Friday, March 31, 2006

Balmy weather--72 degrees at mid-day! I was playing with all of my seeds (planting some and devising growing strategies for some of the others) when I got a phone call from one of my bosses at Gore informing me that they'd be closed mid-week next week and the following week and would no longer need me.

"Please keep me in mind for next year," I said.

She was quick to reassure me. "Oh, yes, we'll probably be contacting you again sometime in October."

So I'm laid off. And I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye to people. When I told Ken this, he reminded me I could drive over on Sunday--that no one would mind if I dropped in to say hello and goodbye.

Being out of work feels so strange. I started working there two weeks after we moved in, on January 1st. In a way, I've never had seven free days a week since we've lived here, unless you count the peculiar and chaotic days unpacking boxes. I told Ken I'd start to look for another job next week. "Don't be in too much of a hurry," he said. "You seem tired. Why don't you take some time off?"

But I'm worried about all the other laid-off people getting a job that might be perfect for me. Hmmm... I'll think about it and lay out a game plan in the next few days.

Yesterday Ken and I drove north to Essex, New York, to take the ferry across Lake Champlain to Charlotte, Vermont, the wee road trip we planned for our 20th anniversary. We drove to Vergennes, and then to Middlebury, and had a nice lunch there, but you know what? Vermont has become over-populated and the whole day was kind of disappointing. Of course late March is not Vermont's most beautiful time, the fields being a sea of brown grasses, but I couldn't even find a decent cup of coffee, even after going several places. I'm sounding cranky now; but this part of Vermont has changed so much. I suppose it's spillover urban sprawl from Burlington that's the culprit. I don't think we'll be rushing back.

This morning Sophie and I found another new trail that led us after a distance to another abandoned house, complete with a red barn. So curious--these sad, strange houses that appear in the middle of the woods. I'm going to have to ask people about the ones I've found recently.

Sophie found a huge mudhole to jump into. Farther on, I got her to swim in a lovely creek with rushing water. It cooled her off and was very cleansing.

Tomorrow rain is forecast, but after our run of incredible weather, I guess we're due. I'd love to immerse myself in some fiction writing. Must do!

Wednesday, March 29, 2006


Everything at Gore is winding down, but there's still plenty of skiing left, especially on top of the mountain. Even so, there's less and less for me to do, and I spend my days helping customers and finding ways to keep myself from becoming bored. I've got a few writing projects I'm working on, including "Northwoods Knowledge" pieces on the Underground Railroad in the Gore Mountain region and an article on Mathew Brady, the famous Civil War photographer, who was born in Johnsburg. I'm also squirreling away ideas and preliminary work for some fiction I'm working on. There's plenty to occupy me.

I've enjoyed working at Gore and I do hope I can return next year, when I hope I'll be able to get Ken to have some skiing lessons with Gore's adaptive skiing instructors. I hope to get more instruction myself.

Yesterday and today were perfect days weatherwise. Warm and brilliantly sunny, with temperatures in the mid-fifties. Tomorrow promises more of the same, a day when Ken and I are taking off for Vermont. We're going to take a ferry to Charlotte, Vermont, and then drive south to Middlebury, where there will be plenty of opportunity to dine and shop for items that we can't get here. There's supposed to be a great natural foods coop there, which I plan to spend some time in. The weather is supposed to be sunny and in the low 60s there tomorrow.

With my day off yesterday, Sophie and I did some serious hiking. We climbed a small mountain nearby, and it was exciting to climb and climb and reach the top. The brambles at the top were difficult for me to manage, though Sophie, with her thick fur coat, sailed through and wondered why I was being so slow. Then, in the afternoon, we both convinced Ken to hike up to the ledge on the knoll with us. Because there was no wind yesterday, we were able to sit at the ledge and soak in the sun while viewing the mountains before us. I was glad Ken pushed himself to do it, and with two walking sticks, one in each hand, he made it up there just fine.

After seeing no deer all winter, they are suddenly everywhere! Where were they all this time? It's a mystery to me, but they're all over now, and we see them frequently. Deer are not new to us, as we had plenty of them in Canton. Sophie is only mildly interested in them, much preferring to carry large birch and oak logs. She's always been very stick-oriented.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Garden crisis: I have confirmed the awful fact that we are living in Zone 3. Is it okay to scream now? For a person who was last gardening in Zone 6, it came as an awful shock when I read in the new book Gardens Adirondack Style by Janet Loughry that the hamlet closest to us, which lies far below us, is Zone 3. This climate dilemma is all due to the elevation. There are areas at our latitude in the ADK that are Zone 4, but they’re not as high as we are. So I asked Ken, “Did you ever check the GPS to find our elevation?” He nodded. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. We’re at about 1750 feet." Gulp.

Weeks ago I figured we couldn’t be more than 1600 feet, based on the elevations of places around us. But 1750? This means our summertime nights will be all the cooler. This means we absolutely must add the complication of raised beds, row covers, and all that extra expense and work. I told Ken to get ready for another garden pow-wow. More to follow.

Sophie and I have discovered a new trail. The nicest thing about it is that it’s close to the house, isn’t difficult to navigate, and takes just a little over twenty minutes if we walk briskly. That’s all the time I have for a walk before leaving for work at 7:15 a.m.

It’s a wooded walk that winds along next to the bog and then loops around through the woods until it ends on the property of a small two-story abandoned house, complete with worn-out asbestos shingles. According to neighbors, the owners suddenly stopped spending time up here about eight to ten years ago and left the house just as it sits. Through the open windows, kitchen curtains flutter in the north wind, and behind them is an antique refrigerator. A car that dates back to the days just before World War II languishes in the woods adjoining the meadow. I haven’t investigated the car or the house up close because I don’t want Sophie to get cut on broken glass that might be lying near them. Someday I’ll have to walk alone so I can get a closer look. I’m fascinated by abandoned houses. There’s a mystique about them; I think they offer up the suggestion of past lives and departed worlds.

On Saturday morning Sophie and I took a delicious ramble. We hopped on the trail out the back of the house and walked to the southeast. I forced my way through a rough section with lots of downed trees, which is easier to do now that there is less snow in the woods. Once I got beyond the roughness, the trail opened up and soon there were trails going in every direction! I was so amazed—Despite my knee, I had to see where at least one of them went. Sophie and I were outside all morning, and I still don’t know where the trail I followed ends up. The trail network consist of hunting trails evidently. I saw several crude wooden ladders nailed into large trees with hunting platforms on top.

The world was beautiful—the two inches of wet snow that had fallen overnight was melting, and everything was dripping. The moisture was lovely, though—fresh and clean. The forest is slowly awakening.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

The skiing conditions on Thursday were the best I've experienced this year, when skiing is effortless and I feel like I'm soaring down the mountain like an eagle. The company was wonderful, too. Annie's friend Lois came along and she's full of fun as well as being a connisseur (pardon my spelling) of wine, another interest of mine. Annie's friend June also came along. She's a wonder: At age seventy, she goes on adventures all over creation. In a month or so, she's going to be hiking the Grand Canyon and going on a week-long whitewater rafting trip down the Colorado River with her grandchildren. She's a veteran hiker, paddler, and has even built her own log cabin--what an inspiration.

After Thursday's skiing perfection, it was only natural that I decided to forget about everything but skiing again on Friday. But the conditions were a huge disappointment. The lower third of the mountain was pure slush and, to my mind, nearly impossible to ski on. The upper third was decent and fortunately there are plenty of trails to ski on up there. I ran into Mike (the guy I met on Tuesday) and we had a cup of coffee up on the second floor of the Saddle Lodge, looking out on the High Peaks. Gosh, it was beautiful--we spent lots of time just sitting there discussing the view. Then Mike suggested we ski the North Side, which stays colder and provides better spring skiing when the temperatures are above freezing. He was right; conditions were very good over there. Gore Mountain amazes me; I've been skiing it all winter and I still haven't skiied every trail and am still not familiar with several areas of it.

Finally I realized that my legs had had enough; my thigh muscles were tired. At the time I understood this, however, I had miles of skiing ahead of me before I'd be safely back at the base lodge. So we devised our route to get down, and somehow or other, on a descent that was not at all steep, something happened (I know not what) and the impact ejected me from my skis and I went flying. The conclusion of this collision with Mother Earth resulted in what is commonly referred to up here as "a garage sale." My skis were sprawled out uphill from me and my poles were downhill. I had no idea of any of this because I landed on both knees and I was lying on the slope, my head down, waiting for the worst of the pain to subside. Because Mike had skiied down ahead of me, he wasn't around to see the indignity of the whole thing. But a nice guy came by and asked if I were okay. I remember saying with all the gusto I could muster at that moment, "Oh, yes, absolutely!" Then he said, "Are you sure you're okay?" And I looked up at him and sat up and said, "Thank you so much for stopping--I'm really fine," when inside I was silently praying, "Please, please, don't call the ski patrol, especially since I know the guys who patrol this area and it would be unbearably embarrassing."

Then as I tried desperately to collect my wits, another guy swooped down beside me and asked if I needed help. I assured him no, I was just getting up. Then he said, "Judith, hi! Let me help you up." I looked up and it was Cork, Annie's colleague, looking so handsome in his blue ski hat (and blue eyes!) that I was immediately distracted from my pain. Talk about a white knight in shining armor--Cork was it at that moment. With his help, I got up, got back into my skis, chatted a minute or two and skiied on down to catch up with Mike.

I got down the mountain all right, but not without snowplowing my way through the worst of the slush. The rest of the day, however, I did not feel like myself. It wasn't the pain so much as the fact that I had definitely been knocked silly. So when it got to be time for me to cook dinner, I stood in the kitchen looking down at the shrimp before me, and realized there was no way I could cook a meal. I went out to the garage where Ken was putting the final touches on the two-tier indoor growing system. We agreed to go to Black Mountain for a burger, and I declare the good will and jovial atmosphere of the place, a glass of wine, and a huge, juicy cheeseburger and salad made me feel much better. Today I'm fine--very tired, perhaps, and coping with a number of aches and pains, but okay.

Today I plant seeds! And I'll go hiking with Sophie in the two inches of snow that fell overnight, which turned my fields and woods into a winter wonderland.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Last evening Ken and I celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary at Black Mountain. We were treated to a drink on the house, and had a delicious meal in the choicest spot adjoining the roaring hearth. We had fun reminiscing about some of our adventures and misadventures over the past two decades; then we focused on our thoughts for home improvements. The in-ground pool that sits out back is a big question mark. The previous owners haven't operated the pool in a number of years, mostly because they were spending their time at their house in Vermont, and although the pool itself looks as though it's in good condition, the landscaping around it looks terribly neglected. I'm not sure how difficult it will be for the pool people to get the thing running again. I don't think we should sink a lot of money into it this year, with the house in Canton still sitting unsold.

I'm off for a morning of skiing: Annie has pulled together a whole group of people to ski together. I'm definitely ready for it after all the practice I had on Tuesday. By the end of the day, I was managing the steepest pitches on the intermediate trails with aplomb. So far the weather is holding and has not been as warm as originally forecast for this week, and predictions of rain have been changed to snow showers. Yay.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Gore Mountain is therapeutic: Due to the exceptionally good skiing yesterday, I skiied all day long, and my knee not only did not hurt at all, by late afternoon I had no pain and was pain-free all evening. I find this astounding, it's so counter-intuitive. I'm not questioning it, though. Tomorrow by hook or by crook I'll be back up there.

I skiied with a fascinating older gentleman I met on the chairlift. He was in line behind me, so to better survive the northwest winds on the lift, I asked him if he would like to share a ride up with me, because I've noticed that it's nowhere near as cold if you have someone to talk to.

What followed was a day packed with information about the our region of the Adirondacks. He's a die-hard paddler and is a specialist in the water trails of New York State and New England. (A water trail is a route that combines both water passage and hiking between bodies of water.) He's currently involved in a trip that goes from Saranac Lake to some lake or pond in the Allagash wilderness in Maine. By currently involved, I mean that one doesn't do the trip from start to finish all in one stretch. People generally take trips going section by section over a longer period of time.

His wife sounds so interesting, too. She's a high school biology teacher, who spent the fall semester on sabbatical studying polar bears in Churchill, Alaska.

Gotta run. Work today.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

I'm amazed by the brilliant light that pours into our living room in the early mornings now. It's a wonderful place to sip coffee and wake up.

My days are extremely busy now, and I've found it impossible to blog without neglecting something essential. After a two-month wait, Ken's business cards and brochures are finally ready, and I've been occupied delivering them to everyone I know as well as to local businesses. At work, I'm zooming ahead on several writing projects, in addition to my regular tasks. I'm desperately trying to find blocks of time to do garden research and begin projects in that department. And, on top of all of this, I'm still trying to grab a few hours to enjoy what's left of the ski season.

Despite everything, I am skiing at Gore today. I need the fun, the exercise, and the space away from all my responsibilities. And, as previously noted, it does not hurt my darn knee.

I'm so glad that Ken is having a blast building the huge two-tier plant stand that will start many dozens of seedlings and later provide a top-notch indoor growing system. As soon as he's done with that, I hope he can quickly hammer together a compost bin so that I can begin hauling composted manure and leaves over here.

Mom and Uncle Connie are both improving, I'm happy to say, and thanks to everyone for their kind thoughts and best wishes.

My one regret now is that I have absolutely no time to read. In the evening, we're both so tired, we're barely able to read a paragraph before sleep consumes us.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Life has been so full (and good) the past two days that I don't have the energy to blog a decent entry. I will say, however, that Annie and I went downhill skiing today and it was delightful. The brilliant sunshine helped make up for the fact that the windchill was once again below zero. On the super-chilly chairlift, the one that carries me to my favorite trails, I couldn't stop shivering despite all the clothing I was wearing. But all that was soon forgotten as we glided down the mountain.

I think I've got to ski again tomorrow, early though, before the Saturday crowd piles in. It fascinates me that my poor knee, the one I smashed at Garnet Hill, does not pain me at all while downhill skiing. Not even the slightest twinge after a full three hours of skiing. But 25 minutes of walking makes it hurt all right.

I have more to say, but there's so much to do just at the moment, and so little time to do it in.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Snow has been falling since yesterday morning. We have, perhaps, four inches of the stuff here at the house. It's cold again and thoughts naturally turn to skiing. Garnet Hill is not open today, and it seems from their website they won't open again until Friday. Gore is going full tilt and I contemplate taking a few runs. There are two problems, however.

The first is the deplorable state of our mountain road. Even the people who have lived here since forever say it's the worst they've ever seen it. Cavernous ruts, which are now frozen solid overnight, but deliver mud during the day. Actually, we stayed below freezing all day today, which made getting up and down much easier. But my minivan is totally out of commission for the present and foreseeable future. Ken thinks I should take it down the road tomorrow morning before any thawing can take place and try to find someone nearby who will rent me parking space. I think that's the only reasonable thing to do. The way my family affairs stand, I might be called to Massachusetts at any moment, so having transportation is crucial. And this road situation is likely to remain a problem until late May, depending on the weather. Not to mention the fact that I hate feeling that I'm stuck at the house. Ken has to go back to Olmstedville on a job, so I'm without a car unless I do something. The only problem is, after skiing tomorrow, I'll have to hike up the road, which is a very long, steep climb, as I've noted in the past.

Which brings me to the second problem. I hate to mention physical infirmities, but since that "wicked wipe-out" at Garnet Hill two weeks ago, my knee has been problematic. The funny thing is, it was not too bad until I drove the five plus hours to Massachusetts. Since that road trip, I've been having pain. On the other hand, if I don't ski now, the season will end without my having tasted the end of it. So, if I'm gung ho tomorrow, I'll do a couple of runs, and then come home. In between runs, I'll hang out in the Saddle Lodge, resting and enjoying the ambiance.

The other must-do tomorrow is a garden planning meeting with Ken. I'm trying to enlist him to help with the construction of a number of items I need to get this vegetable garden underway. I'm praying he'll feel like building a two-tier florescent light stand that will enable me to grow lots of seedlings indoors. He's already agreed to build a cold frame, which will harden off the plants before they are transplanted into the ground in June. Then, there's the necessity of a compost bin. I'd settle for just a regular old heap of compost, but since it will contain lots of horse manure, and since that's Sophie's caviar, we definitely need a bin to keep her snout out of it. Friday, we're going to Glens Falls to purchase some of the materials we need for these projects.

I do hope that spring is not in too much of a hurry to come up here because I'm still enjoying the winter.

Monday, March 13, 2006

I feel foolish blogging today because I believe I have nothing to say. I mean, nothing has happened. Just rain, lots of fog, dismal weather, and, oh, I almost forgot, work.

Most people don't like to ski in the rain, but a few will ski no matter what.

Yes, there's still plenty of snow, especially up top.

But we're expected to have another inch of rain tonight before we plunge into the deep freeze tomorrow afternoon and night.

Our road has ruts on the hilly sections like you would not believe. So far Black Bear (what we've named the black Toyota Tundra) has made it through, but for how much longer I'm not sure, the way the road is going.

Tomorrow Ken has a job in Olmstedville, and I have no wheels, so I think I'll stay home and write. I do love writing when the house is quiet.

Can anything save this ski season? It's only March 13, by no means the end of the winter season here. Can't we have just one good old-fashioned snowstorm?

Saturday, March 11, 2006

I’m blogging from Café Sarah’s in North Creek this Saturday noontime. I’m looking out on Main Street and it’s spring! Well, at least for today. The mind naturally runs to garden plans, fishing, and whitewater kayaking. Seeing as how I am a lover of quiet water paddling, I’m only meditating on whitewater kayaking, not contemplating doing it myself. That kind of thrill I don’t need in my life, not when I have spring skiing, backcountry bushwhacking, and horseback riding on my list of must-dos in the next few weeks.

Today finds me still recuperating from the trip east. I haven’t calmed down one iota from the week away. I jump when I hear the phone, find myself thinking about Uncle Connie and Mom a lot, and hope they’re doing better. According to my brother, Mom is still refusing to have a phone in her room, and without being able to further discuss it with her because of her lack of a phone, I guess I’ll have to keep my communications with her to the mail. At least Uncle Connie is a phone call away, and I can call him everyday.

About fishing: As I’ve mentioned before, my hikes to ponds in the backcountry have made me eager to spend time fishing for brook trout. Since then, I’ve been badgering everyone who might have useful information about trout fishing. My fishing research is yet another reason why the local bars have become such a draw. The night I returned home, I guess it was Thursday night, we went out to Black Mountain Lodge. Beside me sat a young man in his twenties wearing a baseball cap, an earring attached to his right earlobe. “Do you fish?” I asked. (A real dumb question, since every male over the age of three is a fishing nut around here.) That question immediately launched him on a discussion of his recent ice fishing adventures, which was not the direction I had been hoping to lead him.

I finally got him on to openwater trout and bass fishing, and it seems he and his buddies catch trout with just a regular rod and reel from their boats. According to several of my other sources, engaging in fly fishing marks one as an outsider, a flatlander. I’ve also learned that getting set up for fly fishing is expensive. There’s the hip boots, the gear, the flies, not to mention the cost of instruction. I’d love to try it, though. I don’t have a boat suitable for fishing in any month prior to June, when the pond and lake becomes less icy cold. Because I want to fish for trout in April and May, during the sport’s peak months, I’ve got to either fly fish or try a technique that my neighbor Ed told me about. What I would need for the latter: regular rod and reel, flies (which I would need to learn to tie on myself—this requires instruction, I understand), bits of worms, and a stocked creek or stream. He told me to lie on my stomach with my head right up to the water during the absolute worst of the black fly season, cast upstream, and wait.

All that I’d have to do after that is walk home with my catch and get Ken to clean the fish before I fry ‘em in butter after soaking them in a simple breadcrumbs and milk mixture. Incroyable.

Friday, March 10, 2006

Yesterday, late in the afternoon, I heaved a sigh of relief when I sailed past the Lake George exit on the Northway. Hallelujah--back in the Adirondacks again. I left the Boston area after a full day crammed into the morning hours. I visited with Uncle Connie, who rallied for his birthday. When I walked into his hospital room, he was sitting up in a chair, fully dressed. We talked a bit, then he followed with a complete history of Casey's Diner in Natick. If I weren't so exhausted, I'd detail some of the highlights, but Casey's has been a fixture in the life of the men on my father's side of the family. I was amazed that he had the strength to talk to me for that length of time, and it reminded me of similar bursts of energy that Ken's father experienced during his final days, when he visited and chatted with us, just as he had in days past. I hated to leave him.

I visited with Mom, who's still doing fine and getting adjusted to the rehab unit she's on. With my brother visiting just about everyday, I think I left her in good hands.

So, I'm so glad to be home and away from the congestion of Massachusetts. I've been incredibly exhausted all day. I walked Sophie and we visited our neighbors Ed and Cindy who are putting the finishing touches on the vacation home they built together. I'm really impressed by Cindy. I can't imagine being involved in such a huge building project. I like the results, but the thought of the work involved makes me want to find the nearest couch!

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

I've been transported to a 21st century version of the Emerald City. I'm at Wellesley College at the new student center, the Lulu Chow Wang Center, otherwise simply known as the Wang Center. It's an architectural embodiment of nirvana, a shangri-la complete with a coffee bistro that makes Starbucks look like a bar in the Bowery. Immaculate, pearl-white computers with internet access open for anyone to use (as if the hundreds and hundreds of computers in the library and instructional buildings are not enough), floor-to-cathedral-ceiling glass walls that overlook the lake (complete with upholstered small booths and windowseats)--come on! What is going on here? I'm troubled by the message of this building. As beautiful as it is, every inch reeks of privilege and elitism. I was also disturbed by the numbers of people who were obviously not students--men in thousand-dollar suits and women dressed to the nines. Would someone tell me what's going on? As an alumna, I'm concerned about the message students take in when they spend time here. I could go on about this ad nauseam, but this blog is not the place. I'm just glad that none of my money ended up here. A college or university is not the place for opulence.

I can't wait to get back home to my mountains and to a different set of values. I'm screaming inside because I just don't want to be in urban sprawl anymore. I don't feel like myself. I'm depressed and exhausted and waiting to get the hell out of here.

Update on my patients: Mom is doing fine. She is moving this afternoon to a rehab unit where physical therapy will begin in earnest tomorrow. Uncle Connie looked just a little bit perkier today. His eyes seemed just a shade brighter, but I don't know if I'm kidding myself or not.

Looks like I'm going to be driving into an ice storm up north tomorrow. Oh, joy. If it gets too bad, I'll find a Comfort Inn or something on the Northway. I'd delay going home a day, but the icy precip. is expected to continue thru Friday night.

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

A "just in case" note:
I won't be able to post comments while I'm in Massachusetts since I don't have access to my e-mail here. I'll post them as soon as I get back to the North Country later this week.
My second post today. I blog therefore I am.

I spent much of today at the hospital. My mother is doing great; it's a relief to see her looking so hearty after all she's been through in the past few days. She's being moved to a rehab place tomorrow, where physical therapy will begin in earnest.

Uncle Connie is faring less well. He has failed considerably since I saw him three to four months ago, before we moved to the Adirondacks. He doesn't seem himself to me. For one thing, he says he's terribly exhausted all the time. He also seems to be withdrawing from life. My cousin says last week that his father was openly saying he wished God would let him go. This is not the Uncle Connie I've known, but is, I realize, a sign that he's entering the final phase of his life. I weep. I can't stand to lose him.

We talked with Uncle C. about his career at U.S. Army Labs in Natick, and how his portrait is hanging in the Hall of Fame there. Uncle Connie said one one thing, "I loved every minute of it." And he did. He retired at 65, the way the government insists you do, but it was a sad day for him.

I will visit him tomorrow and Thursday before I leave to go home, as I will my mom.

I did do one fun thing today. I stopped at the Wine Gallery in Brookline and took advantage of their 25% discount (in effect when you buy a lot). Costs a lot less than what I can get in the ADK.

I'm looking forward to going to my bed in Canton and relaxing with some writing and a book. I also have my itsy-bitsy tv with me, the one that runs on 3 double A batteries. Maybe Nova will be on tonight. I hope so.
At this moment I’m blogging from my bed at our house in Massachusetts, about eight miles from Boston. This is not where I choose to be, but worry about the health of my family drove me here. My mother fractured her hip and right wrist on Saturday. Later that day, she had partial hip replacement surgery. Based on my phone conversations with her, she’s doing remarkably well, especially considering the fact that she’s 82 now. I’m actually more concerned about my Uncle Connie (he’s 89), who has had more than nine lives already. He’s bleeding internally, but after lots of tests, the doctors don’t know what organ is causing the problem. They’ve decided against exploratory surgery to determine and/or repair the cause, so things look grave. He’s been such a solid, consistent, loving presence over the course of my life that I just want to be near him to wish him well and lend any support I can.

It is so, so strange being back in the urban nexus. I drove down Ponkapoag Rd., I street I've driven down thousands and thousands of times, and this time I was so struck by how many houses there were. One cape after another, all packed tightly together. Not only that--there are cars everywhere, and stores, and people coming out of the walls. I'm in culture shock.

Got to run to the hospital. More later.

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Another cloudless sky on a work day? How can I stand it? My window gazing, all indulged during my lunch break, made me crazy with the desire to be outside. The minute I got home, I took Sophie up the road to watch the setting sun light up Crane Mountain. On the way back, we stopped to play with Zak, Sophie's yellow lab friend. As we returned home, the high peaks to the northeast glowed a light pink and pale orange, all a reflection from the sunset. Amazing.

And, yes, I still want to blog about my reading, but I had a half dozen phone calls to make before dinner, so please stay tuned for a later post.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

A howling wind today but slightly milder temperatures. I believe we maxed out at about 26-27 degrees here at the house. I decided I wouldn't head out to Gore or Garnet Hill but would snowshoe the Siamese Ponds Wilderness area with Sophie. We decided on a relatively easy trail, one that involved no steep mountainous ascent. But it wasn't a cinch, not by any means. We hiked past Chatiemac Lake up the trail that eventually leads to Second Pond, west of Gore Mountain. The snow was so deep; I was amazed. The greater snow depth is because of the site's elevation. Before we stepped foot out of the car, we had climbed and climbed up a steep mountain road for over two miles. I knew we were high because Gore Mountain didn't tower over us. From the west, Gore looks so different; I couldn't tell it was a skiers' mountain at all.

We crossed innumerable brooks and streams, and one that was running full tilt despite the frigid temps we've been having. I made it across going in, but on the way back, I realized I'd never make it across in my snowshoes. I took them off all right, but I still didn't make it across. Squish! One foot went all the way in, and I no longer hike in waterproof boots because I need the foot support of my Trekkers.
No matter, I was less than a mile from the car, and I was warm from the strenous activity.

I wanted so badly to make it all the way to Second Pond, but I didn't like the looks of the sky to the west, over in Indian Lake country. It looked like a squall was materializing. What if I were overtaken by 30 minutes of a furious snowfall? My tracks would fill in and I'd have trouble retracing my steps. I probably needn't have worried, because the trail was so well marked, but still...I'm the cautious type.

When we returned to the car, there was a couple putting on snowshoes and a ferocious English Springer Spaniel that attacked Sophie. Fortunately, the spaniel's teeth, though bared, did not break skin.

Lots of adventures this past week. And back to work tomorrow. Sigh. I hate being cooped up all day in a stuffy, windowless office.

I still want to blog about my reading and writing. Perhaps later? I do hope.

Friday, March 03, 2006


Garnet Hill was my destination today; it was high time I went all out for cross-country skiing. In general, this winter has been disastrous for the sport in the Adirondacks--just not enough snow, with a few exceptions. Mid-December was great, but, of course, I couldn't ski then while in the midst of moving. The eight inches of a week ago breathed new life into cross-country around here.

I had so much fun today skiing at Garnet Hill. I was amazed by how well groomed the trails are; they're the best of any I've ever skied. Observe the photograph closely--this is one of Garnet Hill's famous grooming cats. Notice the appendages that allow the cat to groove two sets of cross-country ski tracks on every trail.

I warmed up on the beginner loop called Old Faithful and then took a series of intermediate trails down to Thirteenth Lake. I had a wicked wipe-out on the way down and narrowly averted running into a tree. Gosh! Guess what? I tried to make my 1971 wooden Norwegian skis (oh, they're beauties, all right, and the envy of many veteran cross-country skiers) act like my downhill skis, and that simply did not work. I bruised the hell out of my right knee, but otherwise I am still intact. The knee did not hold me back any. After a number of minutes paralyzed by pain while sitting in the snow, I was able to pick up and keep skiing.

The setting of Thirteenth Lake reminded me of Fish Pond. As is the case with Fish Pond, Thirteenth Lake is surrounded by hills that seem to rise right out of the lake. Of course, it's much larger than Fish Pond.

It was frigid today. The high temperature was about 16 degrees, but the windchill was ten below to zero, due to the blustery winds.

Am I too tired to have an adventure tomorrow? I'd love to go back to Garnet Hill, but I'm concerned I'm a bit worn out from the massive amount of energy expended on these trips. I hiked with Sophie 30 minutes in the morning, followed by 2 hours of intense, aerobic cross-country. Whew!

It did cross my mind to head up the trail toward Eleventh Mountain tomorrow, but I think that if I do anything, I'll go out early to Gore for some alpine skiing or to Garnet Hill.

Thursday, March 02, 2006


Not the winter hiking scene I wanted, but an Adirondack Mountain Club photo of hikers in warmer times. I just had to post a photo, and now that I'm an AMC member, I figured they wouldn't mind.

Annie's down with the flu and Sophie's lab pal is keeping his mistress company, so we had to do our Thursday adventure on our own today. I packed Sophie into the car with my pack full of water, hot chocolate, and dog biscuits, and headed toward the Bartman Trailhead. It took us twenty minutes of driving to get there, which irks me no end because it's only about four miles from our door. But in the winter, you just can't get there via a direct route, because some of the mountain roads are not maintained.

When we got to the trailhead, I was happy to see that snowmobiles had packed the trail down, so I left my snowshoes in the car and took only the pack and the Yaktrax. I strode out with the determination to make it all the way to Fish Pond. After 30 minutes of hiking, at the turn-off pointing the trail to the pond, the snowmobile tracks ended. Rats! No packed-down trail to the ponds.

I took a deep breath and tested the depth of the snow. About eight to ten, and in some places twelve inches deep. The trail marker stated that it's 1.2 miles to Fish Pond. This distance doesn't sound like much, but over tough, steep terrain and considering that snow depth, it can take forever.

But I was going to get there today no matter what. I wished I had my snowshoes at first, but when the trail got rocky, and when I discovered that the rocks were ice-coated, I realized I had more maneuverability in the Yaktrax.

On both sides of me were steep ridges. The sun shone dimly through gray clouds in the southern sky. Once again, I noted the absence of animal tracks. I don't understand why I've seen so few; after all, it hasn't been a hard winter.

We marched along, going downhill through a frozen streambed. Down, down we went, and with each step I was reminded that on the way back we'd have a big ascent. Finally, I saw a huge open space through the trees--Fish Pond! But there the trail seemed to end. It didn't, of course. It's supposed to continue on past Fish Pond, but, whether it was because of two enormous trees down across the trail, or some inability of mine to detect where it continued, I don't know, but we couldn't find it despite an intensive search. However, we did walk out to the pond through a dense thicket. Sophie ran around and around once we got there, luxuriating in the chance to run freely in open space. We didn't walk out far because the snow was very deep due to drifting.

What amazed me about the site were the hills--three of them that surrounded the pond. All this wilderness, and there was no one, not a soul anywhere. It was an awe-inspired moment for a woman from greater Boston. There was not the sound of traffic, planes, or jets--no sign that anyone was alive on the planet. I loved that.

We climbed back, and I was grateful for the hot chocolate, not for its warmth, but for the calories. All told, we were hiking (and I'm talking aerobic, sweat-making physical exertion here) for over 2 and a half hours. A woman (and her dog) get pretty hungry doing that. I was ravenous when I got home.

I've got to call the forest ranger who hikes or skis out this way about once a month. How do I continue on that trail?