Alexandersmap

    Tag: New York

    • Visiting the Cascades of Attica

      You’ve got to know when to hold ’em
      Know when to fold ’em
      Know when to walk away
      And know when to run      …

      Every gambler knows
      That the secret to survivin’
      Is knowin’ what to throw away
      And knowin’ what to keep
      ‘Cause every hand’s a winner
      And every hand’s a loser
      And the best that you can hope for
      Is to die in your sleep
      —Kenny Rogers, The Gambler

      When you find a few minutes in your day, googling “waterfalls near me” can net some great micro adventures. Today’s search brought me to a pristine 60 foot waterfall just five minutes down the road from a famous prison that looks like a castle in the cornfields. The waterfall felt like you were in another universe. And it was just where I needed to be between my second and third meetings on a busy day in Upstate New York.

      There are a few web sites that describe the cascades. I found this one helpful for understanding what I was walking into. Private property, three cascades within a few hundred meters of the road, well defined path… got it. Of course, it didn’t mention the slippery layer cake hazard of fresh snow on wet leaves on gooey mud that a visitor in December might confront, but things change and we must adjust to whatever we’re presented with. I attempted to reach the 60 foot plunge from both shores, recognizing both offered potential views but also potential for an untimely end to my time on this earth. There was no one to hear me scream as I slipped down the path, over the cliff and down the ice cold river. So why tempt fate? The secret to survivin’ is knowin’ what to throw away. And knowin’ what to keep.

      But I couldn’t walk away without getting a “close enough” picture. I slipped on the micro spikes, grabbed hold of the rope someone generously left for just such foolhardy acts and made my way down to the top of the falls. Not the dangerous part, mind you, but the part some folks in my life would question my sanity for getting anywhere near. Daring, but not reckless… Hey that’s me!. Maybe someday I’ll be back and conditions will be perfect for a walk downstream and then up the river bed for that classic waterfall shot. This wasn’t that day. But it was still an adventure. If only a small one.

      Cascades from as close as I could safely get
      The other shore was even more daunting

    • Life is the Train

      “Our life is a constant journey, from birth to death. The landscape changes, the people change, our needs change, but the train keeps moving. Life is the train, not the station.” – Paulo Coelho

      Traveling by regional train is such a treat when you’ve been subjected to the indignities of air travel and commuting in the relentless grind of traffic. Taking an Amtrak from Boston to New York is not the fastest way from point A to point B, but my gosh it’s surely the best way. Give me the rolling scenery without the stress of distracted drivers and unpredictable traffic, thank you. Give me actual leg room in coach over whatever they think proper leg room is on a regional jet between any two cities in the United States. The train is the best way from here to there if the option presents itself.

      There are two options when taking the train from Boston to New York (or Washington beyond). The first is the Acela, the “high speed” option. The second is the regional train. The difference is in top speed the trains can travel at, and the number of stops the train makes along the way. For all the potential of the Acela, it only gets you there about 30 minutes faster. I’m quite content taking the regional most days. Sit on the port side going south for the coastal views and the sunrise, or the starboard side for the great view of the city as you make your final approach to Manhattan.

      Days blend into weeks, which blend into months. Years fly by and suddenly you can’t recall how many times you’ve done this particular trip. Last week I was flying up and down the East Coast, this week I’m doing a portion of that trip ten feet above sea level. In the last month I’ve been in nine states and when I land in my hotel room tonight I’ll have slept in 12 different beds. Clearly I’m inching back to my old nomadic lifestyle. With travel as with life, I’ve found that it’s usually far better when you’re taking the journey with someone than running solo. But most trips that’s not the way it works with business travel.

      The world changes, that’s not a negative statement, but a simple fact of life. And we must keep adapting to change, and keep authoring our own life story. To stay in one place seems a waste to me, when there’s so very much to see out there. Why not explore the world while you have health and mental faculty on your side? We’ve seen how it goes when you wait too long. Life isn’t fair, it will brush you back with a fastball and strike you out with a nasty curve before you know what happened to you. Get to it while you can, and don’t ever strike out looking.

      Travel by train gives you the time and mental space to think. To appreciate how far you’ve come, and not stress out about where you’re going. You’ll get there, just stay on the train. Life is like that, isn’t it? Stick with things, keep moving forward and things tend to work out for you. Trains and baseball analogies, all in one post. Isn’t it funny how far a rolling coastal view will take the mind?

    • The Newfield Covered Bridge

      The 1853 Newfield covered bridge is a survivor. Wooden bridges were usually torn down when they grew old. New York State once boasted of 250 such bridges, now there are only 24. And Newfield’s is the only remaining covered bridge in Tompkins County, New York. As with any survival tale, it comes with a story of perseverance and a battle of beliefs.

      If you aren’t from places where they build such things, you may wonder about the reason for covered bridges. It was simply a matter of economics. Wood was plentiful, but you couldn’t realistically leave a wooden deck exposed to the elements in northern climates without having to close and replace parts of it every few years. So the builders would simply put a roof over it. It was a lot cheaper to replace a roof every twenty years than the bridge itself every few years. And once you had a winner, other communities would copy the design and soon these timber tunnels were commonplace in the northeast United States.

      But soon steel bridges were the rage, quickly replacing older wooden bridges as they aged. It was another case of economics – a steel bridge would last far longer than any wooden bridge, and could be built longer and wider – allowing for more cars and taller trucks. Progress trumped timeless beauty. And so the wooden bridges were taken down one-by-one as they grew weary.

      And then the engineers came to Newfield in 1969 and declared that this bridge too would be replaced with modern steel and concrete. And a woman named Marie Musser said “Over my dead body” and dug in her heels to fight progress. She and her husband Grant fought the county over the fate of the bridge and eventually won the right to preserve it.

      Three years later they oversaw the restoration of the bridge, and again in 1998 when it was reinforced and raised to support modern vehicular traffic. And so it was that the Newfield Covered Bridge survived and today looks as good as she ever did. It’s now the oldest active bridge of its kind in the area. Driving through it feels like time travel. In a way it is.

      Marie Musser died the year after that 1998 restoration, and her husband Grant died the year after that in 2000. Their old bridge survived them both, and was added to the National Register of Historic Places on February 25, 2000. I imagine they both knew in their last days that their bridge would make it. I hope so anyway.

      And this story informs. What are we willing to fight for, as the Muller’s fought for this old neglected bridge, resurrecting it to a sparkling example of the possibility of purpose? What is our own contribution to the future? It only takes one of us to stand up and say “Not on my watch.” If the Newfield Covered Bridge tells us anything, it’s that we are the bridge between the past and future. And where there’s a will there’s a way.

    • The Lure of Falling Water

      “As long as I live, I’ll hear waterfalls and birds and winds sing. I’ll interpret the rocks, learn the language of flood, storm, and the avalanche. I’ll acquaint myself with the glaciers and wild gardens, and get as near the heart of the world as I can.” – John Muir

      What is it about waterfalls?  Is it the sound of falling water hitting hard surfaces and drowning out the rest of the world?  The stunning visual dance of water and light that often creates rainbows in the mist?  Or is it the lure of something bigger than ourselves?  Something timeless and enchanting all at once?  I’m not really sure I can answer my own question.  But I’m drawn to waterfalls just the same.

      We made a point of visiting two waterfalls during a brief visit to Ithaca, New York.  We’ve been to both before, and wanted to see how they looked in a different season.  It turns out that the first attempt was thwarted by the closure of the Cascadilla Gorge Trail because of some damage sustained to the trail that prompted officials to deem it dangerous for the public.  I suspect we would have done just fine on it, but we honored the signs and temporary fencing the City of Ithaca had barring access to the trail.

      Thankfully, the second option was open and available, and we were able to spend a bit of time contemplating Ithaca Falls.  Strangely, there were very few people about.  I always wonder about that when visiting places like Ithaca Falls.  Why aren’t there more people there?  But we were grateful for the relative solitude afforded to us, and the opportunity to see a place like this one more time.  I’m not sure how many times I’ll get back to the many waterfalls of Ithaca; I hope many more.   Why would you visit a place and knowing what lingers nearby, not take a moment for awe and reflection?  It really doesn’t matter why we love it, only that we’re able to spend moments of wonder with falling waters.

    • I Must Get Back To The Sea

      “The sea 
         isn’t a place
           but a fact, and
             a mystery”
      – Mary Oliver, The Waves

      It’s been less than two weeks since I’ve visited the ocean, and it feels like forever.  We’re deep into the holidays now, and the end of the quarter, the end of the year and the end of the decade.  There’s no time for the ocean right now, but on the other hand there’s no better time for the ocean.  I’m planning at least two trips to the ocean in the next week, for exercise and sanity and a bit of winter beach solitude.  I’m close enough to salt water that it’s not going to break either the time or financial banks.

      I noticed a lot of fresh water experiences in 2019, Lake Michigan, Lake Ontario and exploring a double-digit number of waterfalls in New York, New Hampshire, Connecticut and Scotland. I’m hoping 2020 brings even more opportunities to ponder the mysteries of the ocean.  I know I have a good head start teed up for New Year’s Day.  For today, I’m using this Mary Oliver quote as inspiration for a four of my favorite moments with salt water in 2019.  

      Camusdarach Beach: My bucket list beach, and I’m grateful I had the chance to check this box in 2019. Sure, it was a rainy November day, but it was still as beautiful as I’d hoped it would be. I’m already plotting a return.

      Plum Island: My go-to winter beach, close to home and blissfully isolated on a cold weekday. My lunchtime walk was my favorite long walk on a beach this year.

      Sailing on Fayaway: I shake my head thinking I only went sailing once this year, which was the fewest number of times on a sailboat I’ve had in years. I’m grateful for the crew of Fayaway for giving me the opportunity to sail with them. I’ll get out more in 2020, I promise myself.

      Buzzards Bay: Home away from home. The sunsets are stunning, but I’m partial to the sunrises. Swimming in Buzzards Bay doesn’t offer surf action, but it makes up for it with warm, salty water you can float in forever. At least I wish sometimes it were forever. The last swim of the year is always bittersweet, and, like sailing, I always hope for more next year.

      We only have so many days, where do you prioritize the time you have? If I’ve learned anything in reviewing the year, it’s that I need to double down on my time with salt water. On the beach, on an oceanside trail, on a boat, or swimming in it, I must get back to the sea.

    • White As Snow

      (Reposting this from December 7 after it reverted to a draft for some reason)

      A few days ago I said let it snow, and 1200 miles of driving in it constantly across the middle and Southern Tier of New York and through Massachusetts and New Hampshire I regret not being more specific in my statement. Lake Effect snow made Upstate New York a snow globe, and bands of snow stayed with me all the way back. Slushy roads and slippery when wet caution cones mocked my dress shoes the entire week, and I deserved the mockery for leaving my boots and waterproof hiking shoes sitting in the car instead of on my feet. I know better but slipped and slid my way along anyway. Common sense did not prevail in footwear this week.

      Still, there’s nothing like fresh snow on a sunny morning, and I can finally pause long enough to appreciate it. It’s a stark background that pushes things that normally recede into the background forward. Hillsides of gray and black tree trunks rolled in waves alongside me for much of the week. Back home with the sun unmasked for the first time in a week, I watch the dance of illumination and shadow as sunbeams find their way through the woods with no leaves to block them as they explore. Puffs of snow drift of branches, stirred by the wind, mixing with rays of light and remind me the woods are never still, even after snowfall. Looking deeper into the woods squirrels scurry about, puffy gray tails bouncing all the while, in search of food hidden under the snow. Birds zip to the feeder and back to cover, always watchful for hawks and neighborhood cats. I wonder at the performance as my indoor cat snacks me with her tail, yearning to be free of the glass keeping her from the hunt.

      Those birds demand attention, and I count dozens moving in turns to the feeder. Food brings life to the stark backyard of winter, and it enlivens this cat’s tail as I write. Empty mug and stomach are looking for attention to, and this writing session comes to an end. The empty page soon filled with words, like tree trunks on a snowy hill, and I’m grateful for the inspiration.

    • Bumped Up to the Safari Room

      The woman at the front desk looked at me and smiled as I checked in Tuesday, thanking me for being a Hilton Diamond member and informing me that my room was upgraded to a suite.  I thanked her, still shaking off the miles of driving, accepted my cookie and water and rolled my bag to my upgraded room.  Hilton Diamond is just another way of identifying yourself as someone who travels a lot for work.  Less a status symbol, more a way of life.  But there are perks beyond the free water, wi-fi and shorter check-in line, namely I get points I can use for even more travel.

      My room was on the third floor, and as I rolled my bag around the corner I saw the room almost immediately.  I tapped my prox card on the reader, the light turned green and beeped a greeting and I opened the door to another world.  This wasn’t just a suite, this was an adventure in thematic decorating.  They bumped me up to the Safari Room, and the only thing missing was the soundtrack of wild animals screaming in the night and the pounding of drums as the natives hunted me down.

      Flipping on the light, the first thing I saw was a curved bar with animal busts mounted conveniently at knee height (as I would find out later).  A lion’s head sconce with flickering electric candles watched over the copper sink in the wet bar, gazelles and monkeys and wildebeests were integrated into the furniture.  Bamboo and matted grass-like wallpaper completed the look.  And the room went on forever (I counted 55 steps to circle the L -shaped room).  A glass table with four themed chairs met me around the corner, and far down the other end was the king-sized bed with bamboo headboard.  A massive walk-in closet was off to the side, with room for hundreds of outfits, and hangers for five.  And capping it all off was the bathroom.  This was a suite in itself, larger than many hotel rooms I’ve stayed in, with a hot tub set in the middle, a large walk-in shower to the side, toilet and avocado sink…. that’s right, an avocado sink. Surveying the entire bathroom suite were two jungle masks on either side of the sink that kept staring at me and a large hippo bench that looked like it would roll over and have me rub its belly.  Wow, where do you begin?

      The thing about getting a room like this is it reminds you that you’re traveling alone. It amplifies the solo in solo travel. I’d almost rather have the standard room where I don’t think about what I left behind to be in this crazy room. But you make the most of it and move on to the real world. I had a drink at the bar while running a report, but otherwise it was just another hotel room for me. People make the place, not jungle themed furniture. This room would be wildly fun with friends. Nope, just me. Alone. In the jungle. But it sure was unique.

    • I’ll Take the Train, Thank You

      There are many ways to get from Boston to New York City. Driving or taking a bus are viable options that offer advantages in flexibility and economy. Flying used to be the fastest way until security requirements stretched the time commitment to be roughly the same as driving. And then there’s the train, the oldest and still the best option when you’re going from downtown Boston to the heart of Manhattan. And that’s where I find myself this morning, rolling down the tracks looking at the changing landscape of Rhode Island and Connecticut, phone charging, wi-fi and Bluetooth on, coffee at the ready.

      I’ve recently taken the train from London to Liverpool and back, and a sleeper train from London to Edinburgh and back, so the comparison is still fresh in my mind. Amtrak is more expensive and slower than that Virgin train to Liverpool. The infrastructure and number of stops simply don’t allow for long runs at high speed. The difference between the Acela and the regional train is only 30 minutes. If you can tolerate the multiple stops it makes a lot of sense to just take the regional. And really, who cares? I’m sipping coffee, writing and listening to music while someone else does the work. And I didn’t have to wait in a TSA line or take my shoes off for the honor of sitting in this seat. Dog sniffing my bags? Any time you want.

      I’ve driven to New York countless times. It’s a miserable experience unless you manage to time the traffic. Humans aren’t at their best in stop and go traffic, and the 5 minute delay I hit at 5 AM this morning driving to the train station was a good reminder of the horror show that is I-95 through Connecticut. Why subject yourself to that when you don’t have to? And when you finally get to Manhattan mentally spent, you get to spend a fortune to park your car. Then do it all over again going back home. I’ll take the train, thank you.

    • Edgy in Satire: Edith Lunt Small

      There’s a painting in the long hallway at Richardson’s Canal House that you can get lost in for hours. The artist was Edith Lunt Small, who passed away in 2017, 38 years after creating this fanciful world on canvas. Edith lives on in the painting, portraying herself as a skinny-dipping artist swimming in the Erie Canal in 1825. As the self-portrait indicates, there’s a lot of whimsy in her work, and I enjoyed spending a few minutes with this one.

      Art is meant to be enjoyed, and I found myself smiling at the little details she dropped into this painting, commissioned for Richardson’s Canal House. 1825 Bushnell’s Basin in Small’s world was raucous fun, and I imagine the artist was too. Her son called her work edgy in satire in his eulogy, and based on this one, I see what he means. I was happy to get a glimpse into the spirit that was Edith Lunt Small. These close-ups offer a small glimpse for you as well. This was an artist who clearly loved life!

    • In the Moment

      “Ask yourself at every moment, ‘Is this necessary?’” – Marcus Aurelius

      There are times when I read a page in a book and realize as I reach the end that my mind didn’t make the journey with my eyes. My mind will race along with thoughts of urgency of my own design, distractions of this, that and the other thing. Am I not in a place to be reading these words at this time? Sometimes closing the book and addressing the pressing thoughts is the answer, but other times the answer is to take a deep breath, push aside the noise and refocus the mind. In an inner dialogue version of I’ll turn this car around right now! I tell myself I’m here for this page, and you might as well stick with this, mind of mine.

      I understand why my mind is racing. I have upcoming trips to New York, London and Scotland the next three weeks. Logistics, meeting preparation, and ensuring what I’ll leave behind doesn’t fall apart in my absence consumes me as I read about, of all things, stillness. They say when the student is ready the teacher will appear… in this case the teacher is patiently standing over my desk while the other students giggle and I jolt awake from a daydream.

      We live in a noisy, demanding world, and it feels like your brain is like the close-up shot of the crowd in a tennis match, following the ball this way, then that way, then “Ooohh!” followed by “Woah!” and so on. The next three weeks are pulsing in my thoughts, but I know I’m getting ahead of myself. There was a moment yesterday when I contemplated packing my bag for anticipated Isle of Skye November weather when I caught myself, thinking I’m going to need that bag for a business trip to Rochester, New York beginning tomorrow. Plan for the future, but please, focus on now!

      Which brings me back to… now. I’ve set aside reading Stillness Is The Key to write this blog post. The list of things to do between now and the end of November is expanding rapidly, if only in my mind. I follow the Getting Things Done approach and write it down to get it out of my head, and something else pops up and I write that down in turn. Such is the power of anticipation, but that teacher is standing over my desk again, and I look up slowly from my scattered mindscape to hear her remind me “There’s only now“. Be in the moment. Now: This Sunday in New Hampshire, surrounded by golden leaves lit by morning sun; leaves that will be piled on the ground when you return in three weeks. Make the most of this moment, won’t you? Tomorrow will be there waiting if you should get there.