Fun House

One of the best reasons for taking a road less travelled is the possible and sudden explosion of art when one least expects it. Tucked away in the landscape, a bit of whimsy catches the eye at 40 miles an hour....Quick, hit the brakes!!

Let's stop and investigate! What's this? A flaming beach ball sent to earth...

and a rocket in a pocket of dirt.

An iron garden...

reaches for the sun.

And further afield...

a capital "F" for FUN!

Shall we go upstairs?

There's a cozy sitting area to take in the view.

Well, hello there...who are you?

This reminds me of a film set in another state...isolated area, big guy with a chainsaw... perhaps we should explore the lower floor. C'mon! Right down the stairs...

It's a different world down there!  A crystal chandelier...

a charcoal nude...

and an assortment of gourds to set the mood.

But alas, not a soul in sight to shed any light. Just another lonesome oddity to puzzle and delight.

Keep Calm

      and
  Carry On...as I gather more oddities.

And remember, if you see something, say something! I gladly welcome your photos, info, suggestions and/or donuts (preferably chocolate glazed).  I should have new oddities magically appearing on your computerized intertube screen contraptions later this Spring.

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.

Sign of the Times

I love historical landmarks. Whether they mark the spot of a delightfully obscure battle or claim to be a founding father's rest stop, I find these factoids fascinating. What tasty morsels of history they contain!

 Oh look! There's one now! Quick, pull over!

Well isn't that interesti...HUH?!

Had to do a double take, didn't you? This sign comes from the brilliantly subversive and socially conscious mind of artist Norm Magnusson as part of his I-75 Project. This inspired installation places historical markers with social and political content throughout the country. Magnusson's goal is "not to incite, but inspire thought."

I remember seeing his signs when they made the media rounds a few years ago. You can imagine my glee at stumbling upon one for real - it was like finding the holy grail! Pull over and take a look at the rest of his historical landmarks...here!

Everything AND the Kitchen Sink

While on a lengthy drive to a trailhead, we stopped at the side of the road to let our restless dogs do what dogs do on the sides of roads. A few yards up we came across a curious discovery.

As if dropped from a temporal portal of the past and plunked down among the moss in the middle of nowhere sits this porcelain sink, circa 1950. A dishtowel has been carefully draped on the edge and the plates and saucers are neatly stacked in the drainer, as if June Cleaver herself, having finished her after-dinner chores, disappeared in a puff of smoke along with the rest of her surroundings.

Nary a house nor campsite can be found nearby to explain its presence. Judging by the trademarks on the dinnerware, this is old, durable crockery. My mother had an entire set of Corelle by Corning which held plenty of scrumptious mac 'n' cheese lunches throughout the years...but that was long ago and I certainly didn't help rinse the dishes in the woods after gorging myself on Kraft.

So why is it here? And who is using it? Have the bears in the Catskills evolved in ways we're not aware? It's a puzzle wrapped in porcelain shrouded in soapsuds, and I fear it will never be solved!