Undue Diligence

I made Grape Jelly.

It took two days.

My feet hurt. 

Mack the Dog A Locked Room Mystery

 

The setting-an 8X10X6' high chain link dog run with a concrete floor.

Cast of characters: Mack the Dog, Jack Russell Terrier extraordinaire. The thief or thieves.

The missing object-a stainless steel dog dish used to give him his kibble breakfast each morning out there in the dark, where I deposit him each morning in summer and from whence he is extracted at eventide to come into the house to continue his marauding ways.

The puzzle-about three days ago, even though the kennel is closed and the gate solidly latched at night so the deer don't go in and drink all Mack's water, said dish vanished. 

There has been an extensive search, but so far no sign has been found.

Did a night prowling owl take a liking to it, thinking to use it as a mirror in her tree hollow abode?

Did a bevvy of errant raccoons climb the fence and take it home to employ it as a wash basin in their humble hollow tree?

Was it Colonel Mustard in the library with a candlestick? 

Or...dum da dum dum....did Mack bury it so deep in the straw in his Dogloo that no one can find it?

Only the Shadow knows. 

Remember

 

This was written in 2006, but I have not forgotten

Since September 11, 2001, when one of the planes that flew into the World Trade Center turned south just east of here over Amsterdam, it is hard not to notice the rattle of the kitchen windows when a jet passes by. I still stop to listen every single time I hear a plane. In the first days after the attacks it was estimated that more than five thousand people died in the assault. As bodies were counted and some of the missing found, authorities finally decided that only 2996 people actually died.

Only.

As if any single one of the souls who were lost that day, heroes and homebodies, doctors and stockbrokers, firemen, policemen, cooks and secretaries, could be encompassed by a word like only.

They were not only.

They were not some incomprehensible count of the dead and missing.

They were our friends and neighbors. People loved them. People wake still wake up today missing them and mourning them and go to bed each night bereft because they are gone.

One of those 2996 friends, neighbors and loved ones was 27 year-old Carl DiFranco.


This is to honor Carl on the fifth anniversary of the nightmare that took him from his loved ones. Raised in Huguenot, NY and a lifelong resident, Carl was assistant vice president of Marsh & McLennan Cos. Inc., located in the World Trade Center. He graduated from Monsignor Farrell High School and cum laude from St. Johns University. He liked to bowl, play tennis and jog. Married a short time before the attacks he was widowed within months, when heart problems while awaiting a transplant took his longtime sweetheart, Loren Bosso.

Carl must have been a wonderful person. He supported his sister through the birth of his niece, then helped through the difficult weeks that followed. The day he died his mother’s car had a flat tire, so like the decent son he was, he offered her the use of his truck. This made him a little later than usual, but not late enough to be saved. He also took his mother on “dates” and surprise trips. He pitched in willingly to help her with projects around the house and yard. In a New York Times article she said, “I keep thinking I hear him coming in the door, that I'll have a chance to help him get through it," (referring to the loss of his beloved wife.)

From what I read in many tributes from people who knew him, his kindness and caring for his mom reflected the way he always was. Friends remember him as someone who was brave and confident, kind, generous and quick with a joke. There are many poignant references to him by the people who knew him to be found all over the Internet. They make hard reading, but they put a face on what our nation lost that terrible day.

I hope this small tribute will help to remind us of Carl and the many other special people who were taken from us on September 11. I will try to think of him and the good life he lived when I hear planes overhead, instead of reflecting on the terror of those days.

Coats on Coats off

 

Tis the season.

You wake up to a brisk fifties morning. The rising sun glints gently off fog rising off the river and drifting up toward the sky. The grass is thick with dew. The mosquitoes are still sleeping (if you're lucky and it's in the low fifties. Any warmer than that and they just plain love you.)

You could probably survive without a sweatshirt, or a flannel, or a hoodie, but it's a heckin' lot more comfy with one.

Then the sun muscles its orange way on up over the horizon, dragging a short return to summer in its wake.

Gradually your warm snuggly thing becomes cumbersome and de trop.

So you take it off.

If you are a certain farmer I could mention you dump it wherever you are.

BITD when we were farming and those warm-ups found us on a tractor or nailing up fence, that is where the shirt or coat came to rest. Many of them are probably still out there, fading away on a fencepost or tucked behind the seat of some tractor we sold years ago.

Nowadays they are dumped behind the seat of the car or the pickup, gathering there until there is no room in the backseat and someone drags them in for me to wash. 

Oh, well....

I love this time of year, the delightful mornings and the not-too-hot-but-just-cozy days.

Alas, I don't love what's to come, when you don't even want to take your coat off indoors!

It won't be long now. 

Happy Heavenly Anniversary

 

Mom and Dad

The Erie was a'Risin'

 

Sorry, no Gin.

I was 8 when we moved to the Mohawk Valley. Theretofore unknown to me, it became a talisman.

 From the old limestone abutment at the bottom of the driveway where we first discovered Painted Turtles to Molly's Hannibal, a beloved book about a canal mule, I have loved the canal most of my life.

We learned the canal songs in school. Rome Haul could be found on the shelves of the folks' bookstore. (I have only ever read part of it...guess I should try again.) Mom took us to swim under the Schoharie Crossing aqueduct back when that was possible. (You couldn't pay me now.,)

Nowadays, I bird the banks of the Schoharie, the area around the aqueduct, the surrounding fields and the edges of the Mohawk almost daily. I've submitted 880 checklists from there so far.

We stopped there today on the way home from one of Ralph's doctor consultations (IYKYK). It was late enough in the day that birding was not exactly scintillating, but it sure was an interesting visit.

I was peering through the binoculars at the cattails under the aqueduct, looking for herons or migrating shorebirds (I need several common species of the latter). To my considerable amazement, there on the little beach they made last year, sticking up through the foliage, was what appeared to be a horse's head.

Not a live horse, but a beautifully crafted fabric creature.

Color me intrigued.

Indigo Bunting photographed at the crossing
We'll just color him blue.

I slow-footed over, not wanting to intrude on anyone, to find a man taking photos of the coolest canoe you could imagine. I waited until he paused and asked if I could photograph it...I knew you would want to see it... 

He pointed to a pair of young women who were approaching, and said, "It's their canoe, you can talk to them."

And talk I did, for a heckin' long time. They actually interviewed me, a first in my sheltered life so far. 

I am normally about as introverted as a particularly shy bivalve, but they asked me about birds. You cannot shut me up about them once I get started.

Anyhow, they are doing a canoe trip up the Erie to Buffalo, interviewing people and visiting canal-related sites along the way. The horse is in fact a mule; the trip is called the Mule's Passage. From Waterford NY's Facebook page "The Mule’s Passage launches from Waterford, where artists Z Behl and Kim Moloney (Baloney Steel) will begin an extraordinary four-week, 350-mile canoe journey upstream to Buffalo. Along the way, they’ll meet people, collect stories, and create community-centered performances exploring the Erie Canal’s history, ecology, labor, and culture. "

They gave me a little bottle of bug repellent, which I promise I will try, as I am a well-known mosquito magnet, and a newspaper, describing their goals and philosophies. As an old Boomer, I do see the world a bit differently than they might. However, I loved reading of their experiences during some major events, such as 9-11 that touched them a lot closer than it did up here in the more northern bits of the state.

If you would like to see their extraordinary craft or perhaps get a chance to meet them, they will be stopping in Canajoharie tonight, and traveling to St. Johnsville tomorrow. You can find the rest of their itinerary on the Waterford NY Facebook page.  

I was glad we stopped at the boat launch today even though there were no herons.

Had a lovely chat with this nice
gentleman as well
but we talked fishing and my favorite lake

The Popsicles were right There

Come along with me for a quick bit of time travel back to the early nineteen-sixties. We Montgomery kids spent the summers and most of our weekends hanging out around the folks' two stores, Montgomery's Antiques and the Tryon County Book Store. We were downright feral in those days and went pretty much wherever we wanted to.

BITD kids had to get creative to acquire cash even in tiny amounts. We had been known to check out the alley behind the row of shops where ours were located for stray dimes and nickels lost from the pockets of the patrons of certain now long closed establishments. Sometimes there were even quarters.

We also sat in the bookstore while Mom and Dad worked in the antique store, and either sold books ourselves or called them to help when things got interesting. 10% commission folks, plus all the ancient books you could read. Tarzan, Hardy Boys, Roy Chapman Andrews anyone?

Despite these excellent sources of income, when the Newberry's Five and Dime up the street got in a little box of horses like the one above, I had a rough time finding enough cash to buy him. It took weeks.

After all, saving was hard for a kid. In those days Collins' Market was just two doors east (the dime store was around six stores west). 

Popsicles were right there! 

And only a nickel. Grape was my favorite.

That oh-so-desirable red horse was priced at 29 cents, a veritable fortune's worth of Nehi, or Royal Palm or Double Bubble (two for a penny.) Six Three Musketeers at a nickel each!

The store also had cheaper horses, mere dimes and nickels in price. I could have had several for the price of old red. 

Somehow though I turned my back on sugar and cheaper temptations and bought him, plus a black one and a white one that were posed a bit differently. The bay markings, blaze and stockings are courtesy of a paint by number set I cannibalized (he was born a chestnut) and there is the tiniest trace of modeling clay stuck to one leg. I used to make bridles and saddles of same for my many toy horses.

Today this little horse is the only one left. The rest of a cardboard boxful, which I carted wherever I went, was lost somewhere along the way. However, he still lives in the China closet in the dining room, along with antique fishing lures, rocks, minerals and actual China and stuff. 

I don't play with him any more, but I wouldn't trade him for a dozen grape popsicles or a case of Orange Crush either.

***we searched Google and eBay for similar toys and didn't find a single one. Wonder where they all went.

Summer 26

Weird summer here for sure. Long dry spells interrupted by sometimes days of torrential rainfall. It's been cooler than normal for the most part and I'll take it. 70s beat 90s, mercury down.

Birding has been fair to middling...mostly middling. Our usual haunts offer the usual birds to the point that I have to drag myself out to chase them. Lots of babies though. The Rose-breasted Grosbeaks that summer here have brought, I think, 3 kids in to feed at the feeders. They chirp all day and sound EXACTLY like Eastern Bluebirds to the point that they even fool Merlin. They drive me nuts (!) as I cannot for the life of me stop looking for bluebirds. 

We got a new dog in May, from Ayres Shelter, an Aussie I named Marieta, Rita for short. She is a fascinating puzzle...where did she come from? She was found running down the road in Auriesville. What name or names did she have before? She answered to Rita right from day one. What weird or unfortunate things happened to her before? I am sure we will never know the answers to these questions, but we fell in love with her right promptly and put up with the nonsense as part of the deal of having her.

We were able to rent our favorite cabin at Peck's Lake this year and had only 1 1/2 days of less than great weather, although that week it was pretty hot. On my very last cast of the year I caught the biggest fish I have ever hooked in my life. It jumped over a low-hanging fir branch, tangling the line there, and I had a heckin' time getting it landed. What a thrill!

On the downside I took a terrible fall in the camp driveway while walking "my 10". Large, crushed stone makes a lousy landing pad. My face smashed into the ground; why my glasses didn't break I will never know, as they impacted hard and sharp right on a rock, and I hurt stuff. Ribs, wrists, face, soft tissue here and there. Stubborn old fool that I am I elected to tough it out. 20 days later it's mostly down to dull aches and lingering pains. Guess what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Still walking my 10 so...

Not yet, my fine feathered friend
Not yet

The garden has done pretty well. Lots of lettuce, some nice garlic, plenty of herbs to dry. I fear for my tomatoes though. There maybe some blight taking hold out there, or it may be just the uneven watering due to the weird weather. A few of them are getting a little curly on the edges.

Anyhow, it feels more like September than July here and that is fine with me. Hope you are doing well and enjoying the outdoors....

Watch your step!

Happy Father's Day

To these fine dads

and all the rest of you good men out there.

Have a great one! 

Storm

 

Not today!

That was some storm last night.

Nobody got enough sleep to mention....huge rains, hour upon hour, thunder, lightning that made the indoors bright as day.

Pure misery. It lasted all night. The weather radar showed green, accented with orange red and yellow over the entire state and beyond. I read that Pennsylvania had a flurry of tornado activity!

This morning the leftover cloud banks over the Adirondacks looked like an extra set of mountain ranges perched over the real deal and ready to rumble.

Today a brisk cool wind is racing over the ground, shuddering the trees and whipping the grasses. Still more clouds are scudding across the sun, fast and furious, and in a hurry to get somewhere though even they don't know where.

I am over that storm, just plumb over it!

Some Gave All

Touch Grass

 

Rita, out there in the deadly grass

...The mantra of random smug strangers on the internet when they are losing an argument to someone who might actually have experienced the topic under discussion. Or to folks who actually know what they are talking about or something offensive like that.

I think it means something like go outdoors and cool off, get in touch with nature, or maybe just cool your jets and chill.

Or maybe even, "You're wrong and I'm right, and nya, nya, nana poo poo."

Not one to comment on anything but friend's posts on social media, it has only been hurled at me once or twice, and in general I just disengage. I don't know them, and they sure as heck don't know me.

As far as going outdoors, I have dogs. Going outdoors is engraved on their souls. Even before Rita came into our hearts just under three weeks ago, Manipulative Mack required at least six walks a day. He preferred eight. I thank the Lord above that in summer he has a lovely, shaded, outdoor kennel run. There is even grass dangling through the wire mesh if he wants to touch...or being a dog...eat some. 

In three of four seasons encountering grass is inevitable each and every time I walk a dog, fill the bird feeders, or go on a daily birding adventure..

I will let you in on a little secret.... I avoid it like the plague. I mean, heck, I don't want to get the plague...

And it's worse when grass touches me.

I walked a local volunteer maintained nature trail last week. The birding was delightful...even heard a Sora calling from the marsh. However the trail is getting overgrown and I had no choice but to be touched...by tall ferns, taller weeds, and yes, emerging grass. They were hip high in some spots.

And therein lies the rub with the whole thing.

Guess what lives in grass...

Ticks!

That's what touching grass gets you!

Ticks!

When I got back to the car there was a Black-legged Tick, more commonly known around here as a deer tick, on my knee. It was as big as a large apple seed, only with eight legs and deadly bitey parts. It hadn't bitten yet, so there's that.

This is the worst year I have ever experienced or heard of for ticks and tick bites. Poor Rita was covered after her adventures before the kind folks at Ayres Shelter, saved her from life on the highway where she was dumped by some "loving" owner. Even Ralph was bitten for the first time in his life. Touching grass, or letting it touch you, is one of the stupidest things you can do this spring. If you have a lawn, keep it short. Stay the heck out of the shrubbery and if some random knight brings you one, whack him with a herring.

Meanwhile, it would probably deliver nearly the same message if they just said, "Smoke grass." And, no I don't do that either, but at least there are no ticks.

Maybe there is justification for the favorite curmudgeonly saying,
"Get offa my lawn!"

Happy Mother's Day, Mama

 I hope Heaven is everything they say it is. Give Dad a hug for me...

Love,

Dotter

Black-crowned Night Heron

 

From Cypress Wetlands, Port Royal, SC

Meeting Spring Halfway

 

A week month ago it felt like anything but spring here. It was cold and grim and not much fun. (not much better now either. What a year!)

The kids decided to take us down to meet it on its long, slow journey north so off we went to the Carolinas, where I fell in love with them all over again. We hopscotched down to SC first, to stay in a cozy, pleasant, well-equipped Airbnb. We were met with delightful weather, a huge backyard with a great deck and a playset for the kids...plus incidentally, almost as if pre-ordained for my personal enjoyment, a next door neighbor with an impressive array of bird feeders and houses, well attended by flocks of everything a northern girl could desire.

On our first day we visited the Yorktown. It was great. I read, or listen to, whole series of WW2 books and now videos as well. Reading about the great ships simply does not prepare you for their scale and functionality. I loved the visit, and I loved that the kids are offering their girls the chance to grow up knowing things I could only imagine until now.

Northern Rough-winged Swallow on the
Yorktown

Ooh, look, a Tri-colored Heron, my first lifer of the trip

We also visited the Viet Nam Experience and got a look at the USS Laffey, which was closed due to gangplank issues.

Next we had a day at Fort Sumpter, bracketed by really cool ferry rides in both directions.

A day on the USS North Carolina, a peaceful walk through Moore's Creek National Battlefield, the site of the last broad sword charge by Scottish Highlanders, and the first significant patriot victory of the Revolution were all exciting and fun.

Moore's Creek was also the site of the first Friers family scavenger hunt, and I am proud to say that I personally found the feathers....finally. lol

Perhaps not surprisingly to regular readers, my favorite day involved first a beach....I do love me a beach...complete with waterside boardwalk and finding tiny sharks' teeth among the grains of sand...and second...a trip through the Cypress Wetlands boardwalk. I have literally been interested in birds since before kindergarten. I can remember being excited about robins on my grandmother's sidewalk before I went to school. In all that time, and including trips to Florida, some of the best birding spots in NY, and wandering all over the West, I have never experienced anything like it.

The boardwalk takes you around small, shaggy islands with so many herons, storks, egrets, and other water and shorebirds, that the branches on the shrubs are bent under their weight. There are stacks of nests, one over the other, already full of sitting birds. Tucked away in a corner among some pines is a rookery of so many Black-crowned Night Herons that I didn't even attempt to count them.

We walked within a couple of feet of a couple of dozen Little Blue Herons quarreling over choice spots to roost or nest. There were alligators! Babies even.

I can't thank the kids enough for this amazing adventure. They go south with their girls quite often and know all the great places to visit and things to do. I took hundreds of photos and am still trying to get them into shareable video form...and maybe some day I will figure it out.

Meanwhile, Amber and Alan; it was the best. Sorry I have been neglecting this blog and storytelling so badly.

And then there was this part....