white pine cant that just made 10 2×6’s. Note the track system that the head assembly rides along.

Making lumber is a wonderful workout for the upper body! The legs get some walking in but the upper body really does the most work. I like the bullish nature of such things and my mind will detour from worrisome meandering as I focus on the task at hand. There’s plenty of opportunities for injury so focus is a good word truly.As for the logs themselves they are truly unique. Tapered and sometimes crooked. The sawyer must read the log to make the most lumber from it. Mistakes are final in regards to dimensions as well after a cut is made. I was a little rusty at first but my mind soon entered the zone of kerfs and scales. The bandsaw blade makes an 1/8th inch cut each time. Kerf it’s called. The scale rule on the head allows for that kerf automatically as it’s built into the scale. Random cuts though involve adding the kerf to each measurement. Forget the kerf and the sawyer makes inferior non dimensional lumber. It’s easy once you train your mind to the process.Working in 1/8th increments isn’t too difficult after all.

The logs headed towards the mill on the gravity log loader. The short planks span the final 5 feet. Removed once a log is rolled onto the mill.

Getting set up finally on the farm for log sawing is a great accomplishment for me! Our location should provide years of efficient and save sawing. Of course I now have been thinking about a saw mill building to cover the location similar to the one we once had at our former home several miles away. Oh what a location that was! Acres upon acres of white pine to cull and utilize. But life happened and we moved to the farm property after our father’s unexpected death. We couldn’t hold all the property. Simple finances ruled the moment. That story is blended into these blog pages here and there. Perhaps redundant but redundancy can represent the importance of certain things I feel provided it’s not over done. It’s all connected this journey of mine regardless of where you jump into the stories. Backwards,forwards, and in the present. One event linked to another in a chain of events. Nature always near the forefront. Rural heritage learned and shared as it should be. It is a story of blood,sweat, and tears. Ordinary that sometimes becomes extraordinary. I don’t always know where the journey leads or what exactly comes next. I do know that when I embrace the push bar of the sawmill and crack the throttle I will be rewarded with fragrant sawdust in tune with a racing saw blade while the engine roars with powerful purpose. I’ve spent hours locked in these moments and the memories play like movies from the past. It’s never just sawing lumber. It is something far greater. For what limits what could be built or created with such a useful piece of machinery? What might rise on the farm property that could insure its legacy and that of mere individuals? As too why are we even sawing logs for our neighbor? That’s entirely another story. Yet to be told as it’s not finished. And time passes with every season and a sense of urgency sometimes stirs up the spirit energy. Not going there tonight.✍️

The Mysterious Morels

Posted on May 14, 2023February 28, 2024 by Greg Washburn

It’s a chilly May morning here at Camp Edith and the first thing I did this morning was light the wood stove! I just moved in full time on Thursday but hadn’t needed any heat. But the wind shifted to the north yesterday and despite the sunny skies the temperature began to drop. I piled on extra blankets last night and it paid off as it was 57 degrees inside this morning.

Spring is moving right along and we’re as busy as ever post sugaring season. We still have some clean up to do and lots of sugar wood to cut for next season. I don’t always get as much done as I want sometimes when I get caught up in the myriad of life’s small details. Perhaps I dwell too much on forward progress. But the seasons pass quickly and a comfortable balance must be struck. We manage to spend plenty of time outdoors and that’s never considered anything but positive. Zane will soon graduate high school and his future plans suddenly enter the mix in a newer sense of reality. But that’s another story for another day. It’s a story tied to my future and my own plans ultimately connected to nature. Almost intimidating at times. A journey of unknowns and possibilities. Time will sort it out. One day at a time.

What’s all this got to do with morels? Plenty! The hunt for them began last Saturday in earnest.Too early people were saying but we had scored big time May 4th 2021 so I decided that May 6th was worth a try. So off we went after changing the oil in the Honda side by side. A post sugaring task that was overdue. We headed to our usual spots and the search was on! We brought a shovel and a bucket to dig leeks as well. Also a paper sack for chives. Time for some of Zane’s chive/leek dip again! Forager pizza also but we needed some mushrooms! The search was slow at first but I finally spotted 2 in an old favorite spot!

We picked the two small morels for our pizza that we would make later regardless of our success. We checked out a new spot and were rewarded with 5 more small morels. Not a huge collection but enough for our pizza. We left several other small ones to grow and continued our search. Despite covering a large area we found no others. We collected a nice bunch of chives and leeks before heading to Camp Edith for the night. I got the water turned on there fairly quickly so it was easy to prep dinner. We had washed the leeks at the farm spring to get rid of most of the dirt so that proved helpful.

Dinner was a success! The dip was superb as was the forager pizza! So morel season had truly begun! If you want a better understanding of morels check out the blog post: Bugs,Brush,and Brown Gold that I wrote a couple years ago. It provides some insight into our foraging hobby.

I worked at Fort Drum Monday and Tuesday so it was Wednesday before I returned to search for more morels. Zane was in school and had piano lessons that evening so I headed out alone. I went to what I suspected might be this years hotspot and was rewarded with a nice collection of smaller morels. A few big ones but overall they were running a little small. A close examination of their bases revealed that they were fully rip and needed to be harvested.The morel’s stem will turn a dark brown when fully ripe. A sign that it’s about to tip over. Some morels are a darker species anyway and grow somewhat smaller. The tan ones can get rather large under the right conditions. I was on a roll and a second nearby new location yielded more! I left a number of small ones to pick the next time Zane would be with me.

I spend the rest of the afternoon searching for more morels in a variety of places but only found 7 more total. But it’s still early in the season so I wasn’t disappointed at all. I had sprayed my clothes and boots with tick repellent prior to entering the woods. I flicked a few off my pants but managed to escape any attaching themselves to me. They are the scourge of foraging and cling to the low brush everywhere. Not using repellent is a bad idea! I like a brand called Ben’s and find it very effective!

Wednesday evening found me cleaning the morels. It involves halfing them and soaking the pieces in cold water with salt. Halving and washing them will reveal any ants or other insects that might have burrowed inside the morel. It’s fairly common to find insects inside a morel. No big deal really. After cleaning my prizes I stored some of them in layers in a plastic container. Layered in moist paper towels they will last a few days in the refrigerator. The rest I pan fried with butter and a little olive oil. I add plenty of salt and pepper as well. I had a plan for them! Mushroom and Muenster cheese burgers! Yum! Of course I ate a few hot ones right out of the pan!Wow! What a treat!

So Friday came and Zane was eager to hunt mushrooms after school. We hit the new hotspot and the haul was significant! He’s great at spotting them. He uses the “drop down” technique we’ve learned works the best for finding them hidden under the ground cover of leaves and small trees. At risk for ticks but with treated pants and boots it’s fairly safe. We both had containers that filled quickly at the hotspot before we headed off to other locations. Our harvest was small at the other spots however. But we knew that the early season could change that so any location where a couple were found will be revisited again. The two spots that were last year’s hotspots have only yielded a few so far.It’s a fickle business of searching this hobby of ours! Always checking new locations and hoping for the mother lode! We cover a big expanse of ground to get a decent collection most days. The side by side speeds up the process of getting around though and helps with the tick avoidance situation.

Back at Camp Edith it was cleaning time. Zane cut one open that was full of ants! I quickly took it outside to dispose of them. No harm done and the morel was added to the salt water bath. They were pretty much insect free after that. We stored some away and cooked up the rest. Zane was eager to try my mushroom and cheese burgers! A hit so sure!

So that’s the story here as morel season begins once again. We’ll continue our searching and dodging the nasty disease carrying ticks. Last season we had our first success around May 10th. Our final harvest was May 20th. But we didn’t spend the time hunting last year that we intend to do this year. I was living in the Adks in the camper for part of May and missed some of the short morel season. I think I will head out today and search some new places.Why not? It’s sunny and cool so maybe the black flies won’t bother so much.There’s a blissful contentment in the search for the brown gold. A sudden rush when you spot one hiding in the leaves. A wonderful smell when your container gets full. A sense of connection as you clean them and add them to your dinner menu. And of course the taste bud explosion when you eat them! As I like write here these simple words: to have never known certain things is to have missed something extraordinary. The morel mushroom provides a powerful connection to nature. One of season and one of purpose. A place where spirit energy surges with new growth and something much more profound. The hunter gatherer relationship with the forest and waterways. Never to destroy or deplete the source but to enjoy a little of it. It’s truly something amazing to me. A place where bonding and teaching others builds long lasting traditions and memories. We call those memories MOONTABS !!

Coming Out Of Orbit

Posted on April 15, 2023April 16, 2023 by Greg Washburn

Sugaring season finally ended this week as temperatures hit the high seventies. Unseasonably warm for April. The time has passed in a blur since my last post but that’s just the norm for syrup season.Call it the daily grind of dedication where writing doesn’t occur.The comfortable orbit of routine held steady while things continued to slowly warm up after the third week of March. The snow steadily disappeared especially after a big rain storm one night.Things were transforming quickly!

It’s been a good season overall. The weather cooperated well with cool nights and days that rarely passed the mid forties initially. There was a persistent breeze from the north that held temperatures down and quite a few cloudy periods.Rather perfect for decent sap flow and our gathers remained fairly steady. The evaporator repairs held together and our syrup count increased with each boil. Things were getting done and we established an effective gathering strategy of our string that eventually reached 530 taps. We added several new mini-tubing runs on some hard to reach ridge lines and they produced well late into the season.Good sap runs would yield about 400 gallons of sap. We had a mixed crew to help with the gathering with people assisting as their schedules allowed.Patrick Bourcy creator of the Facebook group Just Go Outside brought his daughter Lilly over to help one Saturday and she had a blast! We had the gathering string figured out and always managed to get the work done. Feeling tired by the end of the day was to be expected but it was a good type of exhaustion! Some aspects of our seasonal hobby never change.

As the snow melted away it became very muddy and the sap haul roads were a mess! Pretty typical. We had to abandon our snowy shortcuts across the meadow and take the longer road route to avoid the mud. Things were beginning to look much different throughout the sugarbush with pockets of snow remaining in certain sections. Some of the trees began to run less sap and I decided that we would need to add some additional taps to keep the intake consistent. I chose some reserve trees in the two meadows on “the hill” as we call it. We would end up using the side by side to gather them to avoid meadow damage from the much heavier tractor. It worked out well.We chased the last of the snow into the sheltered pines where the sap ran clear and plentiful. Call it a boost into a new orbit of routine.

Chasing the snow to reach the reserve trees.

The signs began to show themselves as the season progressed. Yellow sap from the smaller maples and trees that shut down entirely. The larger maples of the string began to truly release their sap and held the sap quota fairly consistent. We began to start pulling a few nonproductive buckets along the string and Jen nicknamed them “ kicked buckets”. A name that stuck. Zane and I would sometimes work alone on the late gather after his school day had ended. I would yell “kick it” whenever I decided to pull a bucket. It’s a favorite beginning to several songs I like so that’s why I was doing it. He quickly tired of it even if I didn’t. Levity is an important part of making tedious work less boring I feel. A strategy I have used for years on the construction sites to survive the long days of often menial task. Zane and I would talk about all sorts of things while we worked. I enjoyed this part of my days. He’s my apprentice of all things rural heritage. He’s still young and has lots to learn but that’s the way of things.

Lids dropped in by gatherers. Sign for a kicked bucket.

I watched the weather forecasts closely and tried to gauge whether we would meet our goal of 100 gallons of syrup. 530 taps should have been plenty to accomplish that but the weather was changing quickly and sugaring is a fickle business at times. Years ago it was very different and the seasons seemed to last longer. The old timers rule of one quart of syrup per tap for the season no longer applies these days. 400 good taps can produce 100 gallons of syrup with an ideal season. We tap more these days to compensate for a much more compressed season. The quality of the syrup has been superb! Amber Rich grade held for much of the season but eventually the Dark Robust grade was reached towards the end. Very normal and we began filling the 30 gallon stainless steel commercial barrel to sell on the open syrup market. The commercial grade syrup will usually generate enough cash to cover our operating expenses. As I watched the forecast I realized that we might not hit 100 gallons of syrup. Time was short now. But one small window of opportunity was coming before the season reached its conclusion. 4 frosty nights and sunny warm days. I knew our old string would continue to produce sap but not enough. Kicked buckets were continuing to be brought in. We would need to call in further reserve trees for a few days.They would be scattered and few but they were available in the area we call “behind the barn”.

A huge reserve tree on the Tail End String.

I set out on a Thursday morning and pulled in 50 plus kicked buckets from the original string. The reserve tree string on the hill had been a good decision and they had ran well. They were time consuming to gather but kept a nice flow coming in. I knew it was a lot of work to tap more trees for just a few days of sap flow but was gambling for a payoff. I suppose part of me wasn’t ready for the season to end. That stubborn side that likes to achieve goals. Bullish and foolish at times. Prone to impulsive decisions that add more work to an already busy routine. I had considered the options carefully I felt so I set the plan into motion. Using the pulled kicked buckets I set tapped 54 new taps on some nice big survivor maples that had beat the 2016/2017 die off.They had once been part of a couple different strings that we had ran years ago. So spread out though that it wouldn’t make sense to tap them under normal circumstances. These were not normal circumstances. I called them the Tail End String.

Bringing in the kicked buckets to redeploy.

It was a very warm day for tapping and the sap burst from the fresh taps like it was under pressure. Very encouraging and I was fueled by the possibilities. 54 were added before Zane showed up to help gather the old string. We pulled in a bunch of kicked buckets and about all that remained were our mini-tubes. We left scattered buckets along the string that were still producing but our number of old taps was greatly diminished. The new plan was in place and the sun set on another day.

The weather cooperated and we were able to continue to bring in additional sap due to the new taps. Last Monday we brought in everything that had been our original string gathering sap along the way. The new taps were kept in until Tuesday for one final gather. The Tail End String was a success. Tuesday’s boil yielded a few gallons of super dark syrup that I plan to use in crafting our Moonbeams hard cider that we are working to create. Wednesday found me working late getting set up for the final boil where water is ran through the evaporator to push the final gallons of syrup sap through. The final boil yielded an additional 4 gallons of syrup by 10:30 pm before I literally tapped out and had to quit for the day. It was over! At least the tapping,gathering,and boiling part of sugaring. Next was the cleanup. Just another part of our labor intensive hobby!

In reflection I realize that this brief post doesn’t even cover the reality that was the syrup season of 2023. It doesn’t accurately describe the true emotions,the routine,or the mind numbing fatigue that ensued. But those things exist in other posts written in different times and under different circumstances. The true connections of this season still haven’t had time to completely catch up to me I feel. The magic happened and it exists in the numerous jugs of carefully crafted product that brings smiles to our customers faces. It lives in their comments to me. It lives in our hearts,photos, and in our memories. For in the midst of the conclusion of this sugaring season something more was thrown into our schedule by some sudden decisions. It’s destined for an upcoming post. It was a push but also successful in its purpose. Some things in life can not wait forever nor should the voice of spirit energy be ignored. The forward momentum begs its place in schedules.

The sugar house woodshed is almost empty! A sign of a successful season.

I dedicate this post to the members of the newly formed Macomb Sapsuckers Local 1545. A joke of sorts but one of recognition. Without the efforts of our volunteer gathering crew none of this would be possible. I thank Zane for stepping up and partnering with me. I thank Jen for pitching in for her fifth season of tireless assistance. They are the big two workers of our tiny operation. I also thank Rebecca and Randy Reynolds,Gail Gardner,Patrick and Lilly Bourcy,and Scott Force for helping us achieve our goals. I also thank our neighbor Tom whose woods produce a good portion of our sap. I cherish my unwritten agreement with him that we honor each season now. Fairness and honesty bring favorable outcomes. We truly shared some memorable moments together! As for me I am stronger and more fit then I was on February 27th. The first day. Proud of what we accomplished. Tired and ready for a break from the routine. And as securely grounded in my rural heritage as ever.We made things happen! Our tired iron held together once again. Who knows what comes next. But spring will come again next year and the sap will rise again. And I hope to be able to begin the whole process again.I leave you with my personal quote. “For each person there will be but a finite number of syrup seasons to enjoy ”.Best not miss them in my humble opinion.✍️

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.✍️

Hill House Days

Posted on September 26, 2022September 27, 2022 by Greg Washburn

Monday morning and the rain has returned again. It is that time of year when it often gets very damp here. Autumn is taking charge now. I heard some local geese here on the lake last night but they aren’t the ringtone ones that I mentioned yesterday. The local geese have become a nuisance here these days. As daylight arrives I hear distant gunfire as hunters cull them from the cornfields.One thing I forgot to mention yesterday was snow geese. They are the true geese of the north these days. Their late season migration is a different ringtone. Almost like an alarm going off. But the ringtones haven’t rang yet so the rest of yesterday’s story must wait for now.

Wish me luck this morning as we battle the technical issues experienced recently. Maybe I should have thrown the technology overboard in Quebec and never looked back!But then you would be missing out on the balloon release of adventure, life, and exploration. I don’t want that for us. I will be sending out a brief message this morning speaking of all those writing projects that never get read by anyone but me. I do read them to Zane sometimes. I read him something after dinner the other night here at Camp Edith. He listened quietly and then said that’s good Dad! Then my often quiet son who sometimes reminds of my own father said something profound. You write like Mark Twain Dad! Funny I thought since I never read much Mark Twain. I was inspired by authors Zane Grey,Jack London, and Louis L’Amour.That’s an interesting start to today’s story. Then there’s the whole Wally Byam quote that is so similar to my childhood statement to my father many years ago.It’s all just a coincidence right? Or is it something much bigger?

Enter Hill House. Purchased in early spring of 2015 after a search of several months for suitable properties in the area.Town living in Hammond for almost 3 years after the fire was fine. I won’t go into all of the details of that time. The post fire years were busy. But I didn’t know that I was racing towards a slippery intersection.The Hill House property would demand some serious capital investments as it turned out. We were already heavily invested into this property when we eventually paid to bring electricity to it. Quite the story there. We had lived off grid for well over a year while I was still working full time. Solar charging and batteries.Using the sun to supply our power was a great connection to nature. Great in the summer.Not so good in the fall and winter. The “Dark Ages” I called those months when we needed a generator to keep the batteries charged each day. It got rather old after awhile. The price the utility company was demanding to bring the power in was an insult of its own! I can’t tell you how evenings that I walked the road along the bony rock cut looking for a better solution. As things sometimes happen a plan began to show itself one night. I pushed my plan forward as fall threatened to become winter. I called in a few favors and got the project finished. My plan had cut $11k from utility cost. We went onto the grid soon after and life got easier. Where’s the next connection to nature here you might be asking?The connection is in my stubbornness to challenge it by placing us in this location in the first place.Einstein once said you never fail until you quit trying. Not sure if he ever mentioned how to handle those things that “try” our patience.

The off grid property that I named Hill House sat high above an upper section of Black Lake. The views were spectacular! Nature set me up the first time I stood in the great room with the realtor. The snow covered lake was stunning off in the distance! I could envision the sun rises and sunsets! This could be home I thought! It’s my kind of place! I could picture Zane running free and safe here with the dogs. I hated the main highway in Hammond. Deadly to pets and something I always felt was a potential hazard to our young son. So with a reckless burst of positive energy Hill House was purchased.Sure I needed to go to the circus and jump through some fiery financial hoops. But we don’t talk about money and politics here.

The property encompassed some 41 plus acres of rugged land. Beautiful forests, a small creek, and a series of valleys. It had a back access road too. 5 miles from Hammond where Zane went to school. Hill House was .9 miles in from the town plowed road.The private road leading to Hill House was full of curves and several inclines. But one hill in particular was bad news. An 8% grade according to a graph on my truck’s dashboard. Getting the connection to nature a little better now? Think about it for a minute.The dusty dirt road was bad enough during the spring,summer, and fall.But winter was a beast of burden that challenged me after work many times. By now you know me as a lover of high ground and rock. The Hill House property was all that and more. The property certainly answered some inner call and offered a unique living experience. It was maddening at times though in the winter when I had to park my two wheel drive company van at the end of the road and walk the .9 of a mile up to house after work. Sometimes I had to wade through snow before getting the tractor out to plow the road. The walk in actually relaxed me on nights when I didn’t need to plow. There were several small pullouts that I kept plowed out so sometimes I parked much closer to the house. But rarely made “the run” on the hill after one night of getting the van stuck. I was possessed by stubbornness that is difficult to explain. Can’t make the drive in tonight? Walk and enjoy the sunset. Besides exercise is good right? Maybe I thought I was some type of modern pioneer. There’s a connection to nature in that statement.

Ok getting the picture? A big beautiful house overlooking the lake. Privacy and safety. The farm property a mere 15 miles away. A big outside wood boiler that heated the house and the garage for practically nothing. 20 face cords of wood were usually enough. We brought most of it in from farm. There was an abundance of wood there. The forest of the hill house property had limited access due to its rugged layout of ravines so we didn’t cut much wood there. Stewardship is a good word for how I hoped to manage the woods there. There’s a place of peace in managing a forest with an attitude of stewardship.

Enter the event: 2017. Few connections to nature that summer.Two big construction projects to fill my days. One was a monster of deadline and schedule. The best part of the job was all the roof work! Out under the sky playing music with my coworkers.Dozens of energy recovery units that were part of the huge ground water heat extraction project known as phase 4. Nice connection to nature there as they removed almost all of their fossil fuel boilers.My personal life was falling apart but my professional one kept me focused. Things were about to get interesting as I staggered out of “Dark Ages” of a different sort. Cancer had taught me a good many things especially how to fight for my own life. At Hill House I new found new freedom and made big decisions. Zane and I got busy redecorating and setting up the huge painted blackboard where there was always something chalked in. Quotes, rhymes, lists, and funny little drawings. Zane and I tightened up together. We summited our second set of high peaks one weekend in October. Our count was now at four! Only 42 to go! A great rhyming story was written in the sketchy motel room before the hike even started early that morning. Great story there! Especially the part where I could barely climb stairs at work Monday morning!

I was going to retire in November. Things needed to change and I was ready to put things in the rear view mirror. The race intensified to complete my projects as full on heating season approved the NYS school deadline. My boss was not very happy with my decision to retire! I tried to explain my need to take care of my son. We reached a place of common ground eventually. I kept my promise and finished both of my projects. Exit full time work!

I was free! The first two weeks of retirement found me on fire and writing a lot. Some decent material followed I feel.A series of short stories that had been tumbling around for far too long. All hand written on Quill paper pads with a ball point pen. I I got my first IPhone with unlimited data. I played a lot of music and started a collection of custom crafted Pandora stations. I discovered my love of Indie rock with its haunting and soaring notes.Retirement fit me well. A new beginning and a period of new growth. The quiet sanctuary of Hill House was perfect for writing. I had a desk facing the window wall of the lake. I was ok with being alone most of the time. But I missed Zane especially at bedtime. We found a new way forward though and life was good. I was empowered and bending to those proverbial winds of change. The same old me was growing into someone new. Outside on Hill House’s outdoor deck I captured many beautiful sunrises that I had missed while working. I counted my many small blessings in those moments. Zane was my one big blessing! Growing himself.

2018 was a year of intense recreation and continued education in a new direction. Enter the land trusts and conservation volunteer work. Fun and we met a lot of great people. I became involved with SLELO Prism.They are the people who battle and track invasive species across New York State in five different regions. I began to attend all different types of seminars and presentations. Zane came to some of them. It was fun and educational!Worthy of a story and definitely a connection to nature. We moved into Camp Edith in late June. I adopted a rather tough conditioning workout into my weekly routine. Weights and a 40 pound field survival backpack. Evenings would find me kayaking on the lake to further condition my body. The conditioning paid off with huge dividends. We pounded the trails leading to the high peaks of the Adirondacks. Several great rhyming stories were scribbled hastily in the firelight while Zane and I recounted the day’s events. We laughed and laughed as I wrote them!Life was good! I even managed to work a little! We left Camp Edith in late August and returned to the comforts of Hill House. We regrouped for the next adventures. This brief foray into that year doesn’t even come close to covering all the details. But you don’t want to hear about everything. At Hill House we discovered that we weren’t alone! We had uninvited guests! Mice!

Fast forward to 2019 when I first decided to sell Hill House and listed it with an agent. Retirement was great and I was working part time for my former employer. There were more periods of creativity and writing projects. But Hill House had started to feel like an anchor. My connection to nature and Hill House was beginning to break.We loved many things about it but it was becoming something else for me. A symbol of “The Old Life” as I began to think of it that way. The house didn’t sell and we preparing for another winter as the seasons changed. Life was good. Good health and good fortune. Many happy adventures as Zane and I pounded down our ADK 46 high peaks challenge. I was trying to figure out a plan for my writing but I wasn’t pushing towards publishing. I blamed making myself too busy for my hesitation to advance. Work, adventures, and all the other small details that filled my days. It is of little consequence now as those days are the proverbial water under the bridge. We were needing a new direction.

Fast forward to 2020 and another real estate agent. Once again the contract ran out despite her hard work. People would come look at the property but always step away. The remote location we loved so much was the problem. The road and the whole winter situation was too much for most people. We were searching for that one special buyer. Little did we know they were searching too! We just hadn’t found each other yet.Things were good for us though. I counted our small blessings. I took a job in Beaver, Pennsylvania to raise extra funds for future writing plans. The setting kept my words subdued but I did write the funny rhyming story “Beaver Cracker Head”while I was down there. Zane and I finished our final Adirondack high peak in September while I was home from Beaver on a week long break. The real estate contract expired and I tried a different approach. Zillow. But it just sat there as we prepared for another winter. I ditched Beaver in October and took a short call job at Whiteface Mountain near Lake Placid. Things were entering my circle that would ultimately change many things for me. Back home to Hill House by early November I enjoyed freedom once again. I threw myself into firewood and farm details. Sugar wood and getting hay put away. But new energy was about to enter the equation as autumn sped past.

Enter a new character. It was Xmas eve when I got a message inquiring about the property. I didn’t take it seriously at first but a fellow named Scott kept messaging me and asking questions about the property.He eventually wanted to talk on the phone and we exchanged some background information. He told me quite a lot about himself and I liked chatting with him. He expressed interest in looking at the property sometime that winter.It was now 2021.Someone from Pennsylvania had also inquired about it too through a realtor. The realtor and I would enter into a partnership to attempt to get it sold. The Pennsylvania people toured the property but didn’t make an offer. Scott came up one winter day and we became introduced. I gave him a guided tour of the house.We ate lunch together inside hill house before heading over back to tour the remainder of the property. It was a fun day and we had some great conversations. Scott knew about the Pennsylvania people because I had mentioned them to him.He asked for a private moment to call his wife then came in and said that they wanted the property contingent on his family’s approval. We closed the deal and shook on it. Very old school and I liked his honest demeanor. He asked if I would hold the property until he could bring his family up to check it out. We agreed on a timeline and that was that! We had found our people and they had found us! Things followed quickly after that and we left Hill House in late March after the closing.

Scott and I became friends although we never saw each other that much. We stayed in touch with texts and the occasional phone call. He had questions about the house and I would help him navigate his way forward with the new property. He and his family loved the property! They renamed the house and began making it their own. I got to see it on occasion as they repainted walls and got the place furnished. Everyone got what they wanted in the end and I figured that was some positive energy in motion. I can’t think of anyone else that I would have wanted to turn the property over too!2021 was filled with adventure, work, and so more. Those days keep showing up in these posts from time to time.

2022. A year of change again as new intersections were reached. Lots of time to tell that story once I reflect on it further. Autumn has arrived now. The perfect time to find reflections in the waters of northern New York.This past week I got a text from Scott that he was going to be staying up at the property for over a week. We made plans to meet up at his place where we got a chance to meet his friend Mike briefly. I returned to see Scott and Mike late Sunday. We got into some heavy conversations! Turns out that Mike had gone to college and become a writer years ago! All this before he joined the military and later entered his present career.Mike’s Dad had also been a writer! Imagine how those conversations went!We talked a long time while Scott finished up some last minute house details. At one point in our conversation Mike started calling me a story teller. He said my writing reminded him of Mark Twain! The same thing Zane had mentioned to me! That’s very flattering! There were lots of things to learn about Mike! His personal journey story inspired me as did his Dad’s story. We plan to keep in touch and I asked if he still wrote. No he said but I am thinking about starting up again.You should Mike! I told him.Let’s push each other to get busy with our projects!

You could say that all this is nothing more then a series of unique circumstances. Sure I paddle my canoe of life in a certain direction. But not always. People continue to enter my story with an energy and unpredictability that can’t be simple coincidence. One in particular.Impressions. The magic of the first and of the lasting.Mark Twain and Wally Byam entered the journey despite being long gone but are now destined to leave a lasting impression. What connects us and brings us together? The living and the dead. It’s been said that energy is neither created or destroyed. What brings us all together? Nature in it’s most elemental form. We all need this tiny planet to survive. The questions are many and keep coming.Where’s all this lead and what will happen from all these chance meetings? New friends and new stimulating conversations. New directions and new beginnings. New places and endless possibilities.

I hope you enjoyed this very personal and continued introduction to my journey. Why do I tell you so much? That’s an easy one! Can you find yourself anywhere in my lines?Ponder this one: growth. Let’s make a date! Let’s come back to this day a year from now and see where we are in the ever changing now. Will there be growth? I can’t promise you anything. Just an honest story about life and my personal journey.As I so often say: It’s enough! And when it isn’t? Make it become enough! I think Mr. Jangles said it best: And you thought being me was simple! Silly you!

The writing projects that no one gets to read will be published eventually. It’s going to take me some serious focus to get to that next level.The problem is me always hard charging the future. I hate to sit for too long. I will be taking to the road on Sunday with the Airstream for my next set of adventures and life on the beloved Adirondack clock. It’s where the rubber meets the road as they say.Autumn in the Adirondacks. Nothing heavy there. I will be covering old ground and searching for new. There’s always something to discover that will charge my spirit batteries. The “A” in MOONTABS this time? Adventure!✍️

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”. ✍️.

Settled Into Bush Life: The Third Mouse Gets The Cheese

Posted on September 18, 2022September 18, 2022 by Greg Washburn

A title is a fun part of every post as I so often mention! I don’t report to a supervisor so I have the freedom of choice here. My titles are as diverse as the life I try to live through outdoor experience. Bush life took on special meaning this year. It had been six years since we last fished the wilds of Canada. The Event had closed the border. Life had changed in the slow turn of seasons. Life continued to change. I needed the bush experience this of all years. I am searching for something someone recently told me. Adventure most certainly. But there’s something much more profound that follows travel and adventure. The words wait for me out there. They are hidden like tiny treasures with no map to follow. Hidden around the world perhaps. Most certainly here in the wilds of North America. It is through spirit energy that they may find my tapping fingers. The Grand Wander may someday connect the dots. Sometimes it’s best to grab the opportunities and not hesitate. This has been summer 2022. The only one I will ever be blessed to experience.

Our third day started out following our new routine. Coffee always for me. Perked on the gas stove and boiling hot. We had been told that our cabin had a generator but it didn’t.Greg had brought a deep fryer for fish and we never got to use it. Too bad as both of us own small Honda suitcase generators that we could have brought. Next time! Charging phones was going to get difficult once our portable battery backups were depleted. There’s no phone service but we all use them as cameras. Getting Zane up and moving was difficult in the early morning hours. But he always did when being threatened with getting left behind. I wouldn’t have though but don’t tell him that! Greg was recording the fishing competition in a notebook I had brought along. Two categories were closed out. First walleye for me. First pike for Greg. I was slightly in the lead in the most walleye category but Greg was catching up. Literally. I held the lead with biggest walleye but I knew my fish couldn’t hold that spot long at a mere 18 inches. Nice fish though and perfect for the table. We continued to catch enough to keep our fish fry count going that morning but realized we needed to do better. So we continued to try new sections on the lake. Lake Dumione is huge and very cut up with islands. There are several extended “fingers”. It was almost intimidating at times. We know walleye though and soon spotted several places we knew might hold them. We were using a portable fish finder to check for depths. Depths are crucial to successful walleye fishing. They love shelves and drop offs. I won’t bore you with walleye fishing tips but wanted to paint a picture of sorts. Three guys in a boat scouting a large lake and mapping it out for possibilities. Our fishing location from the first morning was named The Chicken Hole. Chicken Holes are an Alaska thing when halibut fishing. They contain large numbers of small fish. I named the site of our first successful catch The Chicken Hole because it had earned the title. We were doing ok but wanted to step up our catch. The morning was moderately successful but not fantastic.

The rest of the morning followed our new routine. The weather had been beautiful since that first night but some clouds were rolling in. Back at camp we started the gas water pump and filled the tanks on the ridge that supplied the gravity fed pressurized water system. We also scouted our beach area for firewood and inspected our cabin better. The cabin had a rather tired look about it. Broken door latch on the screen porch. Spots in the ceiling where the roof had leaked at some point. We had everything we needed though and Marly had told Greg that The Event had hurt their business for two years. 70 percent of their customers came from the United States. Maintenance had been put on hold during that time. Things were adding up. So morning routine. Afternoon nap. We had wanted to get out early and scout the lake prior to the evening fish. Most walleye are caught in the morning or in the evening. Afternoons are best spent with other pursuits. I walked out to the dock after I realized how dark and cloudy the sky was getting. We decided to lay low and suddenly we heard the rumble of an approaching thunder storm. The storm hit with little warning and the pouring rain turned into decent sized hail stones. The noise on the metal roof of the cabin was deafening. The precipitation tapered off eventually and I went down to bail out the boat. The hail had given it a nice scrubbing and the scent of fish was gone from it. Bonus! We set out under clearing skies to try a new location. We were getting accustomed to the lake and were venturing further out from the cabin. Our new location proved productive and we named it Raspberry Point. The reasons for this will remain silent. All I can say is that bush people live a bit different then we do! The sunset was beautiful and we returned to the cabin at dusk. The nighttime routine resumed. But our furry rodent friend had been busy!

We had seen the mouse one morning during brunch. It came from out of the bathroom and scurried around in the kitchen. I gave chase but it was extremely fast and agile. The trap continued to be stripped of its peanut butter. The mouse trap was as old and worn as most of our furnishings. I gave it a few adjustments and tried to set a hair trigger on it. Sometime in the night I heard it snap! Got him! In the morning I noticed that the trap trigger was clean. There’s a second mouse I told my companions! I walked around the cabin repeating the old quote: the second mouse gets the cheese. My companions quickly grew tired of hearing it but I was proud of my accomplishment! I found a better trap on the porch and got it functioning. Two traps are better than one! But the second mouse was a master of stripping traps. It doubled down and cleaned both traps. Greg mentioned that there were probably many mice actually. But I stubbornly clung to the idea that I was battling wits with just one. It all came down to me or him! Things were about to get even more interesting! Trying to catch mice was becoming a form of bush camp entertainment. Let’s face it there was no television or internet.

Saturday was a day of reflection for me. Three days had passed since we had left New York.It would mark the halfway point of our trip. We had caught quite a few walleye and a few pike. Many small fish had been safely released along with all the pike. We continued with our routines.Raspberry Point began to prove its worth as a walleye hotspot. Greg pounded them there that morning and evening. He took the lead in total and size. We now had more then enough to eat and began to freeze our take home limits. Six per man. We explored more of the lake but became a little caught up with fishing. We returned to the cabin that night and I had a bunch of fish to clean. Greg and Zane shared other chores but I cleaned and cooked all the walleye. We had just returned to the cabin when Greg said he had spotted the mouse! I grabbed a hiking boot and gave chase! It was an epic battle of cat and mouse. The mouse would hide behind the stove until I flushed him out then cut him off. This went on for a while. Eventually the mouse made a break for it and got past me. I dove at it with a flying leap that was Olympic quality! Missed! I rolled over and gave chase but the mouse made good his escape into the bathroom. Greg was rather dumbfounded by my antics but my determination reached new heights. I tweaked the mouse traps once more. It was close to 10pm and I was in the midst of frying the second pan of fish when the lights began to flicker. Suddenly everything went black! Out of propane. No big deal as there were two tanks. We would just switch over. Simple. Out we went beers in hand to accomplish our simple task. Nothing to this bush camp living! We clicked the valve over and I could hear the sound of gas rushing through the lines. Back to the fish fry!Things were normal for a time but suddenly the lights flickered again and went out. Two dead tanks and out of options. Never! There was a smaller propane tank on an old gas grill outside. We would swap that one into our lines. Off we went beers in hand. Nothing to this bush camp living! But the valve was so tight we couldn’t get it loose. Dinner was somewhat less then perfect. My fish had gotten soggy and everything had gone cold. But we had a much bigger problem. Our propane fridge was down also and all our carefully wrapped fish were in danger of thawing as well as what was inside. The language at this point would have made a sailor blush. No worries Greg had been in the Navy years ago. We began tossing options around. Go find our hosts at 11pm? Considered for a moment. Too risky even though we knew the lake pretty good. We agreed that going to bed was the best option. But something amazing was about to happen!

It’s hard to imagine darkness in this day of light pollution as they call it. Not true in the wilds of Western Quebec. It’s darkness like you may never experience. I had my flashlight close by at any rate. Sometime in the night I was awakened by the snap of the mouse trap. I heard some sounds of struggle but didn’t get up and things soon quieted down. In the morning I was brought to life by Greg’s animated voice. “Dude you’ve got to see this!”. I dragged myself out of bed to see an amazing sight! Two mice caught in the same trap! A true daily double if there ever was one! But my joy was short lived when I realized there would be no morning coffee. Greg and I grabbed an empty cooler before heading to the boat. We knew where we could get ice and possibly find our host. The caretaker cabin and ice house were just a few miles away. Off we went. I was rather crabby and Greg remarked that I was miserable without my coffee. Why wouldn’t I be crabby? My wonderful golden walleye fillets reduced to soggy but edible slabs the night before. Good thing Greg and Zane had eaten first while I was cooking. And then there’s missing the morning fishing outing. Greg and I spotted the caretaker cabin after traveling for a few minutes. Zane had stayed behind to sleep more. We were pleased to see two boats on shore. Both hosts would be there. I approached the cabin rather timidly after reading a sign nailed to the porch. “If you can read this then you are in range”. Makes a person want to knock on the door.No one stirred and the cabin was quiet. We left to go to our next best hope. The icehouse at cabin 6. The outfitter cuts ice in the winter and stores it in a specially constructed building. We had been told to help ourselves by the outfitter and had visited it once before while out exploring. The ice would help save our food until someone brought us a new propane tank. We knew that some of the outfitter’s family was staying in cabin 6 so Greg went up and knocked on the door. A sleepy teenage girl came to the door and agreed to go get her parents up. Back at the camp I decided to make a fireplace to cook bacon while Greg attempted to make coffee on the gas grill. We were trying to be positive and solve our problems. Nothing to this bush camping right? 😡The ice was put into the fridge and freezer where things had remained quite cold actually. Eric showed up some time later and got everything back under control. We didn’t make a scene or get agitated. At that point things were continuing to add up. We jumped right back into our routine minus having fished. I reset the mouse trap and began walking around the cabin saying “the third mouse gets the cheese!” My companions were not impressed and remarked that the third mouse had been killed so it was the fourth mouse that got the cheese. True. The traps continued to be robbed. The fishing continued to get better and better for us as our week moved forward. It was time to push for all the things that we still wanted to do beside fishing. Things were ramping up as the bush life entered a new chapter. Time was ticking away.✍️

The Forgotten Ones

Posted on July 29, 2022July 29, 2022 by Greg Washburn

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

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

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

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

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

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