Momomama
My predecessor left a plant in my office (two, actually, but only one matters right now.) In the months that I have been here, this plant has been reaching out to me. In another week we will have made contact. I could do something, but it just seems so happy to see me.
On Saturday afternoon I took a drive. Friday was warm and overcast and Saturday was cooler and grayer. But the warm weather had melted a lot of the ice in the river and it was churning, cafe au lait color, its way north. The falls were almost flattened, the water was so high. I took a road I've never taken before, and ended up on the other side of one of the mountain ranges. In upstate new York little towns aren't like towns at all. They can be just a collection of houses along the road. There aren't commons or twon squares and most are not at all quaint. And on gray days, a lot of these little places look haunted - everything looking shabby and abandoned. It doesn't help that the overwhelming architectural theme is patchwork. People seem to build their houses a room at time - adding on makeshift additions until they can afford to do better. Our house in no exception. When the whether is warm and sunny this thrown togetherness can look cheerful, optimistic. We believe better times are coming, we make our houses believe it with these temporary fixes. But under low clouds and when the whole world is muddy and brown, what was meant to be temporary has a look of permanent sadness.
Finally. I saw a Robin. Bob bob bobbing along.
Oh yes. I did just type that.
Two words: Cabin Fever.
In the middle of the night I became convinced my house was about to burn down. I was awake before the smoke detector went off. I can usually sleep through anything, but there must be some switch that gets turned on in your brain when the house you live in is your own and not someone else's responsibility. That's how Bill wakes when the pipes freeze. I always wondered. It was just the wind and the wood stove, coughing smoke into the kitchen. I flapped my hands in front of the screaming plastic detector. Shutupshutupshutup. My dog is no Lassie - he either didn't smell the smoke or did not care if I died in my bed. Probably because he's not allowed in it. I made the noide stop but then lay stock still for an hour, trying to hear the popping of the stove over the sound of the blowers from the furnace. We make heat in so many ways at the Bunkhouse. I dreamed of an avalanche, but it was just the wind slapping against the wood siding.
I just paid off my credit card. Some of the charges had been on there since 1995. I feel cleansed. And not really a whole lot broke, since it was all my vacation time from the SLC that made it possible.
When I got up this morining at 6:30, it was 9 degrees outside my kitchen window. NINE! And it is officially spring. I had a great time at the sugar shack this weekend. Cornell has all this high tech equipment - a far cry from the old man with the fire and the tin evaporating pan. Later on Saturday, Mo and I took a long (seven mile) walk to observe the signs of spring. There weren't any. It started to sleet on the way home.
March 20th and 21st are officially
Maple Weekend in New York State. I'd like to assume that all the pancake eaters in the world know how you get maple syrup from a maple tree (other than by using fake maple flavor and corn syrup) but I fear this is not the case. In March of every year, north country maple trees start wearing sap buckets, or for a more modern spin, are linking tree to tree with a length of flexible tubing. The trees are tapped, and teh sap inside drips out into the bucket, or down the tubing, where it is collected. Once there is enough sap, it is taken to the sugar house, where it is cooked down in an evaporator to make syrup. Then it is filtered and graded. And sold to breakfast eaters.
Over Maple Weekend, 75 local sugar processers open their doors to the public, where they can see syrup being made. I've been to a sugar shack before, when I was little. My dad brought us to visit one of the old timers in his New Hampshire church while he was sugaring. It was one of the first time I THOUGHT about how food comes from it's natural state to the table.
On Saturday, I'll be visiting the
Uihlein Sugar Maple Research Center in Lake Placid, to see my local sugar shack.
I hate St. Patricks day. And yet....who will be eating corned beef and cabbage with green beer tonight? Me. I am trying to expand my horizons and opportunities for experiencing diversity up here are few and far between.
Poor Billiam had a root canal today. Suddenly, after $600 spent, he gets the importance of him being on my health insurances.
Yesterday morning Motor-Mo and I took to the woods. I got to try out my snow shoes for the second time, and he got to eat lots of snow, his favorite kind of snow being the mini snow balls he pulls out from between his toes. We hiked into the woods for three miles on a trail I have taken many times before. In the summer, it is rocky and buggy and there are fallen trees to climb over and roots for tripping. the snow evened it all out, making for smooth ups and down hills, and gentle curves. The woods were quiet except for the occasional popping for someone's gun in the distance (it is rabbit season after all.) The hike meanders past a pond and then through the hardwoods and past a swamp to the very end of Lake Placid, where another trail ascends three miles to the summit of Whiteface. Or you can just sit on the dack that extends out into the lake and eat lunch, which is what we did. In the summer, Mo swims here for hours and enjoys smelling hikers who are returning from the summit. Yesterday, though, we just slid around on the ice on the lake.
This morning is clear and sunny, with this incredibly blue sky and a sun with warmth to it. This makes even more beautiful the silver frosted trees. It got very cold last night and all the dew froze, leaving every plant sparkling with ice. I was driving down the road, thinking about how I never see a grouse, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a chicken sized bird, pulling rocks from the sand on the shoulder. Last night, a deer dared my car to hit it, but she chickened out at the last minute, leaping into the woods. When I turned the corner, green streaks of light crossed the Northern sky and every star shined brighter than I have ever seen. When I got home, Bill and I stood on the top deck, our slippered feet in the snow, and watched the smoke from the chimneys in town foat up to where the stars were falling.
Bob brought his fart machine to the Newcomer's Dinner and put it under the table next to the podium. The emcee kept stopping and looking around, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. "I hope that's a colicky baby or a sick calf," he said. The sound of flatulence was not as entertaining to me as the singing of Mary, Madge and Marilyn - who sang an old peoples version of "Favorite Things" from the Sound of Music. All the new homeowners of the past year stood up and shared something about their new lives in the area. the man sitting next to me was one of those newcomers. A retired police detective from Brooklyn, he was dressed in a jacket and tie. We chatted amiably and then he revealed that he is Vice Chair of the New York State Conservative Party and anti-choice. We sparred for a few minutes before returning to our prime rib. But he waited until he had finished eating and his plate was gone before going to the john. he commented on the cute baby across the table and then said, "Sorry, that was a low blow." It's true, seeing cute babies really bothers me. What a genius. Later he grabbed my hand and remarked how wonderful it is that we could be polar opposites and still be friends. I'm sure he'll be our first dinner party guest.
Tonight Bill and I are heading over the the Annual Newcomer's Dinner in our little town. I can't even imagine what it will be about, but our friend - you know, the one who is in charge of the dump, and building inspections and water and basically everything else - told us we HAVE to be there. Full report tomorry.
Just when it all melts, it snows again. Such is life, I guess.
I spent Sunday morning at the laundromat. Sitting next to those washers and dryers is a great way to get a peek into the lives of some of the saddest sad sacks that ever saddened. Wow. How was that family related to each other? Was Dad the Dad of the daughter or of the mother? Or both? Were they mother and daughter? Or sisters? Does the baby REALLY have the whooping cough? And what's the story with that baby? Is it two years old with an adult face or is it an adult with a two year olds body? What the hell is the attendant eating and why is she offering a bite of it to the yuppy in his Patagonia fleece and Merrell shoes? And why doesn't HE have a washer and dryer at home, if he can afford to dress so well? These questions plague me at the laundry.
The end of an exhausting first week. 90% of the time, I feel like I know nothing, and like I will never know anything, and then I have these flashes of optimism, when something makes sense and they keep me from completely losing it. I had one of those flashes today, when I was standing up infront of the local League of Women Voters and talking about our April March for Women's Lives in Washington. (Which, by the way, you should all consider
joining!) I used to be such a nervous public speaker, but now I always feel comfortable and at ease, enegizied when I am done. After that I was able to come back to the office and cross three things off my to-do list. (and my LEAST favorite to-do is making phone calls, so that really says something.)
Besides just being new job exhausted, my commute has really changed my whole day, and way of thinking about work. I drive fifty minutes each morning and evening, through farm land, past rivers, and into the mountains (or the reverse). Things I have seen so far on my commute: farmers, spruce moths, deer, ravens, crows, blue jays, school children waiting for the bus, roaming dogs and Vermont - her mountains are visible as a move toward the Lake each day. I also though I saw a buffalo, but it was just a hairy cow.
Been in town three days and already I am going to public hearings and trying to end poverty in this county. And I can't even vote yet!
Everything is melting. Two feet of snow translates to three feet of mud. Last night Mo and a tip-toed aroung the backyard by the light of the moon, trying to avoid mud puddles and his own six month old shit, which has only recently seen light of day again. My weekend plans involve a plastic bag and the trash can at the baseball field that abutts our property. Unless, of course, it snows before then.
It is nice to smell dirt, though, even if garden planting time is not until June up here.
I have arrived. Beyond that, I don;t have much to say really, other than that I am completely overwhelmed on all fronts.
