Dedicated to the ones we loved.

This sign caught my eye as we were turning a corner one day, driving home from a hike. There is something so sweet and heartbreaking about this simply etched scroll of tree bark that pays tribute "to the cherished memories of those now gone." The semi-circular garden area, complete with a miniature dog house and several stones, suggests that this personal memorial park is the resting place of someone's animal friends.

Several weeks later I was ambling through an old country cemetery. It was filled with tombstones of men and women who had lived and loved and died in the 1800s. In a far corner I found another memorial, also cut from stone and made to last. Even though the sweet memories of our animal friends are infinitely stronger than any physical representation in wood or steel or stone, seeing this little stone dog sitting faithfully in the snow tells me that once upon a time, maybe a hundred years ago, he or she was very much alive and loved and missed. Maggie's Memorial Park also shares that sentiment. Our animal friends give us something precious that lives beyond their own short lives - something that makes our time with them and beyond very rich indeed.

This past December, my boyfriend and I lost a special friend. Daisy, a beautiful husky mix with multi-colored heterochromic eyes, was John's companion for sixteen years and my friend for almost twelve. She epitomized every good quality associated with dogdom, particularly in her loyalty. Here is a one of my favorite photos and an oddity in and of itself! During the course of a year or so, a beaver couple had taken up residence in Warner Creek, damming it up to form a large pool. Daisy loved bounding into the water to greet her wild friends, who would pop up to make their presence known at her arrival. They would swim circle-eights around her…at a respectable distance, of course! I dedicate this post to Daisy. You were such a good girl. We miss you very much.

Tying the knot…or six degrees of separation in Saugerties?

I love to share oddities that can be tied to a holiday-themed post. So back in September when I spied a heart-shaped sculpture sitting atop a hill in Saugerties, I decided to file it away as a future contribution to Cupid's internet feed come February. Nonetheless, no matter when I share an oddity it's always a thrill to happen upon one, and I carried that good feeling with me as I made my way down the road to the annual Garlic Festival. Thanks to the interconnectedness of social media, my friend Andrew realized we were both attending the same garlicky-good venue. We arranged to meet up for dinner at the nearby New World restaurant - he with his charming friend Holly, and me with my sweetheart and a few friends in tow. Over appetizers, Andrew asked if I had found any oddities while in Saugerties. At that moment, a vintage bottle of coincidence was uncorked when I showed him this photo:

Cue the string section of serendipity! It so happened that Andrew knew the artist - in fact, he knew him rather well! Ze'ev Willy Neumann, the Israeli-born sculptor of the aptly-named Love Knot, is the father-in-law of Andrew's sister, and on this particular weekend, Andrew and his friend Holly were guests at his home and studio.

Willy Neumann's original concept was to construct a heart-shaped apple for the iconic  
I Love NY slogan. This idea evolved into an expression of his love for the town of Saugerties, where he makes his home and art, and nearby Woodstock, with its tie-dyed immersion of groovy art and culture. My snapshot of the heart is actually a prototype for the finished Love Knot - an installation of two hearts, one to be placed in Saugerties and the other in Woodstock, with accompanying directions on each guiding the viewer to the other, in effect tying the conceptual knot. Here are the finished pieces. Aren't they lovely?

With the infinity symbol as a grounding element, each heart speaks of the eternal love between two mountain towns that are united through their cultural connections. Once placed in their respective homes, these harmonious hearts will create a bridge to this link and Neumann's vision will be realized. I love this photo of Willy with his daughter-in-law Tracee and darling granddaughter all framed within the heart. The repeated curvatures of the piece beckon the viewer to sit or recline within its enveloping shape.

While symbolizing enduring love of place and connection, the Love Knot also represents the infinite circle of life that binds us all together. Cupid may hoard his arrows for that one day in February, but that cheeky cherub known as Coincidence and his sister, Serendipity, seem to strike when least expected and never fail to make my heart skip. Many thanks to my friend Andrew for leading me to the story and artist behind these heavenly hearts.  More about the infinitely interesting Ze've Willy Neumann can be found at his website by clicking this link. And here he is in action!

What are you doing for Valentine's Day? If you can grab a date and hop on up to Saugerties, drop by Willy's studio. He'll be hosting a party celebrating the completion of the Love Knot. Seriously, don't you want to sit in this thing?

Additional photos courtesy of Willy, Adam & Tracee Neumann. Thanks for your help, guys!

Leaving One's Mark

On this chilly midwinter morning, I'd like to revisit a place I discovered on a sultry summer afternoon. I can't resist the charm of a covered bridge, so when I saw a sign for one up ahead I had to stop, stretch and seek some shade, and once there, I got a double treat - an historical marker! I love these ubiquitous bits of Americana! They are chock full of trivia, usually marking the spot of a revolutionary conflict or letting us know that Washington kicked back with a Sam Adams in the local tavern. (He would have loved that beer!) But I prefer the more obscure memorials, like this one, which marks the spot of a 19th century angler's favorite fishing hole. No big whoop, right? On the contrary. This guy was major! I know because I googled him and found a wealth of information.

Theodore Gordon was deemed the father of the American school of dry-fly fishing. The Quill Gordon dry fly came about after he imported English fly-fishing tackle and flies and began to alter the English flies to precisely match the insects hatching in the Beaverkill and surrounding Catskill rivers. Gordon was also a consumptive hermit who sometimes wrote under the pseudonym Badger Hackle. I love a mustachioed man who can rock a striped seersucker suit and enjoys the company of a dog friend. So kudos, sir! I shan't forget you or your insanely jolly pseudonym.

But not everyone can aspire to Theodore Gordon levels of greatness and the historical markers such achievements bring. Just the same, we ordinary folk like to leave our own marks. We all want to say I was here at this time and at this place. Just look at the Paleolithic cave paintings at Lascaux...or on the beams of a covered bridge. Let's go in, shall we?

What narrative do these markings
suggest? They are found on opposite sides of the bridge, directly across from one another.

Jenna G. had been visiting this bridge every year for a span of seven years from 2004 until 2010. Joshua G. had been visiting every year from 2006 until 2010. Who are they and why did they not return in 2011? I felt stymied by this and tried to weave a sensible narrative for both. Perhaps they are brother and sister, born two years apart and their parents have been carving in their dates of visit since the birth of both. Mr. G, after witnessing a botched mob hit in early 2011, had to bring his family into a witness protection program and they are now living in San Jose under assumed identities. Perhaps the G was for Gordon? Hmm, the plot thickens! Or were Jenna and Joshua lovers who happened to share the same last initial? Jenna had been visiting the bridge for two years, until suddenly, in 2006, she met the fly-fisherman of her dreams! But it was a whirlwind, tempestuous romance that ended bitterly in 2011 with Jenna destroying all of Josh's prized fishing rods. Who knows…they're gone now, but like Theodore Gordon, they were there and have left their marks for generations (and curious bloggers) to ponder.

Giving Thanks

While driving along these country roads, I always brake for dudes in loincloths. Look! There's one in the distance!

Could he be the last Mohican? Perhaps. The Mohican tribe settled along the banks of the Hudson, which they dubbed the Mahicannituck. They called themselves the Muh-he-con-neok, meaning the People of the Waters That Are Never Still. I find that so very lovely. I'm certain they didn't have rifles, that is before the European settlers came barreling in with them. Which is why it made me sad to see that someone had nailed a firearm to his arms. (omg...where are his hands?!) Is this supposed to be a not-so-subtle hint about trespassing?  I wanted to get to know my native friend a bit better, so of course I got a bit closer.

This really is a fine carving. Nice quads!

Still, I really hate that he's got a gun. Seriously, I hate that. He's obviously striking a pose of thanks to the Sky Gods of stuffing and sweet potatoes, not looking for a can of cranberries to shoot off a fence. If I were the owner of this magnificently carved man, I would change up what he's holding. Perhaps a custardy fruit trifle, instead of that rifle? What would you have him hold?

While pondering that, I'd like to wish my Friends of the Internet That is Never Still a happy Thanksgiving. I am thankful for your visit to my little blog, and I'm immensely grateful that the Catskills continue to be a veritable cornucopia of curiosities!

Tempest-tossed and topsy-turvy!

So who got shook up by Sandy? *raises hand*  I think the windows on this house got a bit scrambled by the squall, as well. Or as my friend remarked on this peculiar place, "It's as if someone went to a spectacular window sale and said: I'll take that one, a couple of those, three or four from over there, and oh, these are nice…I'll take them, too!"

Willy-nilly windows aside, I truly hope that if you or a loved one were hit hard by that blustery bitch, that the road to recovery has been swift. As a Long Islander, I'd like to thank the Ulster County Fire Departments who came to my area. Thank you for sacrificing the time you would have spent with your own families and communities in order to help mine. Your assistance and bravery did not go unnoticed. A big wind-swept kiss to you all!

Nevermore!

Once upon a midafternoon dreary, while I motored, neither weak nor weary, I came across this formidable fellow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was not alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were many more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Many, many more. Are you getting chills yet?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You should! A grouping of crows is called a murder; a grouping of ravens an unkindness. Since all ravens belong to the family of crows (Corvidae) one could say, with authority, that this is a cold-blooded killing on display! One of Hitchcockian and Poe-ish proportions and quite appropriate for Halloween, quoth I. Have a happy one…and stay off the ice!

 

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Words to live by

I live and work downstate in the cookie-cutter checkerboard grid of suburban Long Island. The only signs affixed to the houses there are the ubiquitous home security stickers and occasional directives meant to dissuade the knocks of solicitors (Girl Scouts being the exception because, y'know, Thin Mints). Anything that deviates from the norm is pretty much a guarantee that a block party invite won't be coming your way. Not so with the quirky Catskills! Freedom of creative expression is not only commonplace, but expected.

Behold:

Thank you, whoever you are.

Happy Trails

Ah, the welcoming sight of a trail registry box - how I love these portals to adventure! They hold the promise of wilderness and wildness and escape!

Let's open the latch and sign in, shall we?

I like to read all the names of my fellow hikers and see where they're from (usually Brooklyn) before signing my own name. What can I say? I'm nosy curious. That aside, the key purpose for using a trail registry is to record when you start and when you return from a hike. It would be most unpleasant to be pinned beneath a tree and have to contemplate sawing off your own foot.  Or how about having to subsist on nothing but protein-rich slugs for days at a time? Quelle horreur! And all because it was too much of a bother to log in. The rangers need to know, yo!

When I'm all hepped up for a day of hiking, I'll sign my name with a flourish. Others are so excited that mere paper won't do - the box itself becomes a register of sorts.

Well, well...Winston Smith was here!

Somebody can't make up his mind...or is this a thinly veiled statement on the perils of global warming? Hmmm.

I don't doubt it.

Strong to the finish, this one.

It's easy being green here, my friend.


By now, you're probably ready for a hike. Have fun and don't forget the three rules of the forest:

1) Don't leave anything but your footprints.

2) Don't take anything except pictures.

3) ALWAYS sign in and out at the registry box.

....unless you're the dark lord, of course.

I think I'll find another trail.

We'll leave the light on!

My last post led to the Burroughs Memorial in Rochester Hollow. For those who would like to spend the night in the area, I highly recommend this five-star accommodation found farther up the trail. No reservations are needed and there's always a vacancy, or at least a little corner to oneself.

This lean-to is the ultimate in camping comfort, hence the high rating (suck it, Plaza!) It's solidly built and the three walls are well-insulated.

There's a stone fire pit at the entrance...

and plenty of firewood.

A frying pan and spatula are included in your visit...

as well as a broom for cleaning up (or to serve as a pretend dance partner).

There are hooks for hanging your soggy clothes and shelves for storing your gear. On one shelf I found an EEKtm (Emergency Environment Kit) stuffed into a Tropicana bottle.

Let's open it, shall we? An array of its contents reveal...

-emery boards and nail clippers, because no one likes a messy manicure on the trail.
-needle and thread for when you have to sew up a gaping wound (C'mon, that's what  they always do in the movies!)
-a toothbrush (I'll take my chances with a twig, thank you very much)
-a Vicks inhaler (the ragweed count is pretty high right now)
-Chapstick (I'll pass on this, too)
-a dime (a coin toss is the only fair way to determine who gets the primo sleeping  location)
-a panoply of lighters
-a pencil for crossword puzzles & a pen if you're really good at them.
-plastic baggies
-dress socks, for that rare, but impromptu job interview in the forest.

I stuffed a surprise in the bottle...but I'm not sayin'! You'll have to find it yourself.

And lastly, but in NO WAY least (amirite, ladies?) is an outhouse!

And what an outhouse it is! It's HUGE! And CLEAN! And handicap-equipped! (I wish my dog would stop being such a camera hog. Jeez!)

In fact, disabled persons are permitted to use an ATV throughout all of these trails. How wonderful is that?! Seriously, this is the best lean-to I've ever come across in the Catskills. I wouldn't be surprised to find a mint on my bedroll in the morning.

All aboard!

Train travel has always fascinated me. There is something both sinister and sensuous about it - the steam and whistles, the changing landscape whizzing by your window, the strangers on a train. Railroads bring to mind hobos and industry, romance and mystery. And while this is not exactly the Orient Express...

..."The Curious Case of the Caboose in the Copse" is a mystery, nonetheless, and one worthy of Hercule Poirot's sleuthing skills.

An examination of clues reveal the tracks to extend only as far as the length of the car, so we can deduce it's not a runaway train or a loose caboose.

It's been sitting here for some time, as indicated by this rusty wheel, ladder and connecting hitch.

A few yards away, the rather suspicious and alarmed-looking cooktop of a wood-burning stove was found. He remained silent during my interrogation.

The only accessible windows for viewing the interior have been boarded up and the door has been padlocked. What secrets lie beyond? A table for two is the only indication of recent use...

...as well as a two-wheeled means of transport hidden beneath. Someone's been coming here. Do they own this old caboose? I would love to know who....and how they came about it.

The Oil Creek & Titusville line harkens back to 1862. In 1859, when oil was successfully drilled (for the first time in the world!) near Titusville, Pennsylvania, the closest railroad was 27 miles away. The OC&T line was completed to fill that transportation need. Under a series of mergers, it became part of the Pennsylvania Railroad by 1900, then eaten up by Conrail in the late 1960s. In 1986, The Oil Creek Railway Society formed and acquired the remaining original cars in order to preserve the line. 

Today, the 17 mile long Oil Creek & Titusville line operates as a seasonal tourist venue, complete with scenic train trips through the historic Oil Creek Valley, murder/mystery dinner excursions and overnight lodging in refitted stationary cabooses. But that still doesn't answer the question of how one of those cabooses ended up in the Catskills! Hercule? Miss Marple? Anyone?