We are finally seeing spring in the Adirondacks. When my son and I went for a hike today the temperature was sneaking past 70 degrees and the sky was bright blue. We followed a short trail into a pond, then sat at the edge and watched tadpoles and baby fish play in the water.
My son is starting to experiment with creative writing, and is often trying to imagine settings for his made-up stories. While we sat by the water, I suggested he try noticing as much as he could about the place where we were, to get an idea of the details that make a setting imaginable for others. So we sat, and we looked, and we listened. We even smelled and felt.
How often do we get lost in our thoughts and overlook all the small details of where we are? How much do we miss? What would life be like if we took the time to stop and notice? What if we were truly awake to every moment?
Sitting by the edge of the pond, we woke up. We watched the water ripple in the breeze. We saw the bigger ripples left by surfacing fish and the v's left by water bugs skating by. We watched the light dance in the leaves of the trees. We saw birds and clouds above and below, reflections in the water. We took in the frayed edges of tiny leaves just uncurling from their buds.
We heard the songs of birds, some melodious, some chattering. We heard the muffled voices of two fishermen floating in canoes across the pond. We heard the splash when a fish jumped.
We felt the warmth of the sun and the cool of the breeze. I smelled pine and decaying leaves. My son smelled my deodorant. (I suppose that could have been worse.)
I struggle to meditate with my eyes closed, focusing on my breath. My mind wanders. But out there by the pond, open-eyed, I found the calm awareness that I look for on my meditation cushion. My meditation is to become fully awake, in the outdoors.
My son and I started hiking two weeks ago. I used to post our hikes on this blog, but we are the new "hiking with kids" bloggers on the Schroon Lake Region site and we're putting our trip reports there from now on. You can follow our trip reports on our blog page.
During our hikes we have encountered snow, herons, frogs and, of course, mud. It's great to be outside, though. And it's great to see spring returning to the Adirondacks.
This morning I woke my nine year old at 5:00 a.m. for a sunrise hike to a pond near our home. We didn't actually get to see the sun rise due to an overabundance of clouds, it was cold and the pond was still frozen, but we enjoyed our first hike of 2013 anyway. It was as much an acknowledgement of my own return to wellness as it was a celebration of the start of mud season in the Adirondacks.
My husband is not a morning person. When I announced our planned hike, he noted that my idea of wellness is someone else's idea of insanity. This had me thinking that it is impossible to define wellness in a broad sense. We each have to define wellness in our own terms, and we only can by knowing our own bodies, minds and spirits.
This is very evident whenever I get together with the Bona Fide Butterflies, who include myself and my two friends and partners Annie Gregson and Beti Spangel. Together we facilitate empowering retreats and workshops for women. We strive to help women design and live authentic, inspired lives based on their individual values.
Individual values - that's the key. Society likes to tell us what to value. Media gets paid to tell us what to value. But it's our individual values, the ones that come from the heart, that make us unique, that keep everyone from being the same and living the same life according to the same plan. It's our individual values that make human existence diverse, colorful and fun.
The BFBs
Annie and Beti are incredible women living joyful lives of their own design. Neither one of them is likely to start training for a marathon. Neither one wants to teach yoga, although they enjoy their own yoga practices. Annie, a life coach, also makes incredible art. She has lots of time in her life for long walks in the woods with her dog, and she throws fun, seemingly spontaneous parties. Beti has horses and chickens on her homestead, and she makes yummy cheese. She can drive a tractor. She's also an awesome writer.
Our differences are what we have in common. All three of us have taken the time to figure out what's important to us and we've created lives that honor those things. Unique, diverse, authentic lives. Our own definitions of wellness.
The other thing we have in common is a road in Schroon Lake, where we're neighbors in the "I'll drive a few miles up the road to your house" sense of the word. I think fate had something to do with that.
I saw an Adirondack black bear for the first time a couple of weeks ago. In the western Adirondacks, on the way home from my daughter's college, it ran across the road in front of our car. Luckily there was plenty of space between the car and the bear and he (or she) got safely across. Watching the bear run, one thing came to mind - I will never, ever be able to outrun a bear.
According to this article in the Adirondack Daily Enterprise, and some wildlife experts I know, the dry weather has lessened the bears' usual food supply and they are spending more time around people, looking for a tasty morsel in garbage cans, picnic baskets and even camping trailers. A few miles up the road, a woman had to chase a bear out of her car after she opened the car door then went back into her house for something she'd forgotten. I'm sure the stories will get wilder as the bears try to bulk up before winter hibernation.
I have a wonderful divination deck called Medicine Cards: The Discovery of Power Through the Ways of Animals. The creators, Jamie Sams and David Carson, based the cards on the concept of medicine in the Native American way. Each card in the deck is a different animal and the accompanying book gives a lovely explanation of the animal's particular medicine and what it might mean when you pull that card. Whenever I encounter an animal for the first time, I make a point to read about it's medicine.
After the bear ran across the road, I discovered that bear's medicine, not surprisingly, is introspection. Hibernating in a cave during winter is a common metaphor for deep inner work and meditation. What's interesting is how much I've been drawn to that very thing lately.
This morning I drew a card and there was bear again, reminding me I need to spend more time looking inward if I want to achieve my hopes and dreams. I suspect more bears will be showing up in my life until I complete the necessary inner-looking. I only hope they stay out of my garbage.
Although my son tries to convince me every week that sleeping in would be better than hiking, we've seen the tops of a good number of mountains this summer. We're not done, but, since I haven't posted any pictures yet, I thought I'd share some highlights.
Near the summit of Pharaoh Mt. in Schroon Lake with my niece
Exploring the trails after a storm at the Adirondack Interpretive Center in Newcomb
Treating a friend to the views on top of Baxter Mt.
Standing on the top of Bald Peak in New Russia
Looking up at the fire tower on Goodnow Mt.
Looking out at the High Peaks from Rooster Comb Mt.
Since the unseasonably high temperatures are probably the first sign that the Mayans were right and the human race is doomed in December, I figured I'd better take advantage of the time I have left and not let a beautiful day go by without getting outside. When my husband saw me pull out my hiking boots, he took a vacation day to join me.
Mount Severance happens to be just a few minutes down the road from our house and is a great first hike of the season. It's short, not even 2 miles round trip, but just steep enough to wake up our legs after a winter's rest. And the views from the summit are outstanding.
We watched the ice melting on Schroon Lake
I enjoy hiking mid-week because we often have the trails to ourselves. We were on our own at the summit until two gentlemen came over the crest. The elder looked like he was wearing his "Sunday drive" clothes and I wondered if his wife would scold him for getting mud on his shoes. (While the mud wasn't too bad due to the lack of snow this winter, there was still a number of squishy spots.) The younger snapped a few pictures, then they disappeared back down the mountain and we were left to eat lunch in peace.
Mountaintops are perfect places to journal
And it was peaceful. Other than the hum of trucks going by on Route 87 below, there was nothing but the birds singing and the shutter clicking on my husband's camera as he captured the view. The breeze carried the smell of pine.
When I get to mountaintops, I never want to leave. When the mountain is serene and the sky is a perfect blue, the sun is warm with just enough breeze to keep it comfortable, and it's too early in the season for bugs except a few happy butterflies, I need to be dragged back down, kicking and screaming. (That is a bit of an exaggeration, but I really didn't want to leave.)
The last of the snowmelt running downhill made the stream very pretty
My husband and I wandered down the back side of the mountain for a bit, delaying our descent. When we returned to the summit we discovered we were again not alone, but this time one of the trio which had arrived was a friend of ours. It would have been nice to stay and chat, but we did have to beat the school bus home.
Being married to an amateur photographer requires patience
It's been a tough month, preparing for a busier spring and summer at the yoga studio and launching the Bona Fide Butterflies, and I needed an adventure. And, judging from how heavy my legs felt, my body needed a hike. The mountaintop breathed new life into me and I'm ready to get back to the work at hand.
I'm grateful to Mother Nature for a beautiful Wednesday, even if it's the calm before the apocalypse. I hope She lets me summit a few more High Peaks before she wipes us out. Or, better yet, She gives us another chance.
Welcome to my ninth reverb11 post, where Michelle at Yoga Freedom asks "How resourceful were you in 2011? What new ways could you incorporate resourcefulness into 2012?" But wait, there's more! If you keep reading you'll find an unbelievable cat and yogini video. But that's not all. There's also a recipe for an old school backpacking snack that's become my post-workout recovery favorite. So, read on...
Resourcefulness may be a requirement for living in the Adirondacks. Our growing season is two months long. Winter seems to take up the other ten months. It gets cold (really cold) in the middle of those ten months. There aren't many businesses, so folks need to come up with jobs for themselves. Those of us who don't know how to drive a snowplow have to be very resourceful.
My husband is a master of creatively overcoming difficulties. It seems that almost anything can be fixed if you have enough wire coat hangers and duct tape. Resourcefulness doesn't come as naturally to me, but I'm learning.
Money was tight during 2011 and household cleaning supplies were eating into the food budget, so I set out to find homemade replacements. I no longer buy sponges because I knitted a good supply of dishclothes and scrubbies. I've replaced brand-name window cleaner with a combination of white vinegar, cornstarch and water and replaced paper towels with clean rags. My mirrors have never looked better.
During 2012 I plan to look for new ways to use what I already have. I also intend to expand my vegetable garden and make better use of what I grow.
And come up with a really creative way to get a road bike with more than 10 speeds. (Just thought I'd put that out there in case someone has an idea.)
* * * * *
I first saw this video on YogaDork's Facebook page. Watch it, then I'll tell you what happened after I watched it.
Wow, right? I have to admit that the first time that I watched it I focused on the cat, wondering how she made it through a whole Sun Salutation without stopping to remove the cat's claws from the skin on her backside. Because that's where my cats sharp little claws would have been, especially when I started to stand up.
There was something that made me watch it again, and the next time, instead of watching the cat, I watched the yogini. I liked the way she moved through Surya Namaskar, taking her time, coming fully into each asana before moving on. And I started to wonder if I had a different cat (one that was a little calmer and perhaps fully declawed*) if I could keep the cat on my back.
Since seeing the video I have been practicing slow, deliberate Sun Salutations, as if there was a cat on my back. I set the intention to make each movement fluid, without any jerky shifts in weight. I discovered that I could move smoothly from lunge to down dog if I lifted my front foot off the floor before I shifted my weight back and raised my hips. I found I could bend deeper into cobra or upward-facing dog if I moved from the heart. I experienced my deepest forward bend when I lifted my tailbone and brought my weight forward slowly, all to keep the imaginary clawless cat from sliding off.
Yes, a cat video changed my yoga practice. Now where's that Yoga Bear?
* I'm joking here. I would not actually have a cat declawed.
* * * * *
Back to being resourceful. As much as I'd like to buy Luna bars by the case, they are beyond what I can afford on a regular basis. After a workout, when I need a quick hit of protein and calories to help me recover, I've been snacking on an adaptation of a recipe in an old Sierra Club book called Simple Foods for the Pack. The recipe, called "Peanut Butter Fudge," was meant to be eaten to refuel while hiking. I changed the recipe to use up a giant jar of vanilla protein powder that someone gave me because they didn't like it and discovered my new power food.
1 cup peanut butter (you can use crunchy peanut butter and omit the additional peanuts)
1/2 cup of your favorite protein powder (the original recipe calls for powdered milk which you can also use if you have it)
1/2 cup raisins
1/4 cup chopped peanuts
1/4 cup sesame seeds
1/8 cup wheat germ
1/8 cup honey
Mix all the ingredients together until they are thoroughly combined. It works best if you use your hands.
I press the mix into a square lidded container and break off pieces as needed, but you could also cut it into squares and wrap them individually.
My teenager loves this stuff, but she keeps hinting that chocolate would be a good addition. If you are really fond of chocolate and peanut butter you could use a chocolate-flavored protein powder or add in some chocolate chips. It would make my teenager happy if you did.
Wandering can be good for the over-focused creative. How did you wander well this year?
Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come.
Today's reverb11 question wandered around my head all day. Wandering, like Rumi calls for in my favorite quote, is my heart's truest desire. To leave my calendar and my to-do list behind and go off on an adventure, even a small one, appeals to me. I am not a world-traveler. I have no desire to sit in an airplane seat. I just want to walk away into the woods with a backpack and a journal.
Did I wander this year? Every Wednesday this summer my young son and I put our journals in our backpacks and hiked up a mountain. Step by step we explored the Adirondacks. Each week's journey changed us and our parent-child relationship. He started third grade a more confident kid, proud of his summer accomplishments. We had long talks on the trail and he still talks to me now, telling me about school and third grade girls and books he's read.
I vowed to continue hiking in the fall, but the start of the school year always seems to dampen the desire to wander. School days require a more domestic focus; clean clothes, lunches and homework take up time. But the trails will be there when I wish to wander again. Come, yet again, come.
Someday I would like to try the ultimate wander on the East Coast - the Appalachian Trail. Now that would be wandering well.
If there is one thing people in upstate New York and Vermont didn't want to see right now, it's a flash flood warning. But that's what we have as some thunderstorms with heavy rain threaten our already soaked area.
Hurricane Irene might have been downgraded to a tropical storm when she blew through the Adirondacks, but that didn't stop her from doing serious damage to some of my favorite places. Keene and Keene Valley, where my son and I have spent almost every Wednesday this summer as we explored the surrounding mountains, were under water after the Ausable River jumped its banks and flooded the towns. (Check out the eyewitness video below to see some of the flooding.)
The tiny town of New Russia lost a number of homes to the Boquet River. Route 73, part of the Lake Placid Ironman bike route, was washed out in places and some of the bridges have been compromised.
We were lucky in our town, just some trees down and power outages. But our lake is fed by a river and the lake has risen to spring thaw levels. We had our own historic flooding here at the end of April and we are watching the lake level nervously.
Flash floods would not be welcome.
Looking at the pictures, I can't help but be amazed that water, so necessary for life, can create so much destruction. I am reminded that nature's elements cannot be controlled, nor should they be taken for granted. Humankind tries too hard to overcome nature rather than accept its role as part of it, and that is a dangerous thing sometimes.
Water is associated with the second Chakra, the energetic center of our emotions. We can be calm like a still mountain lake, but we can also rage like floodwaters. Even the most peaceful among us have the capacity for an emotional outburst, under the right circumstances.
We might even use the F-word (which is, of course, flood).
Schroon Lake is a wide part of the Schroon River, which snakes through a valley in the Adirondack mountains. One of the things I love about living here is the view of the mountains all around. I like to be in the midst of the solidness and stability of the mountains, where I feel safe and grounded.
While looking up at the mountains is grounding, looking out from their tops is breathtaking. If you've read my Wednesday Adventures post, you know that my son and I have been heading to the mountaintops every Wednesday when the yoga studio is closed. Each week we have taken more challenging hikes onto taller peaks. We visited the fire tower on top of Hurricane Mountain, explored the balanced rocks on Pitchoff and, last week, sat at the top of Noonmark looking out at most of the 46 High Peaks. The longing to visit the hiker's Mecca in the Adirondacks was too much.
We started with the smallest and easiest of the 46, Cascade Mountain. "Smallest" and "easiest" are, of course, relative terms as even the runt is over 4,000 feet. The hike up is fairly benign; the trail is so well worn and packed down that parts seem like sidewalk. The rocky bits are almost stairs. It was not until we neared the bald summit that the climb got challenging, but scrambling up the dome wasn't as hard as standing up in the wind once on the top.
Completely open, the summit is exposed to the wind from any direction and yesterday was a breezy day. At the summit the wind was strong and steady and worked hard to knock over anyone who got to their feet. We love to eat our lunch on the summits, but yesterday we had to retreat down the mountain a bit to find a sheltered spot where we could hang onto our food.
A short way from the top is a col between Cascade and Porter Mountain, its closest High Peak neighbor. Less than a mile was too easy to pass up, so we found Porter's summit yesterday as well. And now we have two High Peaks under our belts.
I find immense pleasure in sitting on top of a mountain, no matter how big, looking out at the beauty of nature and the sometimes less than beautiful human creations below. Being closer to the sky makes me feel closer to the source of inspiration and power. But the greatest joy from this summer's hikes has come from watching my now eight-year-old son gain strength and confidence as he tackled each peak. He has a knack for following even poorly marked trails and scales boulders so easily that more than one person we've met on the trail has likened him to a mountain goat. We have had some amazing conversations on the trail, his input varying from the kind of robot he'd like to build to questioning why there are so many songs about women. (Try explaining that to an eight-year-old while trying not to trip over a stone.)
And, after all the maturity and confidence he shows on the mountain, he still reaches for my hand when we step off the trail and onto the roadside. And then this mom is on top of the world.
Wednesday is my day off. The yoga studio is closed, so I have the whole day free. For months, I have been treating Wednesday as the day to do housework and run errands, but during a meltdown a couple of months ago I realized that I was desperately in need of some time to play.
So I sat down with my day planner, spread my chores throughout the rest of the week and, erasing everything else, wrote "fly and be free" on each Wednesday. Then I started thinking about the things I've been meaning to do, and the things my kids have been asking to do, and started to plan some Wednesday adventures.
My 7-year-old son got excited about hiking after reaching the summit of Mount Jo, a fun little mountain which rises above Heart Lake in the midst of the High Peaks. His second grade teacher took the class to the top for their year-end trip. When school finished we went through the guide books for another easy hike and, the following Wednesday, headed up Owls Head, just north of Keene.
The next week, we explored Mount Gilligan, in New Russia. While still a short hike, Mount Gilligan has lots of rock scrambles that were fun for an active 7-year-old. We've been calling it our "secret mountain" because we were the only ones there.
Inspired to try something bigger, today we tried the Crow Mountains in Keene. The guidebook promised a short but steep hike. It certainly was steep and much more challenging than our previous hikes, but, thanks to unclear directions to the trailhead, it was not short. The mountain trail itself took precisely the amount of time predicted by the guide, but the walks down the road to find the trailhead and to find the car again when we came back by a different trail added time and miles.
It was worth the extra effort. The view of the High Peaks from the summit of Big Crow is spectacular. Had we not lost so much time looking for the trailhead I would have lingered much longer.
For my next Wednesday Adventure I will be chaperoning at Cub Scout Day Camp. While it's not my first choice of adventures, my son won't be little much longer, so any time with him is good. Who knows what a pack of Cub Scouts might teach me?
Image via WikipediaWhat was supposed to have been mostly rain with some accumulating snow overnight turned into the biggest snow storm of the year. Yesterday morning's rain turned to snow at 1:00 pm and it hasn't stopped coming down yet. The wind has blown the 18 or more inches of snow into big drifts. That groundhog from Pennsylvania doesn't know anything about North Country winters. When Punxsutawney Phil wasn't seeing his shadow, our groundhogs were still fast asleep in their burrows. Winter never leaves here early.
The county declared a state of emergency, the schools closed, and I was forced to cancel today's yoga classes. It's a snow day - a day to stay home, goof off, drink hot chocolate and play in the snow. Or is it?
One thing I've learned about running my own business is there's always something to do. More often than not, there's more to do than there is time to do it. I struggle to find the proper balance between doing too much and neglecting the rest of my life, and doing too little and letting undone work pile up.
While in yoga teacher training I wrote a paper on the yogic concept of Sadhana. Sadhana is a systemized spiritual practice with the goal of attaining some level of spiritual realization. It is choosing something to practice, doing it regularly, and finding enlightenment, or receiving insight, or doing a handstand. Directly translated, Sadhana means "discipline."
The difference between doing something every day and Sadhana is the intention. Without an aspiration, a goal, what you do regularly is just part of a routine, like brushing your teeth every morning. It is the difference between showing up at work every day because if you sit there for eight hours you'll get paid and working hard for little money because if your research succeeds the alternative fuel source you develop will save the world from global warming. It is the difference between hopping on your yoga mat when you feel like doing yoga and rolling out your mat every day, at the same time, and practicing every asana on your list for a month, or a year, or five years.
Life in an ashram revolves around Sadhana. Ashram-dwellers have the same schedule every day, practicing over and over until they get to some higher spiritual place. They are totally committed to their aspirations and put the rest of life aside until they reach their goals.
Ashrams don't have snow days.
Most of us haven't renounced the rest of our lives for our Sadhana. We are what the yogis call "householders" - the people who go to work, raise families, cook, clean, wash laundry and, some days, shovel snow in addition to their yoga practice. I am lucky because teaching yoga classes is part of my practice of yoga, but there is plenty about running a yoga studio that isn't. Working Sadhana into an already busy life takes a great deal of, well, discipline.
My twitter and blogger friend Kelly is one of the most disciplined triathletes I know. She is a wife, a mom to a child with special needs, a musician, a teacher, and trains consistently and passionately for her races. Each week she blogs her training numbers and reminds me that I am supposed to be getting on the treadmill myself. Yesterday, her blog entry was less about training and more about some family struggles she faced that required her to skip some of that training. It reminded me that sometimes I have to let the balls of Sadhana drop so I can hug my kid. That's what it means to be a householder.
So what do I do with this snow day? Should I be disciplined and declare a work day, because that's what I would be doing if it hadn't snowed? Or do a take advantage of the unexpected time at home with my family and make some hot chocolate?
As of now, my plan is for alittle of both. With an extra hug or two thrown in.
Side note: I have just completed the first week of triathlon training during which I completed every workout I was supposed to since my race season ended last September. After recovering from last fall's knee injury it was difficult to get going again, and I am paying for my lack of consistency by running very, very slowly. I'm glad I have six months before the Big George half-iron distance triathlon.
Thanks to the #365yoga crowd on twitter, my home asana and meditation practice has gotten much more consistent. There is a snippet of ashram-life on twitter - community. It's much easier to be disciplined in a group.
This morning, while my family was having a snow day sleep-in, I road my bike on the trainer in the basement and did my yoga and meditation practice. Sadhana was not completely lost in the snow drifts.
Image via Wikipediaand lots of it is unsafe to drink.
October 15th is change.org's Blog Action Day. On this day bloggers around the world are asked to post about the same issue. This year it's water.
Living by the side of a beautiful lake in the Adirondack mountains, where melting snow keeps the rivers running, you might think that clean water isn't an issue I'd be concerned about. You'd be wrong.
Adirondack Park, the 6 million acre area of public and private land in New York State which was meant to be preserved wilderness, is suffering some of the worst damage in America from acid rain. Almost 25% of our lakes are "dead," no longer able to support the aquatic plants and animals that once thrived. Sadly, most of the acid pollution comes from outside of New York State, carried on air currents from Midwestern power plants, so New Yorkers are forced to rely on the inadequate Federal Clean Air Act for relief. Other pollution comes from the north, outside of the United States and even Federal jurisdiction. Our lakes are sitting ducks, so to speak.
Mercury is accumulating in our lakes as well, turning the remaining fish into toxic food. Run-off from chemical fertilizers and road salt also affects the lakes, creating smaller versions of the Gulf algae blooms. Invasive plants and animals, carried from lake to lake on unwashed boats, kayaks, wetsuits (yes, triathletes, your wetsuits), etc. choke out the natives and further upset already precariously balanced eco-systems.
There was a time when we could drink the lake water, fish were plentiful and no one got "swimmers' itch." That time has passed. Schroon Lake still tests okay, but we may be fighting an uphill battle.
Schroon Lake has a very active lake association fighting the battle. Members volunteer their time to collect water samples, look for patches of invasives like Eurasian Milfoil and inspect boats at launch ramps. I'd like to say we were winning, but really we are just not losing, yet.
Clean water is a huge problem worldwide, and I'm sure many blog posts will cover the unsanitary conditions in developing countries. There are many charities you can support to help. But after you send your donation, take a moment to think about the seemingly plentiful water that flows out of your faucets and what would happen if it was suddenly gone.
We can't live without water. If you've got clean water, protect it. Fight for cleaner power, organic farming and ecosystem restoration, before none of our water is safe to drink.
Now that the holidays are behind us, I'm settling into my first Adirondack winter. I love how the snow stays crisp and white instead of turning to slush. Sometimes, when the light is right, I feel as if I've stepped into an Ansel Adams photograph.
During the past week, it seems that everyone has slowed down. More people are coming to yoga, and I'm happy to have them. I've shifted the focus of my classes to make them more meditative, taking advantage of our natural inclination to come inside when it's dark and cold.
I've slowed down as well. I'm still working on unpacking, but at a less furious pace. Last week we started hanging pictures, and my daughter's room has been repainted a beautiful turquoise hew. My houseplants have all found homes, the light-lovers enjoying the bay window in the dining room. I've found all my shoes, my sewing box and my yoga books. It's starting to feel like home.
There is quiet time now. There is time for a puzzle with lots of tiny pieces. There is time to knit a hat for a yoga student's first granddaughter. There is time to read and write in my journal. There is time to just be.
Of course, winter isn't all about being inside. There is fun to be had in the snow. The sleds have carried us downhill. We've skated on the frozen lake. The snowmobiles have been freed from their trailer and have taken up residence under our deck when we aren't riding them on the trails. Our newly acquired snowshoes are ready for a test.
Since we are close to Lake Placid, we can also be spectators of a variety of winter sports. This morning we watched some NASCAR drivers pilot bobsleds on the Olympic bobsled run. The event got started late, and we speculated that the southern boys had to be dragged kicking and screaming out into the cold. I suspect it's a tad bit warmer in Daytona.
During the 1950s, the shores of Schroon Lake, NY were graced by world-class resorts, including the Leland House, the Ondawa and the Edgewater, on whose land my parents' house now sits. Perhaps the most spectacular and well-known resort was Scaroon Manor. The 327-acre site in South Schroon featured a golf course, tennis courts, a beautiful shoreline and an amphitheater. The 1957 film Marjorie Morningstar, starring Gene Kelly and Natalie Wood, was filmed at Scaroon Manor. During the filming Schroon Lake was enjoyed by the cast and crew, and especially by Robert Wagner, who was there only to advance the romance between himself and Miss Wood and had many idle hours while she was on the set. Less than a decade after the movie was made, after a couple of unprofitable seasons in the hands of new owners, the hotel's land was sold to New York State.
The once elegant buildings were demolished and, for many years, the land was left idle. The golf course is now designated wetlands and nature has long since reclaimed the tennis courts. All that is left of the grand hotel is the stone shell of the amphitheater. For almost 50 years the site was open to the public, or at least anyone who was willing to boat around the remains of the concrete docks to reach the beach, or make their way through the brambles from the road.
Trips to "Marjorie Morningstar", as we called the place, are part of my memories of summer vacations at Schroon Lake. We would beach the boat and scramble up what was left of the paths in search of blackberries, which grew wild. We would climb onto the remains of the amphitheater and dance and sing for the adults. For us kids, that amphitheater was a magical place, as if the spirit of Natalie Wood was still there, inspiring even the shyest among us to perform.
Recently, the state has decided to use the land, and has gotten busy clearing pathways, paving parking lots, and building picnic shelters and restrooms. The state also constructed a little building near the entrance, where employees can sit and collect money for day-use fees. Still under construction are additional facilities and campsites. I've heard that the state plans to open Scaroon Manor for camping, to replace campsites lost at the soon-to-be-closed Eagle Point Campground, where overuse has led to serious erosion and loss of vegetation.
Thanks to the state, boating in with the kids to let them run and explore like we did has become expensive. (Someone is watching the new boat docks to collect those fees.) During the summer, all we can do is look at the beach from the water as we go by. At the end of the season, however, the state workers pack up and go home, and the locals park outside the locked gate and walk in.
Today we took the dogs and walked the old hotel grounds. My son performed in the amphitheater, which still has it's magic. On a quiet path we let the dogs off their leashes and they took off running - into the lake, down the path, into the creek, up the path again and back into the creek. They enjoyed their own little piece of doggie heaven, oblivious to how cold the water must have been. The dogs were so happy that they forgot how badly they usually listen. They came when we called them, sat still as we put their leashes back on, and walked like well-trained show dogs back to the car. (I wonder if Natalie Wood had a dog.)
Scaroon Manor park is a nice place for a short walk every now and then, although I miss the untended ruins from my childhood memories. The blackberries are gone; their thorny vines were probably deemed unsafe. The paths are a bit too groomed and there is too much pavement to really satisfy my desire to explore the wilds of the Adirondacks. The brown vinyl-sided restrooms can't replace the resort that once flourished on the shore, but perhaps the state will restore the amphitheater one day, keeping the spirit of Marjorie Morningstar alive to inspire another generation.
It was a beautiful November day, 48 degrees and mostly sunny. The kids were off from school for Veterans Day, and the county offices were closed so my husband had the day off as well. I don't have any yoga classes on Wednesdays, so I was free. We had to take advantage of this day.
After sleeping in a bit, we stuffed lunch into a day pack and drove to Putnam Pond in Ticonderoga, NY. We hiked around the south end of Putnam Pond, then picked up the trail to Treadway Mountain.
Hiking in the Adirondacks in the fall is magnificent, but not without its challenges. The trails are blanketed with brown leaves. Green moss and the occasional fern provide contrast, and the scene is highlighted here and there with white curls of birch bark. The leafless trees no longer block the sun, and it streamed down to sparkle off the quartz embedded in Treadway's rocks. The trails are quiet and there are no bugs. The trails were damp and even squishy in places, however, and the leaf cover makes it hard to see the rocks and mud, so we had to take it slow at times.
Of course, when you're hiking with a six year old, you're always taking it slow. We had been hiking almost 3 hours when we reached the last knoll before Treadway's summit. The guidebook estimated the total hike at 2 1/2 hours, but the writers of the guidebook must not have tried it with a first grader. He never stopped and he tried hard to keep up, but his legs are short and he just can't go as fast. The guidebook said the last bit to the summit should take 15 minutes, but we knew it would be longer than that and we wanted to be down before dark, so we decided it was enough for today and satisfied ourselves with looking at the summit while we ate our lunch.
Next spring there will be pictures from the top.
We were pleasantly surprised by this trail. The terrain changes from soft forest floor to almost solid rock as you near the top. There was even a five-foot rock wall to scramble up. Cairns marked the trail over the rocky bits, and my son amused himself by adding a pebble to each one. The hike took us past Mud Pond, which was not muddy but actually crystal clear and as smooth as glass. The quartz top is fantastic, and the views were great even though we didn't reach the summit.
During our hike, we caught glimpses of the rarely seen teenagera surlyous (commonly known as the American teenager). This solitary creature roams the trails, usually just out of sight. The only way to get a good look at one is to leave food out. The teenagera surlyous can't resist a meal and may risk being seen for a cheese sandwich. This species does not seem to get a properly insulating winter coat until the temperature is well below freezing, perhaps due to a genetic deficiency, therefore if may be possible to tell if one is near by listening for muttering about the cold. The impatient animal might also be spotted pacing near a locked car, especially if there is no cell service. (We thought this species was native to the Northeastern U.S., but we've since heard they've been spotted across the continent.)
Each time we go out, I am impressed with my son's ability to navigate the trails. He spots trail markers, and at junctions remembers which color marker to follow next. He took a couple of spills, and got "kissed" by the rock when we climbed down a ledge, but he never stopped smiling. I feel blessed to share these experiences with him.
Every now and then my son would slip a cool hand into mine and walk with me. I know that he will soon outgrow holding mom's hand, and in a few years he will probably only reach for my hand to help me up. I treasure these moments now and will gladly walk slowly along the trails with my baby, even if someone is already pacing by the car.
We made it down just as the sun was setting spectacularly behind the mountains.
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