One cord, two cords, blue tarp, brown tarp

So we bought our first cord of wood for the cabin and had it delivered last night. We spent the entire day stacking and sorting it. The entire day, one cord. We did have to run into Kingston to buy a wheel barrow to move much of it and, of course, to buy the requisite tarp to cover and protect the stack.

Why does the ubiquitous utility tarp have to be bright royal blue? Is it so Billy Bob can look out the window of his double wide and see exactly where the '73 Camaro is parked on blocks, in the middle of a white out snow storm? "Now where is that old fridge I chucked out into the yard last year? Oh, there it is, I can see it from here. Thank goodness I protected it in this blizzard. You never know when I might need the compressor from it."

Are we not at all interested in blending in with our environment? Well, I am more than happy to report that some genius at the polypropylene plant has realized that we can protect our assets without the visual assault. Tarps are now available in brown. So unless you are covering your roof after a hurricane, and you need the rescue helicopter to see your house, buy a brown tarp, it's what Martha Stewart would do. Your neighbors will be glad you did.

Giant Ledge or bust

The other day Tammy and I drove to the end of Woodland Valley Rd for a hike up to Giant Ledge. The sky had started to turn muddy with clouds but it wasn't supposed to start raining until that night. We strapped on our studs and started to climb out of the parking lot. I say climb because if you have ever hiked in the Catskills you know what I mean. Many of the trails date back to the Civilian Conservation Corps created during the depression to provide jobs. I don't know, maybe malnutrition from being broke made these guys evil or they decided to exact revenge on overfed, over privileged Americans for generations to come. They don't start you off easy. Hey guys, how about a few hundred yards of flat trail to gain your stride? Perhaps a switchback or two just to help get you out of the parking lot?

In fact, there are hardly any switchbacks in the entire NY state trail system. The west might have the altitude but we have the steeps. You know those little stars on the NY-NJ Trail Conference maps? They stand for viewpoints. They are located at the top of various trail sections with names like "Almost Vertical" or "The Precipice". The agony is made even greater by the fact that the trail crew has usually forgotten to remove the rocks from the path. Colorado might have the Fourteeners, but the trail to the summit is usually a dirt rut through a gently sloping alpine meadow, with a switchback every 50 yards. The trails are so clear cut, they don't even need little round blazes every 20 feet. In the Catskills or Adirondacks, you could be 100 yards from the parking lot and be totally lost due to the trees and boulders. I am not making this up; I have never seen a blaze nailed to a tree west of the Mississippi, yet, I have rarely been confused about which way to go. On just one hike in Harriman Park I get confused at least 9 times. If you are not constantly on the lookout for those little colored tin can tops, you most assuredly will get confused, if not totally lost.

Anyway, I digress. We never made it to Giant Ledge. The trail was straight up. There was freezing rain. My glasses were fogging like crazy, so it was as if I was hiking with cataracts in both eyes. And Tammy was 50 yards ahead of me the whole time and that really pissed me off.
I had a good mind to pull a Blair Witch Project on her. I don't know what that means exactly, but I am sure it would have frightened her and made me feel empowered. We were probably 50 feet from our goal when we turned around. But like I said, who ever knows where the hell you are when hiking in these woods.

Why I drive a Subaru

Well I am finally picking up my new Subaru Outback Limited on Thursday evening. The limited is the fully loaded version of the well known Granola Car seen at every trail head. Actually the Prius is the new Granola car but the Outback is still the car of choice for tree huggers that go outside to actually be around trees.... As opposed to say driving the Prius to Starbucks and reading a New Yorker article about carbon offsets or an Organic Living article on the latest in eco-wool socks to wear with your Birkenstocks.
Come to think of it, I have never noticed a hiker slipping into a pair of cork soled Euro-shoes after a day on the trail. Huh, I just realized SUV owners and Birkenstock wearers have that in common; the look but no real credentials. You rarely see either at a trail head or off the beaten path. What you do see is Subarus and flip flops.

My point is perfectly illustrated in and around my new home in Phoenicia, NY, located in the heart of the Catskill Mountains. Practically every other car you see is an Outback or Legacy, both practical all wheel drive station wagons. And even though the area is well known for its artsy and craftsy population I almost never see Birkenstocks.....Maybe in Woodstock, but, and this perfectly proves my point, well, you know.

What's my point? I don't really know. I have observed this at trail heads though (based on an informal data collecting methodology I have developed over the years; It is called "The only notice things that prove your point protocol"): out of say twenty cars, there is one Prius, one Grand Jeep Cherokee (NEVER a Wrangler), no Lexus SUV, certainly never ever a Cadillac or Mercedes SUV, not a Hummer for 40 miles (they are only seen in cities), eight Subarus, possibly one Volvo (a subset of which is the one Birkenstock wearing hiker), a smattering of various Toyotas, Nissans(including maybe a 4runner, but not an xterra) and Hondas (most likely an Element driven by a college graduate who is currently working as a barista at Starbucks since he can't find a job) , and if it is the Fourth of July or Memorial Day one American mini van.

SUV's are always pictured driving down dirt roads, parked next to a tent on the beach (where this beach exists in the United States I do not know), parked in some isolated campsite overlooking a spectacular lake and mountains (I have yet to find this site as well, and believe me, I have searched). I have driven hundreds of miles of dirt roads, camped, and hiked in every single state including Alaska and Hawaii, yet I hardly ever see a fellow hiker (or hunter, they drive pick ups) driving an SUV, not even in Alaska (where Subarus and Ford F-150s are the most popular vehicles by the way).

But people don't buy the gas guzzling, global warming behemoths because they want to tool around off the beaten path. No, they want to feel safe and high up while they drive to Kohl's and soccer practice and to hell with everyone else on the road. Better the other family should end up with the serious injuries.

Oh, and FYI, the Subaru Outback has a better crash safety rating than all the SUV's, plus it's a station wagon, not a truck.

Why a Chicken Will Cross the Road But a Rooster Never Will

Did you ever notice how two guys who are familiar with each other will see each other at, say, the Wawa? Yet neither one will acknowledge the other's existence. They silently prepare their respective coffees, eyeing each other, waiting for the other to show the first glimmer of recognition.
It will take some random act, such as physically bumping into each other in the cashier's line for them to even say "Hey."
"Oh hey, I thought I recognized you."
"Oh, sorry man, I didn't even see you. How's it going?"

The other day, after returning from a jog with Tammy at the Cabin, I noticed my neighbor across the street chopping wood. Since I was new to the area we had not yet met. For ten agonizing minutes (agonizing to Tammy, not me), I debated whether or not I should physically cross the street to go meet him. I don't want to have to make small talk I reasoned. He is probably not interested in knowing me, and besides isn't it his obligation to welcome me to the neighborhood?
"Are you for real?" responded Tammy. Just go over and say hi. So with a herculean effort, and my tail, if I had one, between my legs, I subserviently sauntered over and introduced myself and Tammy.

Well, we of course immediately became friends and in the short time we have owned the cabin I feel like we have been neighbors and friends for twenty years. He, however, told me an interesting story that day which grandly illustrates my point and even more satisfyingly, showed Tammy that my behavior is indeed evolutionarily predetermined.
It seems our other next door neighbor (who was also new to the street, yet had never made that trip across the road), put his trash out for the township to collect. Our new friend noticed this yet did not tell him that there is no municipal trash collection because who is he to get involved in another guy's business especially one whom he did not know, and besides, the guy never asked. The trash sat there for a week he told us! We laughed at the story because I know our new friend would do absolutely anything to help us feel comfortable in our new home.

A man will never cross into the boundary of another man unless invited to do so. It may sometimes take a mighty effort to be the first to extend a hand but like in my case, it is almost always certainly worth it.

The Greatest Generation

My Dad was going through his "things" recently (in preparation for his journey on the River Styx perhaps, since as Mark Twain said, "Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company") and he came across some of my old writings. " Why don't you start writing again", he cajoled me in his complimentary yet somehow captious tone. So I did. And silly me, in my excitement, I phoned him to tell him the good news. "Dad", I delightedly informed him, "you know how you said I should start writing again? Well, I started a blog".
"A what?"
"You know, an online diary of my thoughts, activities and innermost musings".
"What do you mean online? Mail it to me".
"No Dad, the point is to share one's thoughts with the world at large. Besides, I am going paperless".
"Oh I hate going on the computer. Hit print and mail it to me, postage due if that is the issue".
"Well, Dad, that kind of defeats the whole purpose of the blog. Have Mom pull it up for you".
"Read it to me then over the phone, Twitter, blogs, I don't get the whole thing. I don't want to get involved in something at this point in my life that I won't be able to master. I can barely read the screen. Besides, you should be worried about making my life easier at this point".
True, and therefore in the spirit of accessibility for all, I read it to him over the phone.
"I don't get it".
"Blogs are supposed to be glib yet insightful, Dad".
Well maybe it needs a little work. Fix it and get back to me".
Right.

Mount Tremper Hike

I am going to ease you into my mind gradually. This blog will start off with the usual fluff pieces about my adventures and travels. How much I learn from the people I meet and the places I see. How each adventure increases my love for humanity and the world it inhabits. How I crave to share my transformative experiences with you. Sure, you'll think, "How does he have the energy? His mind is so nimble. What a renaissance man." But then slowly, not by next week's postings, maybe not by next month's postings, but maybe in a couple of months, a little worm of unease will begin to wriggle around inside your skull. Your life's moorings will begin to weaken. The principles which have formed your core beliefs may not seem so principled or even self-evident. You may find yourself wondering how could your whole life up until now have been lived in such ignoble insouciance?

But I digress. This weekend Tammy and I went on a winter hike up to the fire tower on Mt Tremper near our beloved cabin in the Catskills. It was awesome.

We did not see another outdoor enthusiast until we had almost attained our goal. Did I mention our newly confronted fellow hiker was wearing nothing but cotton? Cotton sweat pants, cotton sweatshirt, I assume cotton under garments, and to top it all off a cotton baseball hat with requisite official holographic logo sticker of Major League Baseball. It was all I could do to wheeze out a jovial "good afternoon". In his defense, if a pick up game of softball were to break out at the summit of Mt Tremper in the 25 degree weather he most assuredly would have been better prepared than I. At least the sun, I am sure, would not be in his eyes, as he lay hypothermic and comatose awaiting the rescue helicopter from Kingston General. " It was just a short hike", he will say while contesting the $10,000 bill for the emergency response team assembled in his behalf. "I could practically hear the traffic on Route 28 the whole time", he will protest.

Of course that didn't happen because it was just an insignificant hike up a minor hill in perfect weather conditions. But what if......

Sorry. Did I say I was going to ease you in slowly? My bad.