NBNC>SBNY July 2016

Mid-summer – temperatures have been unseasonably warm- no, hot- in this region of upstate New York, which of course is perfect for the making of thunder and lightning storms. Unfortunately, for the drought-stressed farmer the rains have been breezing through quickly and leave a slight puddle.

We had have a nursery outside our motor home; a snapping turtle laid her eggs in mid-June and we are waiting for incubation to complete and will watch for hatchlings and let you know when we become grandparents again. Films at eleven.

Our daughter, Carol, and her hubby, Eric, and grandkids, Alex and Kyle, traveled eastbound mid-June to spend two weeks in upstate NY. It was a special time for us as we celebrated birthdays, Father’s/Mother’s Days, advancement to final high school years, and just spending quality time together.  One particular day the “men” ventured to Cooperstown, where the Baseball Hall of Fame stands while the “girls” shopped and giggled and shopped some more.  We day-tripped to Oswego where we lunched at the one and only Rudy’s on Lake Ontario; an extra treat was to meet up with classmates, LeeAnn and Judy. It was wonderful to see one another and all agreed that we look just like we did in 1968!  And of course we made our trek to Southwest Oswego where we shopped fresh veggies at Ontario Orchards.  It was sad when the Illinois license plate faded from our view as Carol and her family returned home, but so many more memories were squirreled away in our hearts.

As we near the halfway point of 
our stay in Sylvan Beach we have been preoccupied with the elder care of Dave’s Dad and Mom; including but not limited to end-of-life preparations, emergency room care of Dave’s Dad, which has led to the placement of both his Dad and Mom into a facility that provides enhanced care-giving and comprehensive support. The journey, thus far, has been emotional, stressful and stress-filled; heartbreaking and distressing. Dave has become his parent’s parent; a responsibility of love and tenderness, difficult decisions, disappointing experiences.

 

Each day passes into the next; a sadness holds the heart as lives become unbalanced, disrupted and changed.  The weight of the demands these past eight weeks and the burdens accompanying them launched us to step back and breathe.

And so we did.  Our daughter re-visited for a few more days and stepped back with us to about 100 miles up the road to the St. Lawrence Seaway.

When you think of Thousand Islands I’ll bet your first thought is salad dressing; that tasty addition to the top of your chilled green salad. It was in fact created on the shoreline of upstate New York’s St. Lawrence River and has graced restaurants and Seven Seas bottles since that day in the late 1800’s.

But there is so much more to the Thousand Islands than a bottle of salad dressing; it is a paradise where water is the unifying theme.  Actually, after an exhaustive count by the National Geographic Society a few years ago, there are 1,864 islands; but then if it was renamed Two Thousand Islands, look at all the bottled dressing labels that would need to be changed, and the logos on both the U.S. and Canadian borders to be reworded.

And so, with Carol aboard the rig, we leveled down at Swan Bay RV Resort at campsite 6 directly facing the shipping canal on the St. Lawrence, where 600+’ freighters pass by heading up/down river with the likes of grain for overseas markets, coal for power generation, heavy machinery and steel products.

We headed for Alexandria Bay for a full day on the St. Lawrence via Uncle Sam’s Boat Tour. At 10 a.m. we were heading downriver for a three-hour tour (no, Gilligan was not aboard) covering about eleven miles to the Singer Castle. This quaint island hunting retreat, built in the very early 1900’s is a 4-story, 28-room castle, with hidden stairway passages (for the service staff so as to be aware of wants and needs of family and guests and yet not be seen) and turrets. Owned by the Bourne family until the 60s, its name hails from the Singer sewing machine enterprise. After an hour guided tour we were water bound passing islands containing cabins not much larger than a carport and mansions that could hold the previous island. 

The second boat tour, just minutes from debarking the first, leisurely paddled us on a 22-mile round trip through American and Canadian waters. Our guide pointed out summer homes of the obscenely rich, and their even more magnificent yachts. We slowly drifted past millionaire’s row, where opulence and lavish comfort was on display from the boat docks to the spires and turrets of these sumptuous estates. We wonder if these mansion-owners sit around a campfire and roast hot dogs.

We grimaced not only at the cost of these palatial domains but then triple grimaced at the property tax New York State levies. Yet the number one reason we retired to North Carolina. 

We understood from our guide that the fresh water river freezes to a depth of three to four feet during the harsh north country winters; although snow is not as prevalent, the cold and wind are the detriment of locals.

The beauty of the day was being together as family, ooo-ing and awww-ing at the shoreline cottages and mansions moated by the river.

The Thousand Islands Bridge, a suspension bridge that provides a direct connection between the U.S. and Canada, is a beautiful bridge. As we stood on a gravel drive under its span we were awed at its girth and grace as it crosses over the St. Lawrence.

Regrettably we once again hugged our daughter goodbye as she began her trek westward.

There is so much history in this area of New York State.

Traveling the side routes to and from the region we came across pockets of Amish and Mennonite settlements.  Stands of sugar maples and stretches of golden marsh, amber poplars, and crimson sumacs, with marinas and cottages at nearly every inlet.

We traveled north toward Massena to visit the Eisenhower Locks, the seaway shipping channel locks that makes possible deepwater ships to bypass a hydroelectric dam.  Unfortunately, the locks were uneventful (ever so boring). So we moseyed to Barnhart Island to check out the camping possibilities at Robert Moses State Park. Our first impression that we would not be camping on the island is the fact that the entrance of the tunnel to the island has a clearance of 13.6’… the clearance of our rig is 13.9.  But we cleared with the Jeep and continued on.  We crossed the 45th parallel, where at this point you stand halfway between the Equator and the North Pole. 

On the way south we passed through many villages and hamlets, and cottages precariously set on the river’s edge with million dollar views.  One quaint hamlet with turn-of-the-century homes, was Waddinton, where we found a small roadside stand with New York State pure maple syrup for sale and our noses were led to the Seaway Diner & Smokehouse.  The best bar-Bee-Que since Texas. Tender, succulent pulled pork piled high with fresh made French fries and coleslaw. The environment was a lot country in décor and music, but added to the ambiance of the bbq on our plates.  If we can, we will be returning before heading on south.

Santa came down the generator exhaust and visited “The Glampers” once again in Sylvan Beach. Appetizers were shared, ornaments and gifts were exchanged and the day ended around the campfire.

Two months and several days from now we will be packing up and heading to NC. In the meantime, we still have lots of work to do and hope to enjoy a day or two of vacationing in between.

Life is Short; Enjoy the Ride

NBNC > SBNY 2016: June 3

In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous

It is the third day of June; a pleasant breeze with a backdrop of periwinkle blue for cloudless skies and a warming sun. The campground is quiet; most guests are still employed so the serenity of the day is like being soothed in nature’s cathedral.

(not my photo)

We have staked a few bird feeders on our campsite and this year, already, we have many guests. The Gold finch, a cute little guy, yellow bird with black markings, is quite the acrobat. Clinging to outcrops of stemmed weeds waiting patiently for its turn to munch on sunflower seeds. A vegan, the goldfinch is a popular state bird from east to west and these may be the guys who winter with us in New Bern.

(not my photo)

And then the boisterous red-winged blackbird comes along and disrupts the quiet repast of the finch. The blackbird grasps the feeder precariously for as long as it can to get some of the seed before is loses its balance. That’s okay though, since they are carnivores there are plenty of bugs for their feasting.

This morning a snapping turtle squirmed up the incline from the creek and has left her next generation near our picnic table. We will try to keep the scrounging varmints like the skunks and raccoons from raiding the nest. And we will patiently wait for August to come to see their little heads pop up from the sand.  This turtle has a massive head and its tail is long and spiked. She cooled off under the motor home for a bit before starting her return to the creek where she went under like a triton submarine.

(not my photo)

We are entertained nightly. Bullfrogs-the other white meat (common fare in the south, deep-fried frog legs resemble really, really tiny chicken drumsticks) populate the creeks. Here at the campground we hear the all-American bullfrog choir each evening. One bullfrog, affectionately named Freddie, leads his chorus, the Fredettes, in timbered song. 

Our blue feathered angler is a Juvenile great blue heron, who has homesteaded in a rookery a few sites from us. We have seen him/her once so far but he/she may be busy this time of year.

Lynn, Kathy, Grover, Scott, Debbie, John, Karen, Dave

The rest of ‘the Glampers’ return this evening; Scott and Debbie, Grover and Kathy, John and Lynn, and Wayne and Linda. Our group mingled the first year, united last year and coalesced this year. As the season progresses the weekends will be filled with good times, good food and more memories.

 

The upcoming weekend beginning the 10th our daughter, Carol, her hubby, Eric, and our grandboyz, Alex and Kyle will be visiting for two weeks. Looking forward to the time together and looking forward to sharing with you….

LIFE IS SHORT: ENJOY THE RIDE

NBNC to SBNY 2016

Another May and I become a Person Perched on Passenger Seat (PPOPS)! Funny the things that go through the mind when watching black asphalt, steel guardrails, and a hundred different colors of green passing by in landscape.

We begin our journey to upstate New York once again level down at Mayfair Campground on site 18, near Sylvan Beach, to spend time with Dave’s aging and ailing parents and do what we can for the next five months to help the. And once again we will visit with family and friends and re-connect with our childhood and young adult memories.

Kamikaze squirrels : You gotta wonder…how can a squirrel be so clever as to be able to raid your ‘squirrel-proof’ birdfeeder by figuring it out for a day or two and be agile and flexible enough to cross power lines across a span of highway; but to make it across a two-lane road the critter becomes terrified of making literally a life or death decision, and with the number of cadavers on the side of the road the decision was made just a nano-second too late. Have you ever watched as a squirrel plays kamikaze on the road? I wonder what goes through their little brain? Do I move? Do I stay motionless and then I won’t get hurt? And in a nano-second the lil’ varmint darts the opposite way and becomes squirrel-kill.  It’s fascinating to watch the squirrel in the middle of the road and take a guess at which way it will go. Do you ever wonder what you would do if you were the squirrel? If it goes the wrong way, or runs across the road in front of oncoming traffic, are you now thinking, “No! Not that way”!  but then you find yourself rooting for him to make it safely holding your breath while watching this rodent, and the last thing you do is look in the rearview mirror to see if the varmint survived. You give the squirrel a second more of acknowledgment and carry on. Kamikaze squirrels-they keep us alert.

In 1979 AC/DC released a now familiar song, “Highway to Hell”. Although the lyrics seem to refer to someone who is free and non-committal, the refrain continues to loop through the mind while traveling the highways of the country.  Go ahead, you know the tune, hum  along.  Even though major construction seems to be on every interstate in every state, the roads seem to remain the same. It is sad that our government has allowed our infrastructure to decline to such a level that it would cost over a trillion dollars to make our country’s roads and bridges safe for us to journey over, under and through.  In the meantime, we inch along through 20-30 mile construction zones, where the lanes are so constricted you dare not blink to avoid veering; congested traffic becomes more jammed if a convoy of truckers become clogged-up, and the usual I’m-more-important-than-you driver who drives irresponsibly and inattentively. And no matter the size of the vehicle you are handling, the time of day you are driving or the north-south-east-or west course you are on, we all endure and learn patience and serenity to get us where we are going, safely and sanely.

It is farming 101 when we travel northbound during mid-Spring. In North Carolina corn has grown to near-knee height, the chartreuse tobacco leaves are the size of collard greens, and sweet potatoes and peanuts have been freshly hilled.  Driving through Virginia and Pennsylvania scents of freshly mown meadows offering the first hay cuttings of the season, waiting to be baled.  Nearing the rural areas of upstate NY corn and soy beans are just cresting their little heads above the dirt clods.  In a few weeks, it will be strawberry season here; we anticipate nice, juicy red nuggets of yummieness.

Clark Family Rural Cemetery Oswego NY

This first weekend in NY we are remembering, with pride, those in the military who died while serving their country; the early observances were for those who died during the Civil War. As a kid, I remember this as Decoration Day, and going to the Rural Cemetery in Oswego with our grandmother, and visiting graves and poking flags in the ground. Those many decades ago I did not appreciate the significance of these gestures of my grandmother. I thought it was boring and we were not allowed to run or giggle in the cemetery. My grandmother was quite the patriotic old gal. Her name was Anna, her father and grandfather were soldiers in the Civil War; her uncle died at Harrison’s Landing after being injured in Gettysburg; her great grandfather and great uncles were patriots during the Revolutionary War. Anna, who would stand if she heard the Battle Hymn of the Republic on tv, was president of the Daughters of Union Veterans of the Civil War, Elmira Spencer Tent.  Now, since researching our families and learning of all that our ancestors survived as well as contributed, I am humbled that my greats and great greats, etc., served their young country with such patriotism and honor.

LIFE IS SHORT: ENJOY THE RIDE

As always, these writings will continue, perhaps a paragraph, perhaps a chapter; but either way, check in and catch up.

NBNC>NY>STL>NY>NBNC: End of Summer 2015

Fireside at the site

Blink: today is May 8th and we have checked in at Mayfair Campground onto site 45 in Sylvan Beach NY;

Sadie

The "Glampers"

Blink: we have become friends with a group of upstaters; the Rosenburgs, the Brittons, the Bartons and the Browns. Our friendship quickly develops into a tight group; we have named ourselves “the Glampers”, aka glamorous campers.

Carol, Eric, Alex and Kyle

The Costello Family

Steve and Adrienne

Two at St. Thomas

Blink: it is July and we travel to Saint Louis to visit our children and grandchildren; we are re-energized with the love, laughter, reminisces, and memories of our amazing family.

Naussau

St. Thomas

Blink: we find ourselves cruising the open seas to the eastern Caribbean with the Glampers.  

St. Maarten

Day-trippers on tropical islands, themselves being paradoxes in affluence and abject poverty; communities that carry on without any concession to modern luxuries and resorts with panache on a par with Las Vegas. 

St. Maarten

Nighttime on the sea, when moonlight reflects near the horizon and the ebony of the southern skies intensely flaunts the bright swath of the Milky Way and some of the brightest stars in our galaxy.

St. Maarten

Antigua

Sunset at the Beach

Blink: it is September 28th and we end our summer journey returning to our home in New Bern.

Blink: 142 days where the sun has risen and set and the moon lit our evenings; days of leisure, of relaxation, of excursions on byways and highways, days of poignant, lasting memories imprinted on our hearts by aged parents declining in health.

Dave and Doug Costello

There are times when there are not enough words to sort out and express the feelings of these nearly 150 days in our rig. The impressions left on our hearts by so many. So here with a glimpse of our wonderful summer of 2015

Last fireside flames

Life is Short: Enjoy the Ride

NBNC>NY>MO July-August 2015

Our Daily Visitor

Thirty days hath September…..except for our summer road trip which hath 142 days. The first eighty days around upstate New York we have whiled the hours at campfires with fellow glampers and grill-to-table feasts.  Our new camaraderie, sparked by hours of ember glows have been keenly enjoyed with campmate Mayfair-ites and picnic table hopping to neighboring cohorts as we all indulge in pick-me-up liquid infusions and victuals. 

Debbie and Scott's Tree

 One of our congregations celebrated Christmas in July. On a warm, sun-filled Saturday Santa pulled into the campground on a John “Deer”. The Mayfair-ies prepared a holiday meal that included turkey, cranberries, and smashed taters with gravy. Dave made his famous-to-us eggnog spiced with Meyer Rum while Santa pulled out some secret gifts from his camo-bag.

It is interesting the conversations held circling burning embers – sometimes the Tower of Babel is recreated nightly. Three certain chat themes are shared: camp vehicle glitches, camping yarns, and of course, food.  In the course of the hundreds of campfires since our tent launch in 1973, I have decided that cooking is all about personal history.  The influence of our mothers and grandmothers and theirs, as well, is a legacy we all share, no matter where we grew up and in what decade. In our little Mayfair-ite circle recipes are exchanged, with hopes that we remember them the next day. Or we become very inventive as we infuse a little of this, a little of that to concoct the perfect palette pleasure.

Intermingled with home repairs and yard work at Dave’s folks’ home we have been day-trippers to ramble through the nearby counties of Madison and Oneida.  We found a gem near the hamlet of Fenner, a little shop operated by an Amish family, the Troyer’s, who raise grass-fed beef and daily bake fresh home-made bread and delicious cookies fill the shelves every Friday and Saturday.  The Troyer’s stock their shelves with authentic Amish goods including jams, jellies spices, and dry goods for baking and cooking. Fresh processed cheeses from the milk produced on their land. The shop is simple with its white-washed walls, hewn beams and gas lights.  The uniformed Amish baking and helping customers are reposed and noticeably there is no background noise of radio or television and no conversations among the teenagers. It is a sterile environ.

Pompey Center NY

The definition of a back road is a road away from the main road. That is what we traveled as we crossed over the country roads of the town of Manlius. Dave’s great-greats settled in this area during the mid-1850s, having emigrated from the famine-worn isle of Ireland. We are surrounded by beautiful hardwood forests of maples, oaks, and birch. Dairy farming is common throughout this area as we go up and down a series of steep hills and wide, flat valleys.  We ascend Pompey Hill where at a rise to 1,728 foot we can view seven surrounding counties.

The Costello Family: Dave, Carol (Davis), Steve, Karen

During the third week of July we have made an impulsive decision to get our kid/grandkid fix, and so we wrap up the campsite to travel to the mighty Mississippi and level down at Sundermeier RV Park in Saint Charles.  Our kids are thrilled as well.

On July 27th we headed to where all sunsets begin, to the west. We are homeward bound to St. Charles Missouri (fondly referred to as St. Chuck’s) where we doffed our hats and hung our coats for fourteen years. We lived a whole of seventeen years in the Saint Louis area but St. Chuck’s has been the favorite address for us during our 40+ years of home ownership.

And so we begin our journey and observations along the way.

Seeing truck drivers and people texting while driving is very distressing and disturbing.  To be traveling on an interstate at a nominal 65 mph while following a tractor trailer that swerves and veers across lane markers and then to see that said driver is texting is not only irresponsible and careless of the driver but reckless with those who share the road along side of him. A study was done of texting truck drivers who took their eyes off the roadway for an average of 4.6 seconds to text.  At only 55 mph, this compared a driver traveling 371 feet, or the approximate length of a football without looking at the roadway!  A typical crash only takes 3 seconds of inattention to happen. Not only is he putting his life at risk but everyone who maybe following next to him.  And is it an assumption that this does not matter unless a driving tragedy affects you and your family personally. How sad.

Kudzu:  no matter where you drive, highway, byway, parkway you will see the invasive vine smothering plants and trees.  It seems that has taken over the edges of our roadways. And our government is responsible for its uncontrollable infestation.  What really surprised me is that this weed was brought to the United States way back in 1876 to be used as ornamental plantings in the south. Then it was used as cattle feed and a government agency responsible for controlling erosion decided it would be a wonderful method of soil control.  It is incredible the growth of this weed which is about a foot a day.  As we travel westward we see how kudzu has morphed into monster-looking coverage.

Reaching the familiarity of Illinois and Missouri we cannot but help to “remember” this’s and that’s. Leveling down on site 72 at Sundermeier’s we can’t wait to revisit the familiar and comfortable “knowns” of Saint Charles.

Our Daughter, Carol with her Dad and Mom

As we near the end of our hello-goodbye tour in the Midwest we reflect on fourteen days of visiting former neighbors and co-workers. Coming across new roads, restaurants and neighborhoods.  Going back to memories made ten, fifteen, twenty years ago. We have become conscious of several things: 

1. You can never go back – the proverbial saying, things change, is so much more apparent as we grow older. We made a trip along the Mississippi River to the small town of Hannibal, infamous for their native son, Samuel Clemens, aka Mark Twain. Years ago we always stopped at Sawyer’s Creek for delicious soup n’ salad, now the restaurant has closed and you can get a rubbery hot dog. Also very disappointing was finding that our favorite Christmas shop has become a purveyor of made in China garbage.  

Our Son, Steve with our "daughter" Adrienne

We ventured over to the other side of the road to the Mark Twain campground, where we had camped several times, including when our son-in-law was working up the nerve to ask for our daughter’s hand in marriage. Disappointment two; the campground is empty for the middle of the summer. Shaking our heads in disbelief we continued onward a few miles to Hannibal; the empty storefronts told the immediate story of gloominess and an economy-despair. Disappointed in what we thought would be a great day we returned to camp with less memories made on this trip.  

2. We are reminded during our time here how much we miss this area. We met with the owner of our former home and had the opportunity to see the improvements made interior and exterior on the property. We have reconnected with several neighbors, friends and co-workers who had been such a part of our lives for the seventeen years we lived here in the midwest. And we learned how much we have missed these special people and the poignant events of their lives. 

Steve and Adrienne Costello

3. Most importantly is how much we miss our children and grandchildren and the interaction of their lives; the good, the bad, the joy, the sadness; the every day of living.  

The Davis Family: Our Daughter, Carol, our "son" Eric, our grandsons, Kyle and Alex

We catch glimpses of the child in our grown children that touch our hearts; quirky smiles, childish quotes that have repeated themselves for over forty years, the eye signals that bring to mind a remembered moment in time that sits in our hearts.  

Second thoughts of regret of moving so far away for our grandsons and missing their school plays and events.  And experiencing the bizarre, the weird and the unexpectedness of watching them grow into young men.  Above all, this summer trip to the Midwest reminds us of our love of family and our family of love.

LIFE IS SHORT: ENJOY THE RIDE