Alexandersmap

    Month: February 2019

    • Amber of the Moment

      “Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment.  There is no why.” – Kurt Vonnegut

      Que será, será
      Whatever will be, will be
      The future’s not ours to see
      Que será, será
      What will be, will be – Que Será, Será, Jay Livingston/Ray Evans

      I was at a meeting this morning talking to a gentleman about life.  He told me a story about the song Que será, será and how his mother used to sing it to him when he was growing up.  She’s since passed away and now that this is used in a commercial it’s constantly reminding him of his mother.

      Frankly I’ve never thought much of this song.  But he challenged me to focus on the message the song is saying and less on the Doris Day 1960’s aspect of it.  On closer inspection, I think the lyrics pair well with the Kurt Vonnegut quote.

      I’ve been on the road for six straight days.  Tomorrow I have a meeting and then head home.  This has been a productive and great week.  But I’m tired and ready to get back to my own house for a bit.  Tonight I’m trapped in the amber of this moment.  What will be will be tomorrow.  But I hope what will be will be several days at home.

    • Tums Sandwiches

      I’m staying at a Homewood Suites in Upstate New York.  Generally I like these hotels more than some others because the rooms are larger, they serve free breakfast and free dinner with beer and wine, all at a reasonable price.  But nothing is really free, is it?  While I’ve stayed in a few Homewood Suites that served up excellent food and exceptional service – Augusta, Maine I’m looking at you – this one leaves a lot to be desired.

      Look, I know they build the food into the price of the room.  So charge me an extra $5 and make me something delicious and nutritious.  Crispy eggs in the morning and soggy pizza at night are not going to earn rave reviews online.  Dinner with a side of Tums ain’t my idea of a good night on the town.

    • Lake Effect

      When you’ve been away from your home since Friday morning last week, Wednesday night seems like a long-ass week.  And I’ve got two more days to go.  My self-imposed ban on Facebook was shelved for the weekend, but I’ve seen what people are posting and I’ve reinstated the ban.  I almost slipped into miserable post mode myself with an observation of the couple next to me at the bar, but chose to delete it.  My small part to make the world a bit of a brighter place I guess.

      It’s snowing heavily in Rochester.  It was snowing heavily in Buffalo earlier.  I’m about done with snow.  But I’m a sales guy with an entire territory that consists of snow belt.  Best to suck it up and deal with a little snow.  But this is lake effect snow, and that’s a different animal.

      Lake effect snow occurs when cold air blows across a body of water and the precipitation rising from said body of water fuels the formation of snow that falls downwind of the body of water.  And with the Great Lakes due west of me, that means Buffalo and Rochester get the benefit of lake effect snow, and I get the benefit of raising my windshield wipers and bringing in my snow boots in anticipation of having to clear the snow off the car in the morning.

       

    • On Hemlocks and Time Travel

      There are few places I’d rather be than deep in a quiet coniferous forest.  Hemlocks are my personal favorites, but balsams bring their own pleasures.  While you can find both in any old neighborhood, there’s nothing like a stand of native trees out in the forest.

      I found myself kneeling down under a stand of hemlocks this weekend during a hike to see the Lick Brook Falls.  The combination of waterfall, mature hemlock trees and solitude was like a jazz trio playing your favorite tune.  Instantly familiar, but in a whole new way.
      Nature is a source of energy.  Like many I’m revitalized in the woods, and especially in the presence of conifers.  I was once hiking with a group of friends and found myself well ahead of them in one stretch of trail where I was surrounded by balsam firs.  I stopped to wait for them and as my heart rate came down the quiet of the forest drew me in.  I became a part of the forest myself for those few minutes until my friends arrived.
      I had a similar feeling when I was looking out at the waterfall Sunday.  It was a deep contentment with where I was at that moment in time.  I’ve gotten that feeling from the swing in a rowing shell when all of us were blessedly in sync and the boat was balanced and moving well.  I’ve had that feeling floating underwater in Buzzards Bay when I felt like I was a part of the bay.  And I’ve had that feeling of flow and time travel when I’m writing or having a magical conversation with someone special.  This is flow and synchronicity, stillness and movement, urgency and timelessness blended together into an energy drink we can swim in.
      But back to the hemlocks.  I’ve wanted to plant a stand of hemlocks in the woods behind my house, and another stand of them between my house and the neighbors.  I’ve lived in this house for twenty years and haven’t done it.  Part of that was concern for the invasive species woolly adelgid, which feeds on hemlocks and eventually kills them.  I don’t have a great excuse really, and so I’m going to plant a bunch of hemlocks this spring.  I may live in this house for another twenty years, or a may move on in a year.  Who really knows?  But the hemlocks would live on – hopefully a legacy to some quirky dude who shared this place next to the woods once upon a time.

    • She-Qua-Ga Falls

      In the town of Montour Falls, New York there is a stunning waterfall that looks like it’s flowing right into the homes that sit at the base.  When you drive down West Main Street, as I did, its a shock to look up and see this magnificent waterfall cascading down onto the town.  It was a wow moment on par with coming through the Webster Tunnel on I-376 in Pittsburgh to have the entire city open up in front of you.

      Seeing the falls with high water in the creek is a must.  I saw it on a warm February day with rain and melt-off fueling the tumbling waters.  Apparently that’s what She-Qua-Ga means; tumbling waters.  It’s not the only waterfall in Montour Falls – I’d also visited Eagles Nest Falls a couple of minutes away from She-Qua-Ga Falls, but it’s the most accessible.  You don’t have to get out of your car to be blown away by it, but of course you must.  Seeing a waterfall from afar is not the same as feeling the mist dance on your face and hearing the roar of the cascading water.  You should have a relationship with a waterfall, otherwise what’s the point?

      Anyone who knows me knows I like to dance with ghosts, and there’s a real tango with history at the base of She-Qua-Ga Falls.  This was the place where Queen of the Seneca/Iroquois Catherine Montour lived.  Several of the place names nearby honor her, including Catherine, Montour and Montour Falls.  It was the place where Red Jacket, who signed the Treaty of Canandaigua after the Revolutionary War, practiced his speeches.  If Fort Stanwix tore lands away from the Iroquois, Canandaigua promised to give some of this land back.  For the once mighty Iroquois to cede these lands to the new United States must have been a devastating and bitter pill to swallow.

      Around 1820 Louis Philippe, later the “Citizen King” of France from 1830 to 1848, sketched the falls from roughly the spot where I was standing taking them in when he was in exile.  At some point I’ll try to take a picture of that sketch and update this post with it.  For now, I’ve had the opportunity to see the real thing.

    • Lick Brook Falls

      This morning I woke up and thought I’d tackle one more waterfall before I shut down this grand tour of Ithaca area waterfalls.  I drove 7 minutes up the road to Lick Brook Falls at Buttermilk Falls State Park.  This is a lovely and quiet spot, especially on a Sunday morning with icy, muddy trails to contend with.  So on went the micro spikes over the boots.  I’ve worn that combo a lot this weekend and never was it more needed than on this hike.  Steep downhill stretches were a sheet of ice, all the more treacherous because if you slipped you’d likely end up in the fast moving stream.

      So I cautiously made my way down the icy trail.  I’m not timid, but I do have a fondness for living.  And not getting hurt again.  After all I was flat on my back cracking a rib just two weeks ago.  I’m getting older but I still remember THAT.  I also did the mental math – I was one of two cars parked the trail head, and what were the odds of me being discovered should I slip?  Not good.

      No sooner had I said that than a trail runner came dashing down the hill behind me.  It was his fourth loop of the trail I was hiking down.  And yes, he was wearing micro spikes, but he was also hustling down the steep icy path I’d just descended.  And he was wearing shorts.

      I told him that he was a better man than me, got a quick download on the trail ahead and wished him God speed.  He reminded me of the thru hikers we saw hiking through Mahoosuc Notch.  I’d be moving at what I thought was a decent speed only to have those thru hikers blow right by me.  All you can do is salute them and move along at the speed that makes sense for you.  And that’s exactly what I did with that trail runner.

      Lick Brook Falls is really three falls.  The from the bottom to the top, Lower Lick Brook Fall drops 25 feet, moving up the trail, Middle Lick Brook Falls drops 47 feet and then Upper Lick Brook Falls drops 93 feet.  This third drop ranks Lick Brook Falls as the fifth highest waterfall in the Ithaca area.  It’s similar to Lucifer Falls for its relative isolation compared to the other falls on the top five, but unique for its three drops.  This one reminded me a lot of hiking along a mountain stream in the White Mountains.  The hemlock, oaks and maple trees certainly helped with that impression.

      Ultimately I did three more waterfalls today, but I’ll save those for another post or two.  If I’d just done this one today I’d have called today a victory.  There are some incredible stories that came out of the others, and they’re worth a post of their own.  Hiking the “blue” Lick Brook Trail in February paid off with plenty of water, ice sculptures and isolation.  It occurred to me more than once on the trail that there was nowhere else I’d rather have been at that moment.

      According to the Sweedler adn Thayer Preserves website, this area was protected from development when “Moss Sweedler purchased the “Lost Gorge” in the 1970s, and understanding its uniqueness, decided to leave it to the Finger Lakes Land Trust in his will.  But in 1989, the Land Trust let the Sweedlers know that Lick Brook was a top priority for protection, recognizing the development pressure in the area and the site’s exceptional beauty, and in 1993 the Land Trust purchased 128 acres from Moss and Kristin Sweedler at a bargain price, creating the Sweedler Preserve at Lick Brook.  Since then the preserve has provided public access to one of the most remarkable waterfalls and gorges in the area.”

    • Four Waterfalls in One Afternoon

      I found myself with an afternoon to myself today while in Ithaca, New York.  Ithaca is a great college town with plenty of restaurants to choose from and enough shopping to occupy those who are inclined to spend their lives in retail environments.  I’m not one of those people.

      I decided to make the waterfall circuit.  Now, Ithaca has a lot of waterfalls and I only had half a day of daylight to work with, so I tried to choose wisely.  You can’t go to Ithaca and not view Ithaca Falls, so that was on the list.  But so was Buttermilk Falls, Taughanock Falls and Lucifer Falls.

      I started with Taughanock Falls.  This was the furthest away but one I really wanted to hike to.  I drove out to Ulysses and changed into my winter boots for the hike.  I’d contemplated this hike before I drove out here so I also put on micro spikes, as I expected the conditions to be icy.  My expectations were met.  The path to the falls was about a mile long with a mix of ice, snow and mud.  I passed 50 or 60 people on this walk and I was the only one wearing micro spikes.  A few people pointed to them and said they wished they’d thought to bring them too.  Taughanock Falls on a mild February day were spectacular.

      Next on the list was Buttermilk Falls.  This one was right down the street from my hotel and easy to get to.  No hiking boots required, just park and walk over to take a picture.  Buttermilk Falls are beautiful, but there’s no real effort required to see them.  I like to earn my scenic vistas.

      Third waterfall was Ithaca Falls.  This is another easy one right off the road.  In fact, you can technically see the falls from the road, which is how we first discovered them.  But I put on my boots again and walked out to the falls for another picture.  Quick walk but well worth the effort to get closer.

      Finally, I drove out to the Robert H. Treman State Park to see Lucifer Falls.  Waze sent me past the state park parking lot to the service road on the other side of the Enfield Creek.  This ended up working out really well as there was a nice path down to the creek on that side.  This was another hike where micro spikes were invaluable.  I’m not sure I would have chanced the hike without them.  This hike reminded me of New Hampshire.  There were hemlock trees shading the path, and with the icy conditions I was one of the only people out on the trail. 

      There’s a bumper sticker available in many of the stores in Ithaca that says “Ithaca is Gorges”.  It’s a nice play on words of course, but right on point; Ithaca’s Gorges are indeed gorgeous.  When you get off the city streets Ithaca offers plenty of views that are well worth the effort to find.  I’m glad to have had the opportunity to see these four waterfalls today.  I’ll definitely go back to each one again, and especially Lucifer Falls.

    • Margaritas and Marketing

      Margaritas and Marketing

      Today is National Margarita Day.  If I didn’t know that on my own, I’d surely have figured it out by the sheer number of social media updates, banners on restaurants and radio banter.  I don’t generally drink margaritas.  They’re up on the list with orange juice on the acidic no no scale.  When I was younger, I’d pop a few Tums, deal with any cankers I might acquire for indulging and plunge right in.  No more.

      But that doesn’t mean I won’t celebrate in my own way.  I’m just not buying into a national day designed to sell more of something phenomenon.  I march to the beat of my own drum, and I’ll toast the margarita drinkers with a rum drink or beer.  Cheers!

    • Ulster Scots & Potatoes

      Ulster Scots & Potatoes

      The Ulster Scots settled in New England in 1718.  They weren’t coming here to make their fortune, they were coming for survival.  The Ulster Scots were caught between the British and the Irish when forced to out of their homelands in the early 1600’s to the ancestral homelands of the Irish in the County of Ulster.  Civil Wars and massacres in Ulster threatened to wipe out the population.  Many of these people, seeing no hope for the future in Ulster, migrated to America.

      The Governor of Massachusetts in 1718 was Samuel Shute.  Shute was looking at the ongoing threat from the French and Indians on the fringes of civilization and felt that these immigrants would be a great buffer.  So the Ulster Scots settled in what is today Maine and New Hampshire in great numbers.  The Nutfield Grant brought many of these migrants to New Hampshire in 1719, in what is now Derry, Windham and Londonderry.
      One of the leaders of these Ulster Scots was the Reverend James McGregor.  McGregor is credited with being the first person to plant potatoes in America.  And since he did this in Nutfield, this makes New Hampshire the first place on the North American continent to grow potatoes.  
      Potato crops are still big in New England, but not so much in New Hampshire.  The Granite State’s nickname is a stark reality for farmers.  There’s a reason there are stone walls all over the place here.  The rocky soil makes farming tough for anyone.  When your survival is based on what you grew that season, you’d better start with decent soil.

      Most of the potato farms are in Northern Maine, with more than 55,000 acres of farmland dedicated to potato crops in Aroostook County.  It seems that the farmers are mostly Irish and not Ulster Scots.  The original Nutfield Grant doesn’t have any potato farms that I know of, but they’ll be celebrating their 300th anniversary this year.

    • Snow Plows

      Snow Plows

      People who live in tropical environments rarely if ever experience the sound of the plow.  Living in New England, I hear it more often than I’d like to.  Sometimes I hear it and think back fondly to snow days in school.  Sometimes I hear it and think I’ve got a rough commute ahead of me and better hustle outside to clear the driveway before I’m late.  Either way, I always think it a pleasant sound.

      The sound of the plow happens at any time of day when its snowing of course, but it’s most meaningful when it wakes you from your sleep early in the morning.  The scraping sound of a plow against pavement starts as a distant but unmistakeable rumble that increases in volume and vibration as it approaches your house and eventually fades away as it moves past.  Usually there’s another one following close behind to widen the path that the first plow is carving into the street.  Living on a cul de sac, I know that this sound will return within a few minutes once they’ve completed the circle at the end of the street.

      The sound of the plow is a wake-up call.  Normally the sound of the plow would be followed closely by the phone ringing an automated message that the kids don’t have school.  Time to get out and clear the driveway.  Will it be shovel or snowblower?  We’ll see soon enough.  Back when I was a kid you needed to turn on the news and hope you’d see your town’s name scroll across the bottom of the screen or hear someone read the name on the radio.  Nowadays there’s no drama – you get the text message and automated call well before you’d see it on the television screen.

      The plow invokes mostly positive memories for me despite the call to labor on the driveway that it offers.  Contrast to the sound of the trash truck approaching, which can be panic-inducing if you forgot to put the barrels out.  Living on a cul de sac, I’ve been saved a few times over the years by rolling the barrels across the street to have them picked up on the return trip.

      There have been a few battles over the years with the plow guy.  I stake the curve on the street so that the plows don’t ride across the front edge of my lawn and rip it up.  In years when we get a lot of snow the plow guys (or ladies) grow increasingly ambivalent about the border between street and lawn and inevitably they’ll encroach on the yard mowing down my line of fiberglass stakes.  In those moments my goodwill towards the plow turns to righteous indignation.  But I know they have a tough job to do and generally I’ll give them a pass.  After all, they’re up all night plowing while I’m fast asleep, dreaming of snow days.