Two Ponds Saturday

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South Bank View

South Bank View

My grandson, Maximus James, made a visit to the Engleville Tick Ranch last weekend. He can last only so long without a pilgrimage to the grandparents’ old homestead, the place where he spent his days as a preschooler. Where the school bus picked him up and dropped him off during kindergarten and first grade. Mam & Pop’s place served as daycare for him, and sister Elizabeth for a couple of years. Mam their governess, the Ark their second home.

Nowadays they live far away to the north. Well, okay, they live in the next town over, about fifteen minutes away, but still, a trip to Mam & Pop’s is like a mini-vacation.

So, after Saturday chores; going to the dump, bike-joring with the Chusky dog, mowing the lawns, we headed for Engleville Pond to do some Bullhead fishing. Max has caught a wide variety of fish, but not a bullhead, and that was his intended quarry today. He made up a mess he called dough-balls or stink-balls, wads of bread or dough with smelly attractants. Usually these are made with raw dough and the stuff chum is made of. In this case, Max grabbed a slice of deli turkey and some mayonnaise and made something of a club sandwich ball with English muffins for the bread.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted with the honking of geese as they drifted slowly away from us toward the far bank. The air was still, and the water like glass. The colors of fall leaped at us from all sides including below as the oranges and yellows reflected off the mirror surface.

Engleville Pond
Water Wonders
Bullhead Hunter

Max had a tough time getting the soggy English muffin to stay on a hook. We grabbed a big hunk of muffin and dipped it into his turkey-club-jumble, and that stayed on long enough for a few casts. I fished for about five minutes before I was overcome with the need to grab the camera and get some snapshots of the beautiful Saturday afternoon. As luck would have it, while I was shooting across the pond a flock of geese flew in from the east. They cackled raucously as the 150-bird formation slowed, with fixed wings, descending towards the smooth surface of the pond. I took advantage of the opportunity to shoot some geese on the wing, so to speak.

Glide path

We plied the waters of Engleville Pond a while with no luck, and decided to relocate to Bowmaker’s Pond. Back in the when, we called it Bowmaker Swamp. Because it was a swamp. The Department of Environmental Conservation dug out much of the swamp to open the water up a little, I guess, and maybe help with flood control or drainage. Now there’s quite a patch of open water, and the cattails have begun their slow march, spreading year by year. The milfoil and other aquafauna are also vigorously trying to reclaim the territory. Here, too, we found Canada Geese gathered. Resting and feeding as they pass through on their long migration to the Gulf of Mexico.

We had some fair fish action at Bowmaker’s, curiously catching five fish of five different species. First Max caught a Crappie, then a Bass. After a few more casts he caught the ubiquitous Sunfish (Bluegill). Finally I landed one, a nice pickerel about nineteen inches long. The only fish I didn’t get a snapshot of. Lastly, Max caught a little yellow perch.

Smallmouth Bass
Fishing Company
Max Scolds the Perch

It was a bit of a last hurrah for shirt-sleeve weather. By the time it neared sundown, a chill was in the air. The geese at Bowmaker’s lined up on the pond for some nice photos. At one point, you could hear their conversation starting. At first just a few honks, then bit-by-bit the rest of the flock joining in until there was a unanimous chatter. This meant they were readying for takeoff, and I got a few pictures of them running across the water, big wings flapping, honking the whole way. Finally they would take to the air, and with another minute of avid honking the birds ascended, circled, and faded off over the eastern horizon along with their noise.

Wherever we went today, the bright sun and golden colors of fall surrounded us. The sky held but a few ribbons of clouds, and the air was mild. Back at the Ranch we’d have a nice dinner, walk the dog around, and settle in for Saturday Night at Pop Pop’s. This means watching Ghost Hunters or Finding Bigfoot, or perhaps a Godzilla movie as we await ten o’clock and the ritual viewing of Svengoolie, and his own mix of monster movies.

There would be recliners and blankets, pretzels and green tea. Falling asleep in the chairs and moving to the bed (or couch) at 2 a.m. Sunday would leave us little time, though we managed another run with the mushing dog and at some point we made a walk around hunting squirrels. Max bagged one Pine Squirrel, which interested Sassy June the Chusky Dog greatly. Max kept the trophy tail, and we gave the carcass to Sassy, who quickly lost interest when she saw the thing wouldn’t run.

Mushing, Fishing, Hunting, Movie-watching, two ponds, trail hikes and chores, it was an action-packed weekend. I savored every moment with my grandson, my little dog, the honking geese and the colorful trees.

Sometimes I ask myself out loud:

“Am I dead? Is this Heaven?”

October Sunrise

October Sunrise

Take care and keep in touch.

 

Paz

 

That Time of Year

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Season's End

Season’s End

The words occurred to me, probably spilled aloud out of my mouth. “Well, it’s that time of year again.”. Such a feeling of comfort came over me. There is so much in the phrase and the sentiment. Sentiment, in fact would be one of the attributes, nostalgia. A security of rhythm, a consistency of clockworks, a natural and recurring pace.

The phrase is used throughout the year and yet at each point on the line takes on new variations on a theme. There’s something about coming around to the same place. Something about seeing things, simple things, in that “again” sense of annual events, reunions.

“It’s That Time of Year” , again…

Misty Morning
Good Morning, Corn
Leesville Cross Road
Barn at Sunset
Saying Goodbye
Sunrise with Cows

Here at the Engleville Tick Ranch, the slow roll of the earth begins to be discerned. Sunrise later each morning, sunset earlier each evening. While grasses and pines, asters and chicory seem undeterred, deciduous plants are making their decisions. Time to shut down, shed their summer raiment, begin that long slow ride to the next solstice.

The slightest and subtlest things quickly catch our attention, quicken our pulses with the newness. Cool air on your face, heavy morning dews, the smell of the dried leaves. There’s a thrilling exhilaration to this time of season, a yin and yan to the coming days. Like a plunge into the lake for a swim, there is eagerness to be in the water and simultaneous excited apprehension about the shock of diving into the cold liquid world.

And so it’s that time of year. Time to put away the little enamel-top table in the cabana, having served us since sugaring season (Max’s Sugar Shack) in March. It’s seen silent summer mornings with me, a dog and a cup of coffee as we watch the lazy June sun climb up out of the sumacs. Afternoons babysitting, keeping an eye on naked toddlers as they play in and out of the kiddie pool. Evenings in July, as the skies darken and stars come out, looking for satellites, a meteor.

Time to wrap the little blueberry patch with its chicken wire winter fence. Defending against bunnies and deer who would eat the dormant shoots right to the ground when February rolls around, and food is scarce.

Time to open the Holiday Closet, an entire walk-in devoted to seasonal and holiday decorations. We’ll put away the wreaths adorned with summery flowers, bring out the wreaths with harvest colors and imitation fruits. Break out the ceramic pumpkin-shaped (and colored) serving platter, the tiny lighted ceramic houses showing tiny ceramic people digging out their own tiny ceramic decorations from their tiny Holiday Closet.

Time to spend a day cursing at the aluminum storm windows. Why won’t the top one stay all the way up? Time to jam screws into the gap between the sash and the window frames of the 110-year-old casement windows. Their round tops and rippled Albany glass having seen this time of year many more times than I have. Replace them all with vinyl? Are you crazy? Spend five minutes with one of these finely crafted, ornate antique constructions, and you’ll love drafts and blankets as much as we do.

Time to close the vent window in the basement. To wrap the young tulip tree and hope it survives to grow a third year. Time to chop down the 3-year-old Rose of Sharon that didn’t make it through last year’s harsh winter. Deep cold and no snow cover. A bad combination for so many things that have no where else to go, no means of protection against the deep freeze.

It’s that time of year to Ooh! and Aah! on the average of every thirty seconds while trying to drive somewhere, walk with the dog, mow the grass. To stop to take the photo even though it will make me late. To try desperately to capture the mood, the light, the temperature, the cool air, the smell of leaves and the wonder of it all in a photograph. To take pictures of the same tree donning the same autumn dress—going on thirty years or so.

After the first of October, we’ll get out all the Halloween decorations, the plastic jack-o-lanterns, the 7-foot-tall cartoonish Frankenstein who greets the school bus daily. The ceramic witch and black cat candy dishes. After the first of November we’ll haul out Thanksgiving. Paper turkeys with smiles on their faces. Paper pilgrims, paper natives, gathering for the feast. And then we roll on into the traditional American Christmas. That’s a story unto itself.

Bittersweet
Subtle Color
Sunrise October

It’s the time of year for closing up, shuttering, wrapping, boxing, sealing and putting away. There’s no sense of loss here. It’s a bit like wrapping gifts for ourselves. Away goes the duffel full of camping gear. Won’t need that ’til summer. Away go the kiddie pool and the bicycles. Planters and pots are stacked in the back room. The barbecue parks in the cabana, holding forth the slightest hope that it may see some use on a spontaneous Sunday in January.

Like Christmas Clubs and piggy banks, 401k’s and Certificates of Deposit, we put these things away for our future selves. Until it’s time to revisit these familiar places, to open the gifts whose contents we know well. Soon we’ll open the winter gifts; bring out the down ticks for the beds, the draft stoppers for the doors, the electric heater for the bathroom.

And now? This weekend? Columbus Day? I’ll spend a weekend with good intentions to fix that insulation by the bulkhead door. I’ll ponder about when the last mowing will be. I’ll consider getting on the roof to make sure the drain is cleared. I’ll fret a little over how to take down the falling outhouse before the snow does it for me. In between I’ll walk the dog. Maybe take an extra spin around town in the morning, after the dump run, shoot a few photos.

But mostly, I’ll look up to a blue and gold October sky, listen to Canada Geese saying goodbye again, for the 57th year. I’ll marvel and stare at colored leaves that have marveled me and made me stare for as long as I can remember. I’ll breathe the cool, misty morning air, and smell the molds growing in the thatch, a dichotomy with the smell of dried leaves. I’ll be so distracted by the vibrant beauty and the newness of the season’s attributes that I’ll wonder on Tuesday where the time went. Make a plan to get all those chores done next weekend.

‘Cause, you know,

It’s that time of year again.

Take care and keep in touch,

 

Paz

 

 

Rounding The Turn

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September Sunset

The blue globe turns, the axis shifts, time is measured in length-of-days.

Each evening now, the sunset chases me down. Two weeks ago there was an hour after work for walking the dog, tinkering outdoors, putting the sun to bed from atop Nishan Hill. Now we race to see who will arrive first at the Engleville Tick Ranch, me or the sunset.

Yesterday sunset won, and Sassy June and I walked in near-darkness.

I’ll marvel a lot about the crisp, clear air. I’ll ooh and aah on the morning drive, through misty sunrises. I’ll stand stock still and agape as Canada Geese make their annual sojourn, flying so low over our heads that we hear the wingbeats, and the whistle of wingtips.

I’ll shoot hundreds of pictures of colored leaves. Same leaves as last year. Same colors. I’ll bet you have all the same leaves and colors if you live in any temperate climate.

This is the essence of the change of seasons. You’ve waited a full year for this to come around. Between its rarity and your anticipation, how can it help but be exciting? Yes, exciting. Every year for 58 years. Same trees. Same geese. I never tire of it, nor am I ever less-impressed.

This applies to all of our seasons. The Big Four, plus all the mini-seasons in between, all the harbingers of changes coming. All the new and unique things that were not there yesterday. From the first Colt’s Foot of spring to the first snowflake, and back around to ice-off on Engleville Pond. There’s the first Robin of spring, the last sighting of the Ruby-Throated Hummingbird for this year, the Snowy Owls of February and the Red-Winged Blackbirds and their soundtrack of summer.

Circles within circles bring these things to me year after year. Like birthdays, I am always looking forward to the next. A dozen birthdays a year.

There is a comfort in the constant, fondness of the familiar. These things which repeat themselves. These clockworks that can be relied upon. No human intervention or invention can stop them, slow them in their tracks or hasten them along. It is as if they come to visit me, like grandparents from Florida, once a year.

And we embrace.

I wish my arms were 32,000 miles across so I could hug the whole world.

Take care and keep in touch.

Paz

 

Family Farm Day 2016

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August 13th was Family Farm Day in Schoharie County, and we headed for daughter Kerry’s farm, about 3 miles from home. She and beau Kenyon operate the Parsons flower and vegetable farm, selling both at their farm stand and at local Farmers’ Markets.

Mom & Dad’s main job on Family Farm Day is to bring the Cooler Corn, for serving Corn-on-a-stick! It’s called Cooler Corn because of the easy prep, using your picnic cooler. Shuck the corn and toss it in the cooler, boil enough water to cover the corn, pour it in the cooler and close the lid. Twenty minutes later, you have perfectly-cooked hot corn on the cob!

Corn-on-a-stick

Corn-on-a-stick

Kerry & Kenyon are very fun people, and aside from promoting Healthy & Local, Family Farm Day is a bit of a circus atmosphere, with games, activities, prizes and food sampling. The most popular by far is the Corn Toss, where contestants throw whole ears of corn and try to land them in bushel baskets. Inside each basket is a label (actually a paper plate) that indicates the prize you’ve won (if any; last year Kenyon labeled one “Loser”. It was funny, and most folks got prizes anyway).

This is the day you’re encouraged to play with your food! For youngsters (and wanna be youngsters), there’s the Vegetable Art Table. Most popular this year was the construction of Zucchini Cars, closely followed by creation of Vegetable People.

Of course food is a big part of Family Farm Day. There were tastings and samplings, and even the Pampered Chef representative on hand. The peach salsa was a big hit, and everyone got corn on a stick.

Carrying contests were arranged, whereby the contestant needed to carry as much as possible. First there was the Pickle Carry (pre-pickled cucumbers to be exact). The winner managed to carry 64 pickles over the course. Not bad for six-year-old arms!

The Corn Carry was a different matter, and attracted older attendees (like teenagers). We didn’t count the number of ears carried, we were too busy laughing at the contestants!

Surrounded by beautiful flowers, fresh vegetables and lots of friends and family, what could be a better way to spend a day?

Check with your Farm Bureau or Cooperative Extension to see if your county has a Family Farm Day! We’re already looking forward to next year!

Take care, and keep in touch.

 

Paz

Berry-Picking Time

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Black Caps

Black Caps

Half of my grandkids came over on a recent Sunday, and we hit the trail for some berry picking. Mostly the red raspberries were ripe, and the black caps were just getting ready. The blackberries, growing on their dinosaur-sized eight-foot canes, ripen later in August.

This year, the blackberry crop is off the charts. They go like that. A couple of average or lame years, then suddenly a boom!

These thorny cane berries are related to roses. Actually, roses are a member of the raspberry family, and berry canes sport flowers that look quite similar in many cases.

Trail Boss
Maddie
Ellie
More Than We Can Eat
Concentration
Hard At Work

Cane fruits grow on biennial canes. The first year, only the cane grows. It then winters over, and the second year it flowers and bears fruit. You can tell what kind of year the next will be by assessing the number of bare, first-year canes in your berry patch.

Accompanied as always by Chuy The Wonderdog, we wandered the trails, going where the berries led us. Big sister Maddie was also very helpful, showing the little ones where to find berries low enough for them to pick. Repeatedly trying to show little Evan the ripe, red berries. Evan, in typical toddler fashion, ate one of everything.

When my kids were little, we’d head out to the berry patches with cups and mugs and containers of all kinds, intent on collecting enough berries to make a pie. I’ve finally learned that when you pick berries with kids, the cups are just extra things to carry around, and they always come back empty. A kid would get a dozen or so berries in a cup and the temptation was irresistible. Munch, munch, munch.

One year, with Max & Lizzy (two other grandkids), we actually brought enough blackberries home to make a skinny pie. Lizzy recalls that each year during berry season.

Big Sister
Berry Picking
Easy Summer Days
Pine Cone Picking
Evan
Don’t forget us.

We didn’t bring home any berries this day. But we did harvest some precious moments together. Next day, Chuy and I headed out with a cup, bound to fill it. I stopped by our little blueberry bushes and picked all 20 ripe blueberries. While Chuy waited impatiently, we stopped by the black caps, then finally some red raspberries, for a delicious medley of color and flavor.

Nature's Candy

Nature’s Candy

As our pinnacle days of summer continue, we’ll have the neighbors come over to help eat all these blackberries. Granted, we’ll have a little help from some birds and deer.

Take care, and keep in touch,

 

Paz

 

 

Island Time

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Fathers & Sons

Fathers & Sons

For the second week of June, we planned a Father & Son camping trip to one of my favorite places on the planet, pristine Forked Lake in New York’s Adirondack Mountains. My son Ryan was the catalyst, and he put together a trip with my brother-in-law Chris and Chris’s son Jon. Jon and Ryan are cousins about the same age, and though we sometimes lived a couple of states apart, they spent plenty of time together all of their lives.

We reserved site 51 on the island in the middle of the lake, and upon arrival we found that the folks that reserved site 52 , (the other half of the island) had cancelled! We had the whole island to ourselves! It was our good fortune as we would discover, as site 52 is on the leeward side, and we had rain storms blowing by throughout our stay.  Now and then I’d go to the west side, (site 51) and look up the lake and into the Adirondack High Peaks, and return to camp announcing “The island weather forecast for the next few hours”.

Eastern View
DeLuxe Accommodations
Best Site Ever
Jon & Chris
Mazbo’t
Ryan’s Lone Pine

Rains came and went throughout our three night stay. We’d watch them as they blew up the lake, channeled by hills surrounding the water, the wind picking up speed, unencumbered, as it raced across the surface. Small whitecaps were seen to pick up, and rains would sweep gently in at an angle. Sometimes there’d be a brief but steady cloudburst, passing within minutes. At other times a dense mist would fill the air and float over the island, the boats, the tents and the campers. The rest of the campground was virtually empty, and when the mists would surround our little island it was as if we were all alone in the universe. Tranquility at its best.

Treated like a king, I was told I would need to do no cooking, as the young Epicureans had planned all the meals. There were eggs with hash browns for breakfast Tuesday, and pancakes on Wednesday. For dinner there was a fine stew, cooked all afternoon in the cast iron Dutch oven over the open fire, and complemented with fresh-baked biscuits! Wednesday night’s dinner consisted of tossed salad and fish tacos, made fresh from the day’s catch! Chris even remembered the S’mores!

Camp Cuisine
Camp Kitchen
Slow-cooked Stew
Fresh Baked
Fit For A King
Chef Jon

Fishing was off a bit. Of course we were two weeks early for bass season (opens 3rd Saturday in June here), and the only other fish we saw were Crappies. (In case you don’t know, I’m not being crass, “Crappie” is actually the name of the species. In sophisticated company it’s pronounced “croppy”). Chris and Jon (from Florida and Massachusetts, respectively) ponied up for their out-of-state 3-day fishing licenses, but alas I don’t think they ever landed a fish. Not to worry, as father and son team Ryan and I landed about 2 pounds of fish. Plenty enough for fish tacos for four. Chef Ryan cut the fish into smaller pieces, and they were then batter-dipped and deep-fried in the cast iron over the fire. Somehow, I missed the photos of that, but I can still remember the incredible flavor!

Days were filled with motoring and paddling about, fishing, stoking the fire. By the third day of intermittent rains, we were making the hand gestures from The Karate Kid and saying “jacket on- jacket off”. Still, we fished through some rain and sat through some rain. Ryan says “It makes us bad-ass.” Nights were pretty cool, getting into the lower 40’s by Wednesday night.

We heard this weird sound during the day. Clearly a bird, but with an odd call. It sounded like an alarm clock going off, or someone imitating an alarm clock. Usually five short tones, the same flat note, like “ehn-ehn-ehn-ehn-ehn” if you can pronounce that. Sometimes this would be truncated to three notes, but almost always five. I started calling it “the alarm clock bird” and kept a keen eye out for it. (An avid birdwatcher and member of the Audubon Society, I have some bird-seeking chops, but could never lay eyes on this one.) I learned after the trip, reading an article in Adirondack Life Magazine that it was a Saw-whet Owl. So named because the sound resembled a whet stone applied to sharpening a saw. The article said in today’s nomenclature it might be called a backup-alarm bird!

Of course, much of camping, which is kinda work and kinda vacation, involves sitting around the fire. Sometimes it’s to dry out your socks. Other times it’s to stand in the acrid smoke in order to spite the mosquitoes.

Sometimes it’s because you’re here in this most beautiful and peaceful place, surrounded by nature and some of your closest people. Because the crackle of the fire between easy conversations is the soundtrack of relaxation. Because the sun falling below the horizon casts indescribable hues of gold and pink, contrasted against an aquamarine sky studded with diamond points of evening stars.

Sailor’s Delight
Island Sunset
The View North
Remains of the Day
Calm Evening
Looking West
Fire Ring

As in years past, I find it impossible to cram all of the activity and beauty into a single post. In fact, it’s difficult to properly describe the tranquility of life on an island. Like the theme to the TV show Gilligan’s Island, “No phone, no lights, no motorcars. Not a single luxury.”

Okay, so fresh coffee may be a luxury the castaways didn’t have.

And a down sleeping bag.

More next time. Take care, and keep in touch.

 

Paz

 

Seeing Season

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Folks generally think of the year as having four seasons. I find there are many more, mini-seasons and overlapping seasons.

There’s “Spring” in its largest sense. Then there’s Maple Season, Mud Season, black fly season, followed by mosquito season.

“Summer” is a calendar season as well as a frame of mind, I suppose. Within summer are countless bloom seasons for indigenous plants. A hatch for the bass in the pond.

And so on for fall. A leaf season and a frost season and a holiday season.

Winter has its own hunting season, and fishing, through the ice. Ski season, snowmobile season, work-in-the-shop season.

This time of year I lament the passing of “The Seeing Season”.

From mid-October until mid-May, we can see farther and wider than any other time of year, as all the deciduous trees have dropped their leaves. Walking the trail, we can see through the denuded trees, see the geese on Maggie’s pond. See the turkeys beyond the hedgerow.

As far as the eye can see
Snow Season is Seeing Season

There’s a thrill to see leaves returning. Green and blue, earth and sky, my favorite colors.

Still, I enjoy the half-year known as “Seeing Season”. From bird-watching to hunting to just-plain-being-able-to-see-through-the-trees, it’s an improved field of view.

It seems the fall, winter, and early spring lend themselves to an appreciation of the surroundings. Less involved activities leave us more time for contemplation. When we think we’re going to contract cabin fever, a little time in the great wide open will have you feeling better quickly. (Sometimes you are required to feel better quickly so we can get in, and out of the cold!)

It’s a good time now, really, to have the flora grow thickly, as we are distracted by so many things immediately before us.

Now it’s time for boating season, and fishing in waders! We can walk the trail with tiny grandchildren without fear of their freezing.

We can dig out the pile of camping gear and get ready for the next set of seasons.

And when we get that thunderstorm in camp, we’ll be glad for every leaf above us.

Soggy Camp

Soggy Camp

Take care and keep in touch,

 

Paz

March Journal

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Sugaring Season

Sugaring Season

March is all about sugaring, the collection of sap from sugar maples, and the boiling down of the same, to produce that sweet prize of nature, pure maple syrup.

Over the hill, past Leesville, the Everett family augments their dairy operations with maple product production at Stone House Farm. They built a sap house, sometimes called a sugar shack, across the road from the house, and filled it not only with a huge evaporator for making syrup, but also a kitchen and dining area for serving pancakes during sugaring season.

Everett’s Evaporator
Local Best
Flapjack Shack
Brisk Business
Dig In!
Earth’s Bounty

Daughter Kerry and her beau Kenyon joined me, my wife, and grandkids Madison, Elizabeth and Max for a great pancake & waffle breakfast in the sap house. A classmate of son Ryan, (Madison’s dad), Amy Everett, served our table. All you can eat!

We left the sap house full and inspired.

“Can we try tapping your trees?” asked ever-industrious Max. It’s not hard to guess what my answer was! Back at the Engleville homestead, Max and I set forth with a bit & brace, a few pieces of copper pipe, and a mish-mash of whatever containers we could find.

We bored some holes in the big Sugar Maples that line the road frontage, five trees total, studded with seven taps. We proceeded to hang a couple plastic pails, an iced tea jug, and a soda bottle, among others, below the copper pipes, and eagerly awaited the outcome.

 

We impatiently awaited the sap. Max checked the taps every couple of hours. We dipped our fingers into the sap in the pail. You could taste the sugar and the mild maple flavor. (Maple sap contains about 2% maple sugar, the balance is clear water.)

By 3 o’clock there was a half-gallon of maple sap collected, and Max was eager to move forward through the process. We put the kettle on the stove and boiled the sap down, and in fact didn’t finish before Max had to go home. He took the sap and finished it off at home, made enough for him and his dad Matt to have a yummy breakfast treat!

Well, the taps were in and the sap was flowing, so for the next week I walked the sap line each day and collected the sap. Put a kettle on the stove a couple of times to boil down a batch. (And fall asleep in the chair completely burning one batch!!)

Fast-flowing Sap

Fast-flowing Sap

Over Capacity!

Over Capacity!

Stovetop method

Stovetop method

The following weekend, Max returned for sugaring operations, and we borrowed Ryan’s giant outdoor gas burner (which he bought for his own sugaring last year). We had about sixty gallons of sap to boil, and it took all day, and well into the night!

We put up some tarps for a wind break, and set up the burner in the Cabana at the Engleville Tick Ranch. (Some folks call it the wood shed. I like the sound of cabana.) We boiled off the sweet syrup until after 9:30, finishing barely in time to catch Svengoolie at 10 on MeTV.

We had a great time in the Sugar Shack, and the sap is still flowing. We bottled our wares in Mason jars as Max tried to figure out how to sell syrup on Ebay. We all caught maple fever, and in just a week we had purchased real sap buckets and started making plans for next year.

Max’s dad Matt wants to get an evaporator, and we’re keen on asking Mr. Nishan if we can tap the maples in his woods. Plans abound for next year. All told, we’ve made about a gallon and a half of mostly-pure maple syrup (it has some sediment in the bottom). It was an interesting and informative venture, seeing how much sap is produced by a tree, the length of time it takes to reduce it to syrup, and the curious way the syrup gets darker and stronger as the season wears on.

Late Night, Sugar Shack

Late Night, Sugar Shack

Yummy Production!

Yummy Production!

Max plans to become a maple syrup tycoon, and has built his own web site for Max’s Sugar Shack. Ah, the sweet smell of success!

It sure smells like maple.

Max's Sugar Shack

Max’s Sugar Shack

Take care, and keep in touch.

 

Paz

Pancake Season

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Breakfast Time

Breakfast Time

I live in upstate New York, and we’re surrounded by sap houses. Those are the places where Maple sap is boiled down to that best-of-nature treat, Maple Syrup.

Maple syrup is made from the sap of the Sugar Maple, a tree which grows throughout the northeast United States and eastern Canada. Virtually all of the Maple syrup comes from this area.

So I don’t know if folks do this elsewhere, but around here spring means Pancake Breakfasts at the firehouse. Why? I’m not sure where the tradition started, but it’s a tasty one.

The Pancake Breakfast is an event, a meal, a community gathering and a great fundraiser for volunteer fire departments.

The Ames Firehouse

The Ames Firehouse

There are a lot of small communities around, and the Pancake Breakfast is the event that brings them up the hill from Canajoharie and down the hill from Sharon, west from Sprakers and east from Salt Springville.  It’s kind of like the spring cotillion for all the villages.

Everyone Turns Out

Everyone Turns Out

So we stand in line with all the other folks that braved the February weather to get to the firehouse at 8:30 and get tickets. The line snakes around stanchions strung with yellow plastic link chains. We wait patiently with our tickets in hand, as a volunteer looks for groups to fill tables.

“A three? Anyone with a party of three?” and the lucky winners are whisked away into the dining room (which is also the meeting room and the all-event room for the firehouse).

Volunteers, with their Fire Company shirts and STAFF emblazoned on their backs become line cooks, servers, bus boys,  and waitresses as what seems like the entire town cycles through the annual feeding frenzy.

Firehouse garage

Firehouse garage

Patiently Waiting

Patiently Waiting

The meal is served family style. We sit at a table for twelve, the three of us seated with total strangers. No wait, they’re strangers, but not total strangers. We may not know their names and homes but we know they are “of us”. They live in our towns and plant the corn that feeds the cows that produce the milk that feeds the children.

Volunteer Firefighters become Restauranteurs

Volunteer Firefighters become Restaurateurs

Family Style

Family Style

Here there is a teacher. There is our veterinarian. There are Sheriff’s Deputies and snow plow drivers, ladies of the Auxiliary, Rotarians, school kids, moms & dads.

Community

Community

The cars keep parking and the lines keep growing. By threes and fives we’re escorted to our seats, plied with orange juice and coffee and real maple syrup.

Stacks and stacks of flapjacks, an unending stream, plates filled automatically when they’re empty. Piles of sausages, sausage gravy, platters of bacon, buckets of butter, home fries, eggs.

We gleefully fill the makeshift dining room and we eat together the most important meal of the day. Nay, this is one of the most important meals of the year!

Sure, we could stay home and make pancakes. We could go to Denny’s. Service may be faster or prices may be lower.

But here, we’re doing something a little more. We’re not just raising money for the fire company, for hoses and boots and ladders and training.

We’re also showing, by our presence, our commitment to one another, to our communities. To the volunteers that respond to that dreaded sound, the fire siren. For the men and women that will be there, at my house or yours, at 3 a.m. in February in fifteen-degree air if need be.

They’re not paid. Receive no benefits, no pension, no health insurance. They risk their safety for the sake of others. For us.

Besides, where else can you eat breakfast with the mayor, the Sheriff and your retired teacher at the same table?

Take care and keep in touch,

 

Paz

January Journal

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Whitetail Deer, Rosenburg

Whitetail Deer, Rosenburg

Winter has brought its gamesmanship this year, and is keeping us guessing every day. November and December were unusually warm, and we had a “Green Christmas”, with no snow cover. On the 27th of December, I found dandelions blooming on the lawn, and it was 53 degrees F.

December?

December?

We kicked off January with Pop Pop’s New Year’s Eve Sleepover for Grandkids.  We filled the otherwise-empty nest with a few kids and stayed up to watch the famous ball drop in Times Square. We had enough snacks for a party of twenty, and enough confetti for a hotel ballroom.

Lizzy, Maddie, Max & Chuy
Sparkly New Year
Party Animal
Festive Table
Confetti Crazy!

 

As of today, we barely have a snow cover. We had about eight or ten inches of snowfall, most of which has melted or blown away.

Nowadays I look forward to the snow, even the cold. It really doesn’t last that long, just eight or twelve weeks when you think about it. Even then, there are many days during the toughest winters that are mild. The January thaw, those rare and gorgeous days when there’s snow on the ground, ice on the pond and it’s sunny and 36 degrees F. Beautiful.

Thursday Trail, Winter
Drifts of ’15
North Loop
Turkey!

It’s funny how people think of the weather calendar. Last fall it was barely September first and folks started saying things like “Before you know it, there will be snow.” with a twinge of agony. These same folks are looking so far ahead and thinking of misery. We had all of September and October to enjoy with hardly any likelihood of snow. Once in a while we’ll see a flurry before Halloween, on Halloween once! This year we had no snow right through the end of the year. A new record in the books for latest first snowfall.

Oddly these folks aren’t talking about seeing their first Colt’s Foot, an event that’s barely eight weeks from now.

January skies are second only to February skies. The air is clearer, the colors deeper. Sunsets and sunrises are my favorites. Walking the trail with Chuy The Wonderdog, we often “put the sun to bed” as we walk the last hour of daylight.

Edge Of Night
Snowy Record
Rainbow’s End
Frozen Keepsake
Baldy
Max Goes Forth

Haven’t been ice fishing yet this season. The first half of the winter was too mild to form enough ice. My fishing buddy Joe, a real die-hard ice fisherman, has only been out a couple of times. Not looking good for this weekend either, as temps in the low teens will combine with 20 mile-per-hour winds to make it bone-chilling miserable on the open ice.

And so, January 2016 is history. A twelfth of the year gone already. Time sure flies when you’re waiting and wishing for snow and that perfect winter day on the pond.

Meanwhile, time to plan our Zhivago day, where we put the 3-hour movie on, sip hot coffee, wrap up under blankets, and be thankful we’re not in Siberia during the Russian Revolution.

Bet they had some great ice fishing, though, once they cut through the four feet of ice.

 

Take care and keep in touch,

 

Paz