Sacred Rituals of the GNC

Our home in the GNC is our first.  In NYC co-ops and condos, there are superintendents, handymen, doormen, porters and janitors employed by the building to service the needs of the residents.  For example, in NYC "recycling" consists of separating the New York Times from the days food waste (no larger than a wastebasket) and placing them in separate labeled sanitary receptacles no more than 10 feet down the hall.  The building staff does the rest. There's no going to the solid waste transfer station (in other words, the dump) with a dozen smelly 33-gallon black plastic containers filled with crap of all kinds, including several dead birds that crashed into the picture window in the high winds.

I have learned there are ten sacred rituals performed at prescribed times of the year by most homeowners in GNC.  These rites are not shared with newcomers -- you must learn them yourself  through trial and error before you can become a full-fledged member of  the homeowner's fraternity.  I am talking beyond mowing the grass and shoveling the snow.  These rituals keep us in touch with the grandeur of nature in the GNC.

1. The whacking of the weeds
2. The hogging of the brush
3. The pumping of the septic
4. The de-leafing of the gutters
5. The de-mouse-ing of the attic
6. The staining of the deck
7. The power-washing of the cocoons
8. The fumigating of the hornets nests
9. The organizing of the garage (to make room for the car)
10. The re-filling of the tiki torches.

Each of these has its own risks and rewards.  Sometimes the risks are high (hornets don't like having their nests destroyed) and the rewards seem negligible (the weeds need to be whacked again 24 hours later), but in the GNC, we keep on keeping on because Mother Nature never rests, Father Time marches on and the there are more damn mosquitoes than Chins in the Hong Kong phone book.

Visit Poet's Ledge...while you still can!

Due to previous commitments, I'll miss the June 25 hike sponsored by the Mountain Top Historical Society, but it sounds like a great one, so I hope you go and tell me all about it.

The destination is Poet's Ledge which provides spectacular views from the south side of Kaaterskill Clove.  The starting point is the MTHS compound, just past the entrance to Twilight Park in Haines Falls as you climb Route 23A from Palenville.  Meet there at 9am on Saturday, prepared to hike all day -- they say you won't return to the compound until 4pm.  You'll pass three different waterfalls not seen from the road and arrive at Poet's Ledge mid-day. Given you are arriving at such a romantic destination, you should no doubt have with you camera with long-distance lens (none of the cell phone cameras will do for this vista) and  notebook to record the poetry that will sprout from you like ash from a virulent volcano.

They say the difficulty of the hike is "moderate" which means espadrilles won't work.  My experience is pants work better than shorts, since pants protect you from thistles, insect bites and poison ivy about the ankles. True hiking boots work better than sandals, sneakers or flip-flops since you are likely to be hiking in mud, shallow streams and slippery terrain.  I spray generous doses of heavy-duty insect repellent on the brim of my baseball cap, on a bandanna around my neck and on my socks so that the reminders of the event are my photographs and poems, not my rash and itchy bites.

There's no concession stand at Poet's Ledge, though I understand there are negotiations underway for a casino to be built there.

Start at Alpine Garden in Windham...

...proceed north for a short distance on Route 296.  Make a left onto Route 23 and drive a short distance to County Route 21,  Mitchell Hollow Road. Turn right and enjoy the scenery as Mitchell Hollow rolls up for two or three miles, past homesteads, horse farms, fields of wild flowers and abandoned shacks. Make a left onto County Route 10 and catch your breath, because you will become breathless over the next few miles.  County Route 10 skirts Mt. Pisgah State Forest,  then Ashland Pinnacle State Forest, then Huntersfield State Forest before it meanders down into Prattsville. Go slow the entire distance on Route 10 so as to appreciate all that is around you. Likely yours will be the only car, and thus you will be likely to surprise the contented critters along the road.

You'll drop into Prattsville, the western-most town in Greene County before you cross into Delaware County, where the GNC begins to undulate into more agricultural terrain.  Make a left onto Route 23.  You'll now be heading south then east, toward Ashland.  (Be careful -- just past Pratt's Rock Route 23 veers east; if you miss the turn, you'll be on Route 23A, heading toward Lexington.) Stay on Route 23 and continue in awe of the beauty of the GNC. Glance at Batavia Kill (on your right) a few times as you drive; there are small falls here and there, and on the left is a small, very old, one-room chapel, in case you want to get married or give thanks.

If you're hungry, there are a few places in Windham to stop for lunch or dinner, some with a view of Windham Mountain Ski Area, or you can continue through town (slowly - cops!), up cemetery hill (as the locals call it) and back to Route 296.  Make a right, and shortly you will be back where you started at Alpine Garden.  (There's no garden there -- it's all around you.)

You can cover this circuit by car in about an hour.  I did it on a bike and it was my quads that screamed at me to blog this.

A Little Night Music

What is the strange and deep attachment I have to certain music played at night through the open windows and doors of my house, into the rocky rolling terrain of the GNC?  It’s not the volume that thrills me – it’s not that loud – it’s the longevity of the music’s wave through the atmosphere.  The critters living upslope are too far away to hear the music, but I have the feeling that they know music has been played downslope.  I bet the sound waves they do hear leaving my deck have an imperceptible undertone of harmonics out of the ordinary for them. 

Other than the creatures and me, there’s no one to hear the music drifting into the edge of the night shade.  The nearest occupied house is more than a half-mile away West or East; my amps don’t reach them or the houses North across the Schoharie.   Their earshot is muffled by the rhythm of its current.  To the south, there is no one for miles and two thousand feet of elevation gain to share my musical choices.  After passing through me, the music undulates into space for whatever good may come of it.  It’s my way of sending a signal for the SETI scientists.

On other nights, the electronic equipment is silent and the music I hear is outside coming in -- a symphony of jagged terrain, creatures buzzing in all keys, shifting shadows, rhythmic current providing an unending bass line, being played for me and anyone else who takes the time to shake out the rattle and hum and listen to it.  

Inside out or outside in, either way is fine with me.  (What was I playing when I wrote this?)

Shopping in the GNC...

...is such a pleasure. The stores are small and personal, eclectic and eccentric, reflecting much more the tastes and personalities of the proprietors than stores in a strip mall, mega mall, outlet mall, or mall.  I prefer the historic section of Kingston (you pull up, you park) to the busy section of Kingston, though I must stop at Petco twice a month.  I prefer the Main St of Catskill (you pull up, you park) to the Walmart side of Catskill, though I must stop at Lowe's twice a month.  I prefer to search for a book at the Catskill Mountain Foundation in Hunter, or on Main Street in Hudson (you pull up, you park), though I do find myself at Barnes & Noble about twice a month.  I haven't been to Albany area malls, Woodbury Common or the outlets along the Northway since I moved to the GNC.

Yesterday, I tried bringing that "Let's Explore" approach to Woodstock.  No parking!  As we used to say in NYC, fu-get-a-bout-it!

I Know A Place

In the GNC, I know of a humble, dignified lake.  Slightly to the West of  it's sister lake, it sits serenely, just big enough to enjoy its stature among other local lakes, small enough to swim across and back without getting fatigued. When I was there today swimming in its sweet water, with fish brushing my legs, I was the only human there.  I was in awe of my good fortune, to be alone swimming in this lake, and the lake was aware too, that it had company for a while.

Later in the summer, this lake will have visitors of all shapes and sizes from morning til dusk, and solitude here will be harder to find - perhaps at dawn.  Today, though, I had all the clean air, clean water, sunshine and peace that anyone could ever need.

Damn mosquitoes!

Rust Farm For Sale

For all you city folk dreaming of a lifestyle in the GNC, here is your chance to purchase an operating rust farm in beautiful West Kill, in the heart of the Catskill Mountains. 

Nestled between the fast-growing, quaint cities of Lexington and Shandaken on Route 42, this 40-acre farm features more than four dozen vehicles, farm implements and corrugated tin rusting away in the bright sunshine.  Conditions are perfect here for an abundant crop of fresh, fragrant rust year after year.

The prize possessions of the farm are several 1950s Ford pick-up trucks (pictured below), that have been award-winning rust producers for the past several decades.  The mushrooms growing under them are rich in iron, from the rust dripping onto the soil, so they will be delicious added to your salad of local leafy vegetables, sun-ripened tomatoes and  flavorful herbs. 

Given the state of the world economy, the price of rust will only go up: since fewer metal goods are being produced now, there will be less rust available when it is needed ten or twenty years from now.  Your retirement income is growing before your eyes!  

Sit on the front porch of your classic, original 1880's farm house and listen to the silent hum of oxidation working for you.   Leave the stress of city life behind!  

For more information about owning your own genuine GNC Rust Farm, please contact:

Meshuga Rust Farm, Route 42, West Kill, NY 12492. 
(We have no email, fax or internet service.)  No brokers.  
Serious Inquiries Only.  Pets OK.

Nature's Miracle

National Geographic magazine has shown us all numerous species from all over the world that have adapted to their environment by disguising themselves with color that perfectly matches their surroundings. Here in the GNC, this has occurred as well. Below is a rare snapshot of the Great Northern Flip-Flop captured in its native surroundings.  This is the male of the species, as it is the females who exhibit colorful plumage, designed to attract the drab males during mating season, when they propagate next season's stylish teva sandals.

Perfect Night For Fireflies

Last night's  hot, humid, calm air was perfect for fireflies and they knew it.

In the GNC, County Route 2, from  Mosquito Point to Prattsville, climbs the shoulders of Mt Vly and then takes a long, windy descent, past farm land, forest preserve and a few scattered homes until it rejoins Route 23 near the border with Delaware County.  As I drove it after dark last night, short darts of light punctuated the road, the lawns and the fields.  They were short flashes, but there were so many of them, that it had a disco-ball effect on me. I pulled over near Harry Peckham Road and decided to count them.

To be sure I didn't count the same firefly twice, I had to catch it and tag it with a sequence number.  I searched the car for something to use for this purpose, and all I could find was an old roll of raffle tickets used to track door prize chances.  The numbered tickets went up to 1,000, so I figured I could tag 1,000 and then extrapolate from there based on the volume of atmosphere surrounding Mt Vly.

I caught the first firefly and attached the tag to it with a rubber band from the glove compartment.  Of course - I should have known - the tag was too heavy for the firefly to lift off.  So, I had to rip the raffle tickets into four pieces, thereby having enough tags for 4,000 fireflies.  I soon ran out of rubber bands and so I used little pieces of  bubble gum for the rest.  This worked well enough, though the flies seemed a bit wobbly as they flew away.

When I had completed tagging 3,999 and looked out over the fields, it seemed as if I hadn't accomplished a damn thing -- there were still hundreds and hundreds -- perhaps thousands more.  So, I said to Number 4,000, "There are so many of you guys...how many of you are there?"  I released the fly and was about to drive away, thinking how foolish I was to try to count fireflies in the GNC.

As I walked toward the car, I stopped to enjoy another deep breath of the sweet, oxygen-rich air.  There above me in the cloudless sky, the fireflies had formed 9,999,999,999,996,000 in blinking dots.

Stragglers (Mountain Jam, Part IV)

The back-channel comments about the T-Shirts were very funny, and some of your additions were better than mine,  particularly the one that had a picture of a UPC over an ample chest with the slogan "Check These Out".
Based on my observations, the answers are A-3, B-5, C-1, D-4, E-2.

Today, nothing but stragglers left around.  The parking lots are empty except for a few RVs, the litter will get picked up over the next few days and the State Troopers have gone back to their regular routes.  Tickets for cell phone use while driving (STD?) a little strange given the DUI candidates that must have been available. I only heard the ambulance siren four times over the weekend, so I guess that is a success.

Between the Hunter webcams and the WDST web-streaming, being nearby with a broadband connection was almost as much fun as being inside the gates, unless you love using those port-a-potties.  Some of the music didn't rise to the occasion, some did!, but those friends did show, pitch a tent, pick up their mittens, have some lunch off the barbie, and tell stories about the former girl-friend.  If this were a different kind of blog, I would share them with you. Let me just say, the former girl-friend's T-shirt read "If I'm Not Happy, Nobody's Happy."

Match The T-Shirts to the Chicks at Mountain Jam

A. Biker Chick (leathers top to bottom) 

B. Rocker Chick (multiply pierced)

C. Hippy Chick (very long hair in braids)

D. Stoner Chick (not quite goth)

E. City Chick (espadrilles in the mud)

1. I Wish These Were Brains

2. I'm Good in Bed - Can Sleep for Days

3. The Dude Fell Off!

4. She's Dead -- Get Over It! 

5. Wish You Were Beer

Check Back Tomorrow For the Answers! 

You Never Know How Many Friends You Got...

...until Mountain Jam comes along in June:

Lost your number -- hey, you found it when MJ rolled around!

Long time to see -- you got lonely just in time for MJ?

Let's do lunch -- sure,  coincidence that MJ is in full swing?

I'm in the neighborhood -- yeah, after driving 3 hours to MJ;

Did you ever find my mittens? -- you need them in June, when MJ is rockin?

It's me, Joe! -- Joe who?  The Joe that cancelled 3 ski days in March!

I broke up my girlfriend! -- in order to save the cost of a MJ pass?

Can I borrow a tent  ... to put up on your lawn? -- who are you, Ghaddafi?

...and it's is only Saturday morning.  Let's see who else decides they're my friend this weekend!

Intro to Mountain Jam at Hunter Mountain

I think MJ@HM is better reported after the event.  Let's see how it goes -- I live a mile away and its already encroaching.  After 11pm, I hear guitar bass, percussion, increased traffic, police sirens and shouting pedestrians.

Earlier today, as I walked my dogs around Dolan's Lake, I caught a glimpse of some of the arriving music lovers, clearly surprised and unprepared for the low temperatures and high winds.   Three T-shirts stood out from the expected repertoire of Rock Stars, Peace Symbols and Tie Dyes:

"Don't Worry Gringo -- I'm Here Legally."

"Make Babies Not War." (A 21st century update of the enduring Woodstock-era  slogan)

And the best T-shirt, Bumper sticker and Refrigerator magnet ever made:

"Still Pissed At Yoko."

Chillin' with Art

In the GNC, on a quiet stretch of Route 23A, West of Lexington, East of Prattsville, on the Eastbound side, there is a shady parking area with a water-level view of the Schoharie.  Mr. Art Flick spent many hundreds of hours at that spot in the Creek, perfecting his practice of trout fishing, researching the efficacy of various stream insects as bait and writing a bible on the subject. He died in August 1985 and the Catskill Mountains Chapter of Trout Unlimited wasted no time in installing a stone memorial there to the "great but humble" man who helped make trout fishing a joy for many others.


Now, Art's spot is a perfect rest stop for me as I bicycle Route 23A toward Hunter after breakfast at the Prattsville Diner.  State Troopers like the spot too, as do young couples and beer-drinkers of all ages.  No one at all is there today in this wonderful weather when I pull in for a short break and gulps of warm Gatorade. Well, I mean no one is there except Art who presides over the oasis with greatness, humility and patience as if waiting for an overdue fishing buddy.  After a few minutes, the Gatorade was consumed and I was saddling up to continue my ride home when Art said, "What's your hurry?".  


No hurry, Art. Think I'll just sit here and chill awhile.

                                                                                    Aug. 3, 1904 – Aug. 30, 1985