NBNC>SBNY 2016: Observations Heading Southbound

(not my photo)

Some truck drivers are bullies…following vehicles in the passing lane riding bumper to intimidate the poor lil’ old lady going seven miles over the speed limit, instead of eleven, in front of him. Our culture of speed has created a sense of entitlement to be furious and righteously nasty to someone who is driving slower than you want to go—even if that person is driving the speed limit, or a little above it. It’s maddening enough when private vehicle drivers are aggressive and dangerous, but we should have a zero tolerance policy for aggressive behavior by commercial drivers. And don’t get me going on trucker games blocking lanes for miles at a time.

But, alas, the citizen driver is anything but saintly. The greatest peeve is the turn signal: some drivers don’t even know that you are supposed to flick that little bar to show they are turning; or maybe it is the manufacturer’s fault, because there are a lot of cars whose indicator signals do not seem to function properly. Then, of course, are those drivers who assume that when they turn on blinker they have right of way to pull into your lane, even though you are currently in their line of sight and listening to their already blaring radio.

As travelers along the interstates we learned once again to always check your surroundings.  We stopped at the southern Virginia state line rest stop for the night.  Within three hours time we were approached by strangers; one, who we saw depart a very used, blackened window van, with Florida plates, knocked on the motor home door asking for money.  These Florida panhandlers were politely refused, since we had seen them approaching several vehicles and harassing a poor elderly man as he was trying to throw garbage away. Just as we were contacting security the van pulled out, assumedly to go onto the next rest stop.  Then, while Dave was securing the Jeep he was taken off guard by a man, with a confusing dialect, who asked Dave if he was the owner of a truck nearby. It was obvious to Dave that the man was attempting to gain access into the rig.  So, to those who read this blog, be a little more aware of surroundings than usual on interstates, whether you are in a big rig or a little volkswagon, because one can never be too safe.

So, on this first day of October we are beginning the second leg of our journey home.  Did you ever hear the ditty ‘black as the inside of your grandfather’s hat’?  A required fashion item  for men during the 1950s-60s; my grandfather had a grey fur felt Homburg with a center crown crease with a flat bowed grosgrain ribbon on the band…men’s stylish hats seems to be on the shelf with other antiquities such as women’s dress gloves and seamed stockings. Ah, and I regress. So, as a child do you remember putting your father’s or grandfather’s Homburg up to your face; perhaps you got a whiff of peppermint and cigar as well as Vitalis, but opening your eyes in the bowl of that hat was like turning off the stars is the skies… so dark, with nothing to focus on; that was what it was like getting on the road this morning after a not so good night’s sleep at the Virginia Welcome Center rest stop.  Thank goodness the moon was still out and there was no detrimental weather.

Allee (not my photo)

As the day brightened and temperatures began to rise we pass the familiar coastal plains we now call home. Long ago abandoned dirt roads, allees, are canopied with stands of hardwoods and pines.

Cotton field (not my photo)

Our corridor of travel gives us panoramas of errant yellow pine trees growing among  acres of low-to-the-ground shrubs holding fast to its cotton bolls waiting for harvest, stalks of grass with ripened milo that will be used to feed the cows and pigs during the winter as well as the soy beans growing along side.  Butterball-sponsored turkey hatcheries are scattered along the byroads.   

Family Cemetery (not my photo)

Along the rural stretches of state routes there are intimate family cemeteries sitting near the roadside; grave markers whisper softly of bygone eras, when mothers, fathers, children, aunts, uncles and cousins lived within walking distance of each homestead and worked the land and favored Sunday morning church together for generations.

Arriving at our driveway mid-day on this sunny Saturday afternoon we are hearing of warnings and preparation recommendations for the nearing Hurricane Matthew. In the meantime, we will be off and camping on November 1st with the RV Club and then will continue on our way to sunny FLA.

LIFE IS SHORT; ENJOY THE RIDE

NBNC>SBNY 2016: August through September

Remember those spiral wishing wells in the mall where you tossed in a coin? People love to watch coins spin around in circles as they descend into the vortex funnel.  

Well, that is how our last two months have happened….spinning and spinning until here we are the middle of September, with just fourteen days left until we level up and head back to New Bern.

Andy's new ride

As many of our friends know 95% of our time since May has been helping Dave’s parents transition to their new environment in a senior living center, where they receive round-the-clock care. In partnership with this we have been cleaning and preparing their home for winterization. But happily we have enjoyed several ‘mental health days’. 

Breakfast gathering with mimosas

Our core group of campers have helped make our weekends memorable again this year. We have munched and slurped our way through a pig roast, a hot dog roast and sundae Sunday, and Dave and I have hosted an omelet-in-the-bag breakfast accompanied with mimosas and an old-fashioned goulash dinner prepared wholly by Dave; and in the next two weekends a SU tailgate party and our annual Thanksgiving dinner, our final goodbye gathering to the camping season. 

Cousin Cheri and Dave

And mixed in with these busy days we have met with fellow Harbourites, Karen and Art Pethybridge and Don Albaugh and Marta Beman, as well as friends Bob Reid, the McCluskeys, and Dave’s cousin, Cheri, and my brother, Andy.  It has been wonderful to meet with everyone and give us a chance to share hugs, memories and fish tales.

Adirondacks in Fall - not my photo

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

We even took a side trip to Old Forge. There are amazing vistas of upstate New York; most spectacular is to journey into the Adirondacks. It does not matter if you barge right into the epicenter remoteness of this 6 million acre forest, with its lofty mountains and unspoiled waterways, or take your time and follow the more than 2,000 miles of beautiful hiking trails that lead you from the lush valleys to the steep cliffs; the Adirondacks are the essence of the breath of God. A mosaic of greens on summer bloomed birch, maple and aspen trees become a quilt of reds, gold, oranges, and browns in the Fall.  

Summer in Adirondacks - not my photo

We drove northbound on route 28 through small hamlets and crossroads of pastoral settings until we reached Old Forge, with a population of totaling 756 people and having 371 households. If you were 10 years old I’ll bet you could clean up pretty good on Halloween.  During the summer Old Forge is the western gateway into the Adirondacks, where a large water theme park draws children of all ages, and eclectic shops and boutiques draw the in vogue patron. We favored Montezuma Winery, whose Moose River labels we purchased after a pleasant tasting session.  It is another story come winter time.  Coldest of the cold describes Old Forge. Their school mascot is the Eskimo and for the state of New York they set the record for the lowest temperature in 1979 when it was -52.  This, of course, would be the worst time to test the "what happens if you stick your tongue to a frozen metal flagpole."

After we strolled the village streets we began our journey home following Gray Lake Road heading southeast out of Old Forge. Winding through the ancient timbers we found ourselves at the base of McCauley Mountain, where a ski resort welcomes those fearless at a 630-foot vertical drop, and their average base of 120+ inches of snow welcomes skiers for at least one hundred days during the winter.

Traveling back to camp the two-lane road rolled and crisscrossed pastoral lands skirting spruce-fir along small creeks, streams and ponds. Otter Lake, whose residents are largemouth bass, walleye, northern pike and yellow perch. Soon we are descended to the Tug Hill Plateau and the foothills begin to ease to the rural labyrinth of turn-of-the-century barns and homes.

Another occasion we visited The Wild Animal Park, just outside Chittenango. On these fourteen acres the owner displays his passionate desire to education and fosters an appreciation of the animals with the public about domestic and exotic animals.  Smaller animal exhibitors tend to offer inadequate space and confined in pens or cages.  And this park leaned toward this trend. 

Draken Harald Harfagre

In August Hokulea’s Polynesian canoe tied up bow-to-bow with the Draken Harald Harfagre, the world’s largest Viking tall ship, on the Erie Canal in Sylvan Beach. We watched as crew members from Hawaii and Norway exchanged gifts and photos taken of this encounter. 

The expedition crews are traveling the routes of their ancestors across the oceans, lakes and rivers of the world. The crew, live quite primitively; they prepare food in an open air kitchen and are sheltered on the deck with a tent.  Navigation is reliant on the stars, the winds and currents, and the guidance of their heritage. It was quite special to see these two worlds, so far apart, become one as friends on our shores.

And so with our time spiraling downward, we begin our final goodbyes and our closing of camp and filling the gas tank.  Thank you for joining us on the brief update….see you again soon….

 

LIFE IS SHORT: ENJOY THE RIDE

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