The Mullens invited us over for dinner. Ker and I love visiting the Mullens on Stave Island. They have a cozy little spot overlooking a beautiful spot on the river. The Mullens are simply great people. They are a modern urban homesteaders, living in Philadelphia during the year, and Stave Island during the summer. They have three kids, chickens and a sport rifle so they can shoot red squirrels from their deck.
When we arrived at their home they presented us with a set of hand crafted Adirondack chairs as a wedding gift. The chairs are incredible, and we set them by the fire ring in front of the cottage. Toni made homemade tortillas and we ate some of the best fajitas I have ever had.
We shared stories and some great laughs, and around eleven we headed off in the dark, with only our bow light. We drove slowly all the way home and Erin Clare and Kerry stood in the bow with spotlights looking for shoals.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Day 16 - Stave Island
The day was incredibly slow moving until about two o'clock in the afternoon. We ran some errands in town, and headed to Stave Island afterward to give Andy Mullen a ride to Wolf Island where everyone was gathering for dinner.
Stave is an incredible island, and the Mullen's have an awesome spot. The water is deep and their house is nestled in a tiny alcove perched atop a small woody cliff. Andy always has beer on top and we shared a beer on the dock and caught up about the year.
We set off for Wolf a bit later and arrived to a roaring fire and hot food. I took the younger cousins out knee boarding, which seems to be everyone's new favorite activity this year. I had waited all day for a turn, and just as it was getting dark I was able to beg Kerry out to drive while I took a few spins on the board. I had one major wipe-out, but on the bright side was able to pull of a few three-sixties for the first time.
Stave is an incredible island, and the Mullen's have an awesome spot. The water is deep and their house is nestled in a tiny alcove perched atop a small woody cliff. Andy always has beer on top and we shared a beer on the dock and caught up about the year.
We set off for Wolf a bit later and arrived to a roaring fire and hot food. I took the younger cousins out knee boarding, which seems to be everyone's new favorite activity this year. I had waited all day for a turn, and just as it was getting dark I was able to beg Kerry out to drive while I took a few spins on the board. I had one major wipe-out, but on the bright side was able to pull of a few three-sixties for the first time.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Day 15 - Blue Paint
Kerry woke up in a rampage. She was set to paint the bedroom blue. Erin Clare arrived the night before and was staying with us for the week while Ryan Northington’s parents were visiting from Texas. When Kerry’s mind is made up that she wants to do something, she is going to do it, quite the same as myself. It was easiest to go along with her plan and stay out of the way.
The three of us loaded the boat and headed into town. Erin Clare took care of a few things at the library in preparation for her year in England. Kerry and I grabbed some breakfast. We picked up our supplies at the hardware store and headed back to the island.
I did not want much to do with painting, so I continued my shore line clearing project, while the girls painted. I took apart the chainsaw and cleaned the air filter. It was a finicky machine, stubborn, and prone to easily flooding and not starting. I let it sit for twenty minutes while another large thunderstorm brewed on the horizon.
We sat on the edge of the thunderstorm line for most of the afternoon. Finally, the chainsaw started and I began to clear. I felled three trees, the sky turned black, and it started to pour. I hurriedly retreated inside the cottage to wait out the storm. It was violent and thick. It rained with fury for about thirty to forty minutes and just as quickly as the sky had blackened it was once again a beautiful opaque blue with puffy white clouds. I grabbed the saw and headed back outside.
It is immensely satisfying to watch the trees come down, throw them in a huge pile, and haul them away with the tractor. I enjoy using the saw, but most of all driving the old nineteen sixties red and rusty Massey Ferguson tractor. She is an impeccable machine that has worked hard through the years. She starts right up without so much as a hiccup, and I am amazed at the ease with which she pulls seemingly intolerably heavy loads.
I spent the good part of four straight hours working with the saw and tractor.
When I was finished, I set out for a run. I wanted to test my current state of physical ability, and painfully discovered I have a long way to go. I spent so much time kayaking this fall and spring, that I spent little time running or working out in other ways.
I started running for the town dock. My legs were heavy and my knees sore, but I was pleased with how I was moving along. When I got to the town dock, I felt like going farther so I headed to the school house. When I reached the school house I was about 2.5 miles out. My legs felt like lead, and I was moving along quite slowly. It was a long painful slog back to the cottage, but I made it without stopping.
It was a start.
The three of us loaded the boat and headed into town. Erin Clare took care of a few things at the library in preparation for her year in England. Kerry and I grabbed some breakfast. We picked up our supplies at the hardware store and headed back to the island.
I did not want much to do with painting, so I continued my shore line clearing project, while the girls painted. I took apart the chainsaw and cleaned the air filter. It was a finicky machine, stubborn, and prone to easily flooding and not starting. I let it sit for twenty minutes while another large thunderstorm brewed on the horizon.
We sat on the edge of the thunderstorm line for most of the afternoon. Finally, the chainsaw started and I began to clear. I felled three trees, the sky turned black, and it started to pour. I hurriedly retreated inside the cottage to wait out the storm. It was violent and thick. It rained with fury for about thirty to forty minutes and just as quickly as the sky had blackened it was once again a beautiful opaque blue with puffy white clouds. I grabbed the saw and headed back outside.
It is immensely satisfying to watch the trees come down, throw them in a huge pile, and haul them away with the tractor. I enjoy using the saw, but most of all driving the old nineteen sixties red and rusty Massey Ferguson tractor. She is an impeccable machine that has worked hard through the years. She starts right up without so much as a hiccup, and I am amazed at the ease with which she pulls seemingly intolerably heavy loads.
I spent the good part of four straight hours working with the saw and tractor.
When I was finished, I set out for a run. I wanted to test my current state of physical ability, and painfully discovered I have a long way to go. I spent so much time kayaking this fall and spring, that I spent little time running or working out in other ways.
I started running for the town dock. My legs were heavy and my knees sore, but I was pleased with how I was moving along. When I got to the town dock, I felt like going farther so I headed to the school house. When I reached the school house I was about 2.5 miles out. My legs felt like lead, and I was moving along quite slowly. It was a long painful slog back to the cottage, but I made it without stopping.
It was a start.
Day 14 - Canada, Oh Canada
Kerry and I woke up and headed out on a mountain bike ride through Grindstone Island. We were in search of Mid River Farm, an on island farm selling grass fed beef, pork, chicken and eggs. We found the farm, but a storm was brewing on the horizon, and no one was home. We had time enough to snap a few pictures of the farm and pushed onward. The mountain biking on the island is a great mix of dirt and gravel roads, fire roads and even a bit of single-track. We cruised through a huge expanse of open meadow filled with thousands of Black Eyed Susan wildflowers. It started raining and we pedaled faster back to the cottage.
We got back to the cottage, changed, and headed out in the boat to Gananoque. I was excited. The boat ride to Gananoque takes about ten minutes. It is just on the back side of Grindstone Island, but a world away. We pulled up to the Marina and everyone was speaking French, likely a herd of vacationers from Quebec.
Our assignment was to ‘check-in’ to Canada. We docked the boat and walked to an old school pay phone booth, and dialed 1800-CAN-PASS. I was under the impression that you could ‘check-in’ to Canada for the duration of the summer and freely boat back and forth between American and Canadian waters. I was all set to get my ‘summer pass.’ I happen to be an idiot. The conversation went something like this:
‘Hello, yes, I would like to check in to Canada and get my ‘summer pass’’.
‘Where are you?'
‘Gananoque.’
‘Where are you?'
‘Gananoque.’
‘Where are you?’ Surely there was a misunderstanding between me and the Canadian woman on the other end of the line. I was not sure what game we were playing, but it seemed likely she simply could not hear me properly, so I yelled into the telephone line for the third time.
‘Gananoque!’ There, that should do the trick. She could not have missed that one, nor did the French Canadians passing by in the rain.
‘No sir. Where in Gananoque are you?’ Well, that seemed like a simple question, and as I was still unsure why she did not clarify her question in the first place, I began to look around for some identifying marks to explain my location. Ah, there we are.
‘I am in the James T. Stone Park.’ Kerry was squished next to me in the phone booth in bewilderment telling me to tell the woman that we were at the municipal marina. She was of course correct.
‘Sir, that location does not exist. You need to be at a registered check-in location.’ Who knew going to Canada was going to be so complicated and without any instruction for how to properly navigate this cumbersome process. I looked up at the sign and realized that the James T. Stone Park was yet to be built and under construction according to the sign. I went with Kerry’s suggestion.
‘I am in the municipal marina’.
‘Oh, of course, don’t ya know sir. That is a registered check-in location. Thank you. Now, how long are you going to be in Canada?’ Finally, I was making progress.
‘Well, I will be in and out of Canada for the next month, and I would like my summer pass.’ The woman sounded exasperated and took on a very serious tone.
‘Sir, let me explain something to you very carefully so that you are clear on the rules. Every time you go into Canada or Canadian waters, you have to call this number to check in. You can get in a lot of trouble, don’t ya know, if you don’t go aboot checkin’ into Canada the proper way, and don’t ya know I don’t want you getting’ yourself all kinds of fines, don’t ya know.’
Well, I wanted to yell into the phone, no I don’t know, don’t ya know, and I was just doing as I was told, and as there were no other instructions anywhere for how to go about this, I was utterly lost and confused. I listened to her instruction and checked in for the afternoon and hung up the telephone, looked at Kerry and said, ‘Well, that was easy’.
We walked around Gananoque as close as we were to Grindstone Island there was a very clear feeling in the air that we were now in another country. It was a beautiful little town. We walked through the town park next to a huge fountain and intricate wire frame sculpture of a Blue Heron. We wanted to eat some barbeque, but the place was closed, so we decided on fish and chips after we stopped at the local beer seller to pick up a few Canadian imports.
It was our lucky night, as we walked in on ‘wing night’, a wonderful accompaniment to our fish and chips dinner.
It was a cold and rainy ride back home, but all in all it was a great day.
‘Don’t ya know?’
We got back to the cottage, changed, and headed out in the boat to Gananoque. I was excited. The boat ride to Gananoque takes about ten minutes. It is just on the back side of Grindstone Island, but a world away. We pulled up to the Marina and everyone was speaking French, likely a herd of vacationers from Quebec.
Our assignment was to ‘check-in’ to Canada. We docked the boat and walked to an old school pay phone booth, and dialed 1800-CAN-PASS. I was under the impression that you could ‘check-in’ to Canada for the duration of the summer and freely boat back and forth between American and Canadian waters. I was all set to get my ‘summer pass.’ I happen to be an idiot. The conversation went something like this:
‘Hello, yes, I would like to check in to Canada and get my ‘summer pass’’.
‘Where are you?'
‘Gananoque.’
‘Where are you?'
‘Gananoque.’
‘Where are you?’ Surely there was a misunderstanding between me and the Canadian woman on the other end of the line. I was not sure what game we were playing, but it seemed likely she simply could not hear me properly, so I yelled into the telephone line for the third time.
‘Gananoque!’ There, that should do the trick. She could not have missed that one, nor did the French Canadians passing by in the rain.
‘No sir. Where in Gananoque are you?’ Well, that seemed like a simple question, and as I was still unsure why she did not clarify her question in the first place, I began to look around for some identifying marks to explain my location. Ah, there we are.
‘I am in the James T. Stone Park.’ Kerry was squished next to me in the phone booth in bewilderment telling me to tell the woman that we were at the municipal marina. She was of course correct.
‘Sir, that location does not exist. You need to be at a registered check-in location.’ Who knew going to Canada was going to be so complicated and without any instruction for how to properly navigate this cumbersome process. I looked up at the sign and realized that the James T. Stone Park was yet to be built and under construction according to the sign. I went with Kerry’s suggestion.
‘I am in the municipal marina’.
‘Oh, of course, don’t ya know sir. That is a registered check-in location. Thank you. Now, how long are you going to be in Canada?’ Finally, I was making progress.
‘Well, I will be in and out of Canada for the next month, and I would like my summer pass.’ The woman sounded exasperated and took on a very serious tone.
‘Sir, let me explain something to you very carefully so that you are clear on the rules. Every time you go into Canada or Canadian waters, you have to call this number to check in. You can get in a lot of trouble, don’t ya know, if you don’t go aboot checkin’ into Canada the proper way, and don’t ya know I don’t want you getting’ yourself all kinds of fines, don’t ya know.’
Well, I wanted to yell into the phone, no I don’t know, don’t ya know, and I was just doing as I was told, and as there were no other instructions anywhere for how to go about this, I was utterly lost and confused. I listened to her instruction and checked in for the afternoon and hung up the telephone, looked at Kerry and said, ‘Well, that was easy’.
We walked around Gananoque as close as we were to Grindstone Island there was a very clear feeling in the air that we were now in another country. It was a beautiful little town. We walked through the town park next to a huge fountain and intricate wire frame sculpture of a Blue Heron. We wanted to eat some barbeque, but the place was closed, so we decided on fish and chips after we stopped at the local beer seller to pick up a few Canadian imports.
It was our lucky night, as we walked in on ‘wing night’, a wonderful accompaniment to our fish and chips dinner.
It was a cold and rainy ride back home, but all in all it was a great day.
‘Don’t ya know?’
Day 13 - Disappearing Days
Not much to write home about today. We slept in late again, a gloriously evolving habit. Evan, Paul, and Roberta headed out around three o’clock. It was great to see Evan, and too bad he could not stay a bit longer. They were headed back to York to see Conor and Keith who just arrived from pedaling their bikes across the entire country from Seattle. Conor and Keith are joining us at the river on Friday along with James, Ashley and the kids.
I caught up on some work for ‘My Own Backyard’. I had to upload images for the website, and laid out a plan for the upcoming year. If I can meet the goals I set this year, I will be able to solely run the business in two years and retire from full time teaching. Time will tell.
The days are starting to quickly melt away, and I am finally unwinding, slowing down, and living in a much more natural rhythm. If I can achieve my goals with ‘My Own Backyard’ I will be able to live this way every day in the not too distant future.
I caught up on some work for ‘My Own Backyard’. I had to upload images for the website, and laid out a plan for the upcoming year. If I can meet the goals I set this year, I will be able to solely run the business in two years and retire from full time teaching. Time will tell.
The days are starting to quickly melt away, and I am finally unwinding, slowing down, and living in a much more natural rhythm. If I can achieve my goals with ‘My Own Backyard’ I will be able to live this way every day in the not too distant future.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Day 12 - Canadian Police and Airborne
Five boats deep, we cruised over to Leak Island again to swim and jump. Andrew and Gil were interested to see the big cliff I found, so we set out to find it. The cliff overlooks a beautiful deep spot in the river. I had yet to jump it, so I dove in and swam for shore. I quickly climbed to the top and stared down. It was definitely a big jump. The cliff is slightly overhanging and falls into water fifteen to twenty feet deep. I jumped off and felt the sting on my arms when I hit the water. I left them out a bit, so I would not go so deep on the first jump just in case.
I came up to the surface and Gil was already climbing and Andrew was in the water. I swam back toward shore, and suddenly Andrew jumped in and was swimming back to the boat.
'Police'.
We climbed into Andrew's boat and Gil was standing ready to jump. We heard the police on the horn.
'Sir, you're going to have to climb down from there please'.
Luckily, they were not too interested in us, just making sure we were not on private property. Nevertheless, we were in Canadian waters and Kerry and I had not checked into Canada yet. If they run your numbers and they want to, they will impound your boat and slap you with a massive fine.
We lucked out. We are heading into Canada tomorrow to check in with our passports. We spent the rest of the afternoon jumping off the rope swing at Cement Point.
We cruised back to Rockledge in the evening and Evan and Alex were biking out to the airstrip on the island to go up in Al's plane. I decided to ride my bike out to the airstrip to watch them land. The airstrip is just a field that a farmer mows with a windsock in it. They came in over the trees and landed smoothly.
They motored up and Uncle Alex offered me a ride as well. It was a great surprise and I took him up on the offer. I was a bit nervous taking off in such a small plane, but once we were up it was unbelievably beautiful. The sun was setting and the bird's eye view of the islands was incredible. We saw Rockledge, the Acorn and the Farm Cottage, as well as Wolf Island, Beauvais Point, Wellesley Island and Lake of the Isles. I even had the chance to take over the controls for a brief moment.
Great day!
I came up to the surface and Gil was already climbing and Andrew was in the water. I swam back toward shore, and suddenly Andrew jumped in and was swimming back to the boat.
'Police'.
We climbed into Andrew's boat and Gil was standing ready to jump. We heard the police on the horn.
'Sir, you're going to have to climb down from there please'.
Luckily, they were not too interested in us, just making sure we were not on private property. Nevertheless, we were in Canadian waters and Kerry and I had not checked into Canada yet. If they run your numbers and they want to, they will impound your boat and slap you with a massive fine.
We lucked out. We are heading into Canada tomorrow to check in with our passports. We spent the rest of the afternoon jumping off the rope swing at Cement Point.
We cruised back to Rockledge in the evening and Evan and Alex were biking out to the airstrip on the island to go up in Al's plane. I decided to ride my bike out to the airstrip to watch them land. The airstrip is just a field that a farmer mows with a windsock in it. They came in over the trees and landed smoothly.
They motored up and Uncle Alex offered me a ride as well. It was a great surprise and I took him up on the offer. I was a bit nervous taking off in such a small plane, but once we were up it was unbelievably beautiful. The sun was setting and the bird's eye view of the islands was incredible. We saw Rockledge, the Acorn and the Farm Cottage, as well as Wolf Island, Beauvais Point, Wellesley Island and Lake of the Isles. I even had the chance to take over the controls for a brief moment.
Great day!
Day 11 - Custom Paint
We went into Clayton Marina first thing in the morning to sign the papers and close the deal on the boat. It was an exciting morning. I dropped the trailer off up the road behind Mike Bogart's barn to store it for the rest of the summer. I drove back to French Creek and met Kerry who picked me up in the new boat. The hull is a '96 and the engine a '05 with really low hours. The folks that owned it lived up the road from Rockledge on Grindstone Island. They took great care of it, and it should last us a really long time.
We drove over to Beauvais Point in the afternoon and went wakeboarding and kneeboarding with the cousins. Kneeboarding is high on my my new favorite activities list. Kerry is awesome at it and was pulling some sweet three-sixties!
We drove over to Beauvais Point in the afternoon and went wakeboarding and kneeboarding with the cousins. Kneeboarding is high on my my new favorite activities list. Kerry is awesome at it and was pulling some sweet three-sixties!
Day 10 - Boats
We decided to try and work a deal on a Boston Whaler that we found at a local marina. We were able to sell our Montauk for more than we paid, and use the cash toward a trade-in on a much newer cleaner, and thoroughly less complicated rig.
While we were waiting to finalize the deal, we went back to the Cottage and finished up the last of the shoreline clearing job we started when we arrived. It felt great to finally finish it.
I went up to visit Olive's grave under the apple tree in the evenings. It feels much quieter without her around.
While we were waiting to finalize the deal, we went back to the Cottage and finished up the last of the shoreline clearing job we started when we arrived. It felt great to finally finish it.
I went up to visit Olive's grave under the apple tree in the evenings. It feels much quieter without her around.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Day 9 - Olive
Sometimes the greatest gifts in life come in the most surprising shapes. I came back from my trip through North Carolina almost three weeks ago and had my first chance to meet 'Olive'. Kerry temporarily adopted Olive from her cousin Elizabeth's farm. Olive was the runt of the litter, and no one was sure if she would make it. She was almost stepped on by her mother, and she was unable to get any milk because she was so tiny. Kerry asked Elizabeth if she could try and take care of her until she was big enough to return to the farm. Elizabeth said yes, and Olive became a part of our lives.
Kerry sent me pictures of tiny Olive while I was on the road. She was sitting in Kerry's lap wrapped in a blanket. When I walked in the door I was excited to meet her. She squeaked and ran around the house, constantly falling down because her tiny little hooves would slip on the wooden floors. We fed her milk mixed from a powder that we heated in the microwave. She let us know when she was hungry by squeaking and rubbing her snout against our legs. She squealed in joy when we set the milk on the floor of our kitchen and she hungrily thrust her tiny snout deep into the dish drinking thankfully.
I never knew how cute a tiny little pig could be, and I immediately fell in love with Olive. I sat on the couch in the evenings and she curled up with her legs tucked quietly underneath her body in my lap while I let her suckle in the palm of my hand.
We took Olive with us every day when we did our last camp of the summer with four little kids from the area. The kids loved Olive. They picked her up, petted her, and fawned over her every minute of the day. Olive stayed in the car while we tubed down river or picked blueberries, but we returned a few hours later and the kids got the chance to feed her.
Nine days ago Kerry and I arrived at the River. We slowly set up a home in the white farm cottage sitting on the banks of the St. Lawrence. It is a paradise for our dog and our pig. The first few nights were windy, and we built a huge bonfire in our newly constructed fire pit. We sat beside the river watching the waves lap against the shore and the moon rise in the distance over the small town of Clayton. We set Mogul's dog bed beside the fire and he and Olive curled up beside each other. Olive followed Mogul wherever he went, back and forth on the trail between the Cottage and Rockledge. Olive loved to stand beside me while I built the fire, and as soon as there was a flame and heat, she would nuzzle her tiny nose and body against the rocks so she could get warm. She sat in my lap and I snuggled her head while she fell asleep night after night. Many people imagine pigs as rather smelly animals, but not Olive. She smelled sweet and soft, a mix of vanilla and lavender.
I opened my eyes this morning. I felt my leg and ankle still swollen from being stung the day before. The swelling was so bad last night I believed I was likely having an allergic reaction and took some Benadryl. Sleep came quickly. I had strange dreams last night. Dreams of being transported through another dimension. I opened my eyes and I heard a quiet voice.
'Your Pig. Your pig'.
Kerry jumped awake. I was not quite sure what going on. She ran downstairs and I followed after her. She threw open the screen door and a woman sat on the creaky old wooden steps. She was covered in blood. She was crying.
'I am so sorry,' she said.
Olive wandered down the trail, following Mogul this morning. He was following Eliza who was out on her morning run. We did not know there were vicious dogs just down the trail on the neighboring property. The dogs played with Olive at first, but when she turned and playfully ran, they attacked.
Her wounds were mostly superficial, but one of the dogs bit through her chest and punctured her lung. I took Olive from the woman and held her in my lap. I could tell she was in shock. The conversation clattered around like a dusty old breeze. Telephone calls to local vets were made. I held her in my arms and knew the terrible truth. Her breaths were becoming more labored and shorter by the minute. I stared into her eyes, but they were listless and vacant.
I put pressure on the puncture wound, but knew there had to be a way for the air to escape. I attempted a makeshift occlusive dressing out of saran wrap, but it was useless. She was fading away. We headed toward the dock at Rockledge. I stopped in the middle of the trail. Her breaths were short and drawn. In a small space where the sun filtered through the trees and speckled the ground, I sat with her. The ants crawled beneath my feet. The flies buzzed around my head. I held her wrapped tightly in a kitchen towel. The blood soaked through and stained my shorts. I stared out into the hazy morning, and she took her last breath. Kerry cried beside me. The hot summer haze filled the air like smoke.
We loved our tiny pig named Olive. She was a special animal. She had personality. She loved you back. You could feel it in the way she nuzzled your leg and curled up in your lap besides the fire. I like to believe she was grateful to Kerry for taking care of her and giving her a little more of a chance in life than she had.
There is a violence in life. We all live on the edge of the sword, kneeling precipitously between life and death. Reaching out to love something is in turn reaching out to know pain. There is not love without loss.
I chipped away at the pale crusty brown soil under the apple tree. I felt that burying her there would at least allow her body to be absorbed into the tree, and that perhaps when we see the apples we may still feel the light of her life.
My sweat dripped from brow and mixed with Olive's blood. I closed her eyes and placed her body in the hole. We chose a flat stone from the river and placed atop her grave with a few stems of goldenrod. We said a prayer and asked God to keep her safe.
I am thankful for the gift of Olive while she was alive, and angry that she is gone.
We walked solemnly back to the Cottage. Our small family felt torn.
Kerry sent me pictures of tiny Olive while I was on the road. She was sitting in Kerry's lap wrapped in a blanket. When I walked in the door I was excited to meet her. She squeaked and ran around the house, constantly falling down because her tiny little hooves would slip on the wooden floors. We fed her milk mixed from a powder that we heated in the microwave. She let us know when she was hungry by squeaking and rubbing her snout against our legs. She squealed in joy when we set the milk on the floor of our kitchen and she hungrily thrust her tiny snout deep into the dish drinking thankfully.
I never knew how cute a tiny little pig could be, and I immediately fell in love with Olive. I sat on the couch in the evenings and she curled up with her legs tucked quietly underneath her body in my lap while I let her suckle in the palm of my hand.
We took Olive with us every day when we did our last camp of the summer with four little kids from the area. The kids loved Olive. They picked her up, petted her, and fawned over her every minute of the day. Olive stayed in the car while we tubed down river or picked blueberries, but we returned a few hours later and the kids got the chance to feed her.
Nine days ago Kerry and I arrived at the River. We slowly set up a home in the white farm cottage sitting on the banks of the St. Lawrence. It is a paradise for our dog and our pig. The first few nights were windy, and we built a huge bonfire in our newly constructed fire pit. We sat beside the river watching the waves lap against the shore and the moon rise in the distance over the small town of Clayton. We set Mogul's dog bed beside the fire and he and Olive curled up beside each other. Olive followed Mogul wherever he went, back and forth on the trail between the Cottage and Rockledge. Olive loved to stand beside me while I built the fire, and as soon as there was a flame and heat, she would nuzzle her tiny nose and body against the rocks so she could get warm. She sat in my lap and I snuggled her head while she fell asleep night after night. Many people imagine pigs as rather smelly animals, but not Olive. She smelled sweet and soft, a mix of vanilla and lavender.
I opened my eyes this morning. I felt my leg and ankle still swollen from being stung the day before. The swelling was so bad last night I believed I was likely having an allergic reaction and took some Benadryl. Sleep came quickly. I had strange dreams last night. Dreams of being transported through another dimension. I opened my eyes and I heard a quiet voice.
'Your Pig. Your pig'.
Kerry jumped awake. I was not quite sure what going on. She ran downstairs and I followed after her. She threw open the screen door and a woman sat on the creaky old wooden steps. She was covered in blood. She was crying.
'I am so sorry,' she said.
Olive wandered down the trail, following Mogul this morning. He was following Eliza who was out on her morning run. We did not know there were vicious dogs just down the trail on the neighboring property. The dogs played with Olive at first, but when she turned and playfully ran, they attacked.
Her wounds were mostly superficial, but one of the dogs bit through her chest and punctured her lung. I took Olive from the woman and held her in my lap. I could tell she was in shock. The conversation clattered around like a dusty old breeze. Telephone calls to local vets were made. I held her in my arms and knew the terrible truth. Her breaths were becoming more labored and shorter by the minute. I stared into her eyes, but they were listless and vacant.
I put pressure on the puncture wound, but knew there had to be a way for the air to escape. I attempted a makeshift occlusive dressing out of saran wrap, but it was useless. She was fading away. We headed toward the dock at Rockledge. I stopped in the middle of the trail. Her breaths were short and drawn. In a small space where the sun filtered through the trees and speckled the ground, I sat with her. The ants crawled beneath my feet. The flies buzzed around my head. I held her wrapped tightly in a kitchen towel. The blood soaked through and stained my shorts. I stared out into the hazy morning, and she took her last breath. Kerry cried beside me. The hot summer haze filled the air like smoke.
We loved our tiny pig named Olive. She was a special animal. She had personality. She loved you back. You could feel it in the way she nuzzled your leg and curled up in your lap besides the fire. I like to believe she was grateful to Kerry for taking care of her and giving her a little more of a chance in life than she had.
There is a violence in life. We all live on the edge of the sword, kneeling precipitously between life and death. Reaching out to love something is in turn reaching out to know pain. There is not love without loss.
I chipped away at the pale crusty brown soil under the apple tree. I felt that burying her there would at least allow her body to be absorbed into the tree, and that perhaps when we see the apples we may still feel the light of her life.
My sweat dripped from brow and mixed with Olive's blood. I closed her eyes and placed her body in the hole. We chose a flat stone from the river and placed atop her grave with a few stems of goldenrod. We said a prayer and asked God to keep her safe.
I am thankful for the gift of Olive while she was alive, and angry that she is gone.
We walked solemnly back to the Cottage. Our small family felt torn.
Day 8 - Boats...
We woke up and headed into Chalk's. Chris put the boat in the water so we could take it for another spin. It had a bit more pick up than the day before, but we still wanted the engine checked out. We made a passing offer, but the guy would not budge on his price. We are still awaiting the results on the engine, but likely we will have to pass on this one. It is looking more and more likely that we will wait until next summer to get our own boat.
In the afternoon we headed over to Leak Island with the cousins. We all had some good laughs jumping off the cliffs.
We drove back to the Cottage to feed Mogul and Olive before heading out to Beauvais Point for dinner again.
In the afternoon we headed over to Leak Island with the cousins. We all had some good laughs jumping off the cliffs.
We drove back to the Cottage to feed Mogul and Olive before heading out to Beauvais Point for dinner again.
Day 7 - Trailer Woes
Ker and I headed over to Wellesley Island this morning to take a look at a boat trailer for the Montauk. We pulled off the side of the road. Two guys stood next to an old white van. The first gentlemen approached me to shake hands. He was a barrel chested man with sandy hair. He introduced his brother who stood in the back round. I shook his hand as well, and it was immediately apparent that he was the one who would not be speaking. The trailer was in decent shape, and probably would have worked just fine for the boat, but the two of us could not strike a deal. I was reluctant to dole out his full asking price, so we went on our way.
The decision to not buy the trailer reopened the conversation about the boat, an engine, trailers etc. We headed to Chalk's Marina to figure out what to do with our boat, and at the least make sure it was still there. Chris is the sales guy at Chalk's. He seems a nice genuine and good hearted man in an honest way, quite opposite of the way that most salesmen make you feel. This of course meant one of two things, he was an honest good men, or he was incredibly skilled at his profession. I like to believe the former.
We spotted two Boston Whalers for sale, an Outrage and a Dauntless, and the Kerry and I immediately began dreaming up new plans to sell our boat and get something that would be much less of a hassle. We took the Dauntless out for a spin. It was a really nice boat that would be a great fit for what we need up here. We decided to head back in the morning to take another look.
We ate dinner with a few of the cousins at Beauvais Point. I played laser tag with the boys and we all went for an evening swim.
The decision to not buy the trailer reopened the conversation about the boat, an engine, trailers etc. We headed to Chalk's Marina to figure out what to do with our boat, and at the least make sure it was still there. Chris is the sales guy at Chalk's. He seems a nice genuine and good hearted man in an honest way, quite opposite of the way that most salesmen make you feel. This of course meant one of two things, he was an honest good men, or he was incredibly skilled at his profession. I like to believe the former.
We spotted two Boston Whalers for sale, an Outrage and a Dauntless, and the Kerry and I immediately began dreaming up new plans to sell our boat and get something that would be much less of a hassle. We took the Dauntless out for a spin. It was a really nice boat that would be a great fit for what we need up here. We decided to head back in the morning to take another look.
We ate dinner with a few of the cousins at Beauvais Point. I played laser tag with the boys and we all went for an evening swim.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Day 6 - High Seas
Woke up to a strong westerly wind blowing in from Lake Ontario. Kerry and I decided to get the kayaks out and head to Club Island to watch the women's world cup final in the skiff house with the cousins. The game was exciting, but sadly the U.S. could not pull out the win after overtime and a penalty kick shoot out.
It was another beautiful day, and the paddle back was a bit easier than on the way over. I did a bit more clearing along the shoreline and should finish it up tomorrow morning.
It was another beautiful day, and the paddle back was a bit easier than on the way over. I did a bit more clearing along the shoreline and should finish it up tomorrow morning.
Day 5 - The Black River Race
I woke up and packed a few things to head out for the day. I was heading into Watertown to compete in the annual Black River Race. Kerry and I started driving over to French Creek in 'Little Bear' only to realize we left the car keys in the 'Ventura'. We pulled a quick u-turn and headed back to Rockledge. We docked 'Little Bear' hopped in the 'Ventura' and headed back out.
We said a quick goodbye in French Creek as I hopped out. She threw a sarcastic 'brown claw' and said 'go get 'em tiger' as I headed to the Jeep. The 'Brown Claw' is an amusing and ridiculous anomaly that has swept through the larger kayaking community like a rampant and incurable virus. It started as a joke between two paddlers and has grown into a symbol adopted by legions of followers that throw it around at every turn and ripple in the river. I believe there is a rather quiet majority of paddlers who hold the 'Brown Claw' in great disdain, and will throw it or some distorted version of it to make fun of the 'Claw' and and its utter absurdity. Nonetheless, this likely only further perpetuates the omnipresent nature of the apparently immovable phenomenon of the 'Brown Claw'.
The drive to Watertown takes about twenty minutes, and passes through some beautiful countryside. I always enjoy it. I pulled into the parking of Hudson River Outfitters around noon, only to realize the race was not until four o'clock. I only kind of know one person in the New York kayaking scene, and he was busy running the event. I searched the parking lot, trying to find someone to pal around with for the day and get a quick practice lap in before the race to scope out some race lines. I spotted a guy carrying his Greenboat down to the river, and asked him if he was going all the way down and if he wanted someone to paddle with. He said definitely. I threw my gear on and headed down to the put-in.
We surfed a bit in 'Hole Brothers' and then drifted on down. There is a good bit of flat water before the first rapid 'Knife's Edge'. We talked about all manners of things as we floated down. It was a gorgeous day, and really nice to just be out on the water. We scoped out a race line at Glen Park Falls and ran it smooth. The Canyon on the Black River is a really fun little section of whitewater. My favorite rapid by far is this large curling wave that falls quickly into a big pour over hole, aptly titled the 'Poop Chute'.
We finished the section quickly and proceeded to wait at the take out for another group of paddlers and rafters so we could catch a ride on the bus back to the start. We didn't realize how far ahead we were so we sat in the shade and waited for close to two hours before the group got there. The time went by quickly and we swapped stories on all aspects of life: family, girls, marriage, careers, school, and sustainability. It never ceases to amaze me how easily a shared passion for the outdoors and whitewater opens the door to forging new friendships.
The rest of the group finally arrived. We helped carry some rafts out and headed back to the put-in. We geared up for the race and headed down. I raced my 'Remix'. It would have been awesome to have a long boat, but I left it at home. I kept pace with the top long boats for a short bit in the beginning and quickly faded back. My goal was to do my best to keep up with the back pack of long boats and at least beat the rest of the creek boats out there. The race went well, and I was the first creek boat to finish.
Plenty of laughs were had on the way back to the put-in. Once we arrived everyone quickly transitioned to get ready for the 'Floateo' competition. All manners of inflatable watercraft are permitted and I had a large grey dolphin as my tool of choice. I was unable to stay in the hole the first ten tries, but finally decided to deflate it about half way, and just as everyone was finishing I caught an epic several minute surf in the hole on an inflatable dolphin. It was the perfect finish to an awesome day on the water.
I was exhausted. I called Kerry, enjoyed a beautiful drive home watching the sunset, and she picked me up at French Creek. My head hit the pillow and I was out when we got back to the Cottage.
We said a quick goodbye in French Creek as I hopped out. She threw a sarcastic 'brown claw' and said 'go get 'em tiger' as I headed to the Jeep. The 'Brown Claw' is an amusing and ridiculous anomaly that has swept through the larger kayaking community like a rampant and incurable virus. It started as a joke between two paddlers and has grown into a symbol adopted by legions of followers that throw it around at every turn and ripple in the river. I believe there is a rather quiet majority of paddlers who hold the 'Brown Claw' in great disdain, and will throw it or some distorted version of it to make fun of the 'Claw' and and its utter absurdity. Nonetheless, this likely only further perpetuates the omnipresent nature of the apparently immovable phenomenon of the 'Brown Claw'.
The drive to Watertown takes about twenty minutes, and passes through some beautiful countryside. I always enjoy it. I pulled into the parking of Hudson River Outfitters around noon, only to realize the race was not until four o'clock. I only kind of know one person in the New York kayaking scene, and he was busy running the event. I searched the parking lot, trying to find someone to pal around with for the day and get a quick practice lap in before the race to scope out some race lines. I spotted a guy carrying his Greenboat down to the river, and asked him if he was going all the way down and if he wanted someone to paddle with. He said definitely. I threw my gear on and headed down to the put-in.
We surfed a bit in 'Hole Brothers' and then drifted on down. There is a good bit of flat water before the first rapid 'Knife's Edge'. We talked about all manners of things as we floated down. It was a gorgeous day, and really nice to just be out on the water. We scoped out a race line at Glen Park Falls and ran it smooth. The Canyon on the Black River is a really fun little section of whitewater. My favorite rapid by far is this large curling wave that falls quickly into a big pour over hole, aptly titled the 'Poop Chute'.
We finished the section quickly and proceeded to wait at the take out for another group of paddlers and rafters so we could catch a ride on the bus back to the start. We didn't realize how far ahead we were so we sat in the shade and waited for close to two hours before the group got there. The time went by quickly and we swapped stories on all aspects of life: family, girls, marriage, careers, school, and sustainability. It never ceases to amaze me how easily a shared passion for the outdoors and whitewater opens the door to forging new friendships.
The rest of the group finally arrived. We helped carry some rafts out and headed back to the put-in. We geared up for the race and headed down. I raced my 'Remix'. It would have been awesome to have a long boat, but I left it at home. I kept pace with the top long boats for a short bit in the beginning and quickly faded back. My goal was to do my best to keep up with the back pack of long boats and at least beat the rest of the creek boats out there. The race went well, and I was the first creek boat to finish.
Plenty of laughs were had on the way back to the put-in. Once we arrived everyone quickly transitioned to get ready for the 'Floateo' competition. All manners of inflatable watercraft are permitted and I had a large grey dolphin as my tool of choice. I was unable to stay in the hole the first ten tries, but finally decided to deflate it about half way, and just as everyone was finishing I caught an epic several minute surf in the hole on an inflatable dolphin. It was the perfect finish to an awesome day on the water.
I was exhausted. I called Kerry, enjoyed a beautiful drive home watching the sunset, and she picked me up at French Creek. My head hit the pillow and I was out when we got back to the Cottage.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Day 4 - Swimming Pigs and Chainsaws
Woke up this morning to another beautiful day. I was set to clear some brush from the shoreline around the Cottage with Mike, but first we had to run into town and pick up 'Little Bear', the tiny Boston Whaler. 'Little Bear' was restored over the winter and she looked and drove great on the way back to Grindstone.
I hopped out at Rockledge to talk to Mike and get ready to clear. We headed over to the cottage and Mike told me that the neighbors took Olive (our pig) home the night before. Apparently, while we were out running errands, Olive was lonely and heard some people lying out on the floating yellow raft in the river. She decided to jump in and swim to the raft. The neighbors got a good scare because they had no idea what was swimming toward them in the water. She hung out at their house for a few hours and they escorted her home at nightfall. She is one crazy pig.
We spent the afternoon clearing the shoreline, and we now have a much expanded view of the water from the cottage. Kerry made a great dinner with homemade bread made from Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. It was awesome.
Black River Race tomorrow!
I hopped out at Rockledge to talk to Mike and get ready to clear. We headed over to the cottage and Mike told me that the neighbors took Olive (our pig) home the night before. Apparently, while we were out running errands, Olive was lonely and heard some people lying out on the floating yellow raft in the river. She decided to jump in and swim to the raft. The neighbors got a good scare because they had no idea what was swimming toward them in the water. She hung out at their house for a few hours and they escorted her home at nightfall. She is one crazy pig.
We spent the afternoon clearing the shoreline, and we now have a much expanded view of the water from the cottage. Kerry made a great dinner with homemade bread made from Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. It was awesome.
Black River Race tomorrow!
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Day 3 - Fish Tacos from the Burri-Tow
We had a lazy morning bumming around the cottage again. I hope this becomes a habit for the next six weeks. I enjoy milling about, lifting a rock and adding it to perfect the aesthetic of my fire pit, and eating a bowl of cold cereal with fresh whole milk in the hot sun in a big comfy chair next to river. Mike was out in the garden watering the vegetables. Kerry and I were excited to talk to him. I enjoy Mike's company and have a great time talking about the various projects we want to pursue around the property. Tomorrow we plan on elevating and clearing a bunch of trees to tidy up the view from shore.
The highlight of the morning was building a snake stick. Mike was attempting to investigate the broken down Ford pickup next to the barn. The Ford is an old eighties rusty grey Ranger that rumbles so loud when it starts you think you're at a drag race. Whop! Ba-Ba-Ba-BOP!!! It rumbles along the dusty dirt roads of Grindstone announcing it's old age like it's the second coming of Jesus. Sadly for the Ford, it's cacophonous rumbly tumbly symphony came to an end several weeks ago. The weather warmed, the wet weather cleared and parked in the sun next to the big red barn, the innards of the Ford quickly became infested with a large array of snakes. Mike does not like snakes, and when he went to lift the hood this morning, there were two huge snakes sitting on the engine block. He came down to see if I could help remedy the situation. I quickly constructed a 'snake stick', a trick my father taught me when I was a kid. A 'snake stick' is simply a long stick with a piece of rope secured to one end with a loop. You let the snake squirm through the loop, pull the string and it tightens around the snake's neck. You can then carry the snake where you want to release it, pin it's head, loosen the string and then let the snake go. I walked up to the truck with the newly fashioned stick. Mike popped the hood. An enormous black snake quickly slid into the shadows under the truck, but a few Gardner snakes remained. I caught one with the stick and brought it to the woods. The others eluded me. Mike thought it best to leave well enough alone. Where there are a few in sight, there are likely many unseen.
Morning lingered into mid-afternoon and finally Kerry and I jumped in the boat. We had no destination, just to see where the afternoon was going to take us. We headed over to Leak Island and jumped off the cliffs. It was my first swim of the year in the River, and it felt great. We continued on looking for Stave, but not too hard. We trolled passed Gananoque, but didn't have our passports to dock, so we headed downriver. We found the quintessential perfect cliff jump somewhere on the Canadian side of the river on our way in search of the 'Rift'. We did not find the 'Rift' and wound around the back side of Wellesly Island, bought some gas in Alexandria Bay, and cruised to the farmer's market in Clayton.
We discovered the most amazing invention, 'The Burri-Tow'. This traveling red vehicle is apparently home to the world's most amazing fish taco. We ate them ravenously with a fresh lemon. I enjoyed them some much, I began selling them to passers-by, much to the chagrin of the owners. Needless to say, we were fast friends, and I attempted to convince them they should drive the 'Burri-Tow' to the Gauley River Festival in West Virginia assuring them they would be a huge hit.
Mosquitoes are out in droves tonight. I started a fire, but couldn't stay out to enjoy it, so we enjoyed it from the screened in porch. Finishing the night with a Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Great Day!
The highlight of the morning was building a snake stick. Mike was attempting to investigate the broken down Ford pickup next to the barn. The Ford is an old eighties rusty grey Ranger that rumbles so loud when it starts you think you're at a drag race. Whop! Ba-Ba-Ba-BOP!!! It rumbles along the dusty dirt roads of Grindstone announcing it's old age like it's the second coming of Jesus. Sadly for the Ford, it's cacophonous rumbly tumbly symphony came to an end several weeks ago. The weather warmed, the wet weather cleared and parked in the sun next to the big red barn, the innards of the Ford quickly became infested with a large array of snakes. Mike does not like snakes, and when he went to lift the hood this morning, there were two huge snakes sitting on the engine block. He came down to see if I could help remedy the situation. I quickly constructed a 'snake stick', a trick my father taught me when I was a kid. A 'snake stick' is simply a long stick with a piece of rope secured to one end with a loop. You let the snake squirm through the loop, pull the string and it tightens around the snake's neck. You can then carry the snake where you want to release it, pin it's head, loosen the string and then let the snake go. I walked up to the truck with the newly fashioned stick. Mike popped the hood. An enormous black snake quickly slid into the shadows under the truck, but a few Gardner snakes remained. I caught one with the stick and brought it to the woods. The others eluded me. Mike thought it best to leave well enough alone. Where there are a few in sight, there are likely many unseen.
Morning lingered into mid-afternoon and finally Kerry and I jumped in the boat. We had no destination, just to see where the afternoon was going to take us. We headed over to Leak Island and jumped off the cliffs. It was my first swim of the year in the River, and it felt great. We continued on looking for Stave, but not too hard. We trolled passed Gananoque, but didn't have our passports to dock, so we headed downriver. We found the quintessential perfect cliff jump somewhere on the Canadian side of the river on our way in search of the 'Rift'. We did not find the 'Rift' and wound around the back side of Wellesly Island, bought some gas in Alexandria Bay, and cruised to the farmer's market in Clayton.
We discovered the most amazing invention, 'The Burri-Tow'. This traveling red vehicle is apparently home to the world's most amazing fish taco. We ate them ravenously with a fresh lemon. I enjoyed them some much, I began selling them to passers-by, much to the chagrin of the owners. Needless to say, we were fast friends, and I attempted to convince them they should drive the 'Burri-Tow' to the Gauley River Festival in West Virginia assuring them they would be a huge hit.
Mosquitoes are out in droves tonight. I started a fire, but couldn't stay out to enjoy it, so we enjoyed it from the screened in porch. Finishing the night with a Pabst Blue Ribbon.
Great Day!
Day 2 - Strip Malls, Whitewater, and Thunderstorms
We woke up early and dilly dallied around the Farm Cottage. We hopped in the boat and headed over to Clayton to hop in the car to head to Watertown. Watertown is about twenty minutes from Clayton on route 11. Clayton is a tiny town with one grocery store, the Big M. We needed to stock up on staples, and Kerry wanted to head to 'The Mustard Seed' and organic grocer in Watertown. I happily obliged as it meant I would get a bit of whitewater time at the local play spot on the Black River.
We stopped in K-Mart to get a few necessities for the cottage. An enormous thunderstorm blew in while we were inside and the weather changed in an instant. I enjoy the fickle nature of summer weather.
The Mustard Seed was super cool. I bought a whole body 'total Cleanse'. Use your imagination. They're supposed to be really good for you, so I figured I should give it a whirl. After 'Mustard Seed' I stopped in the kayak shop and talked to Brian. He led us down the Black River last summer as part of the bachelor party. I discovered the Black River Festival is this weekend, so I am headed out to race and enjoy the festivities. Hopefully I'll meet some folks who know a bit about the river scene in Quebec. I had a good time in the play hole while Kerry bargained for a table for the cottage at an antique store up the road. I decided I am definitely interested in play boating a little more, but I absolutely hate the green Jackson All-Star I own.
We headed back to the cottage. Kerry made some Brats from her cousin Elizabeth's farm, and I built a huge fire pit next to the river. The wind blew strong and cold the entire evening and when we were finished with dinner we sat by the fire and stared across the open water to Clayton.
We stopped in K-Mart to get a few necessities for the cottage. An enormous thunderstorm blew in while we were inside and the weather changed in an instant. I enjoy the fickle nature of summer weather.
The Mustard Seed was super cool. I bought a whole body 'total Cleanse'. Use your imagination. They're supposed to be really good for you, so I figured I should give it a whirl. After 'Mustard Seed' I stopped in the kayak shop and talked to Brian. He led us down the Black River last summer as part of the bachelor party. I discovered the Black River Festival is this weekend, so I am headed out to race and enjoy the festivities. Hopefully I'll meet some folks who know a bit about the river scene in Quebec. I had a good time in the play hole while Kerry bargained for a table for the cottage at an antique store up the road. I decided I am definitely interested in play boating a little more, but I absolutely hate the green Jackson All-Star I own.
We headed back to the cottage. Kerry made some Brats from her cousin Elizabeth's farm, and I built a huge fire pit next to the river. The wind blew strong and cold the entire evening and when we were finished with dinner we sat by the fire and stared across the open water to Clayton.
Day 1 - The Return
Back again after a long stretch on the road. I started my own company in January after a year of running pilot programs and building a business plan, I decided to make a run for it and follow a dream. The trips went really well, and we covered a lot of ground through Virginia, West Virginia, Tennessee, and North Carolina. We caved, backpacked, mountain biked, kayaked, surfed, and laughed until we fell asleep at night under dark star lit skies among the mountains, fields, and streams closest to home. Many folks seem to have an ideal of the exotic, a vision of paradise. There are droves of people wanting to convince us that a beautiful place with crystal clear water, white sand, and a swaying green palm trees is all we need, and even the only possible way we can truly relax, unwind, and let our spirits wander and dream like they are meant too. Thankfully this could not be farther from the truth and if you adopt a sense of adventure and a bit of a willingness to get lost, one can easily see that this ideal of relaxing affairs and freedom we all desire and need is but an attitudinal adjustment and openness of spirit. In any case, before I digress even further from my intent here, let me begin where I last left off at the end of May.
I finished up the paddling season with Curt and the boys. The school year quickly came to a halt and I was out the door as mentioned on the road conducting trips. Alas, the trips came to an end, and Kerry and I left to spend six weeks on the St. Lawrence River in upstate New York on the border of Canada. Kerry's family's summer home is an extraordinary place set on a 300 acre peninsula in the middle of the river on an island called Grindstone. The river is no ordinary vision of a river and exists in great breadth as it pours from Lake Ontario, several miles wide in many places. The region is called 'The Thousand Islands', and you guessed it, there are in fact over a thousand islands of all shapes and sizes littering the landscape.
There are three structures on the property: Rockledge, the Acorn, and the Farm Cottage. The two of us are staying in the Farm Cottage for the remainder of the summer. The Farm Cottage is an old white farmhouse circa the turn of the last century. The interior walls are a dark grainy pine replete with wooden floors. There is an immense fifty year old lilac bush that borders that left front corner of the house. A large red barn sits about one hundred yards behind the cottage. The house sits about one hundred feet from the riverbank which is littered with old Shag Bark Hickory trees. There is a silver metal floating dock that juts into the river good enough for the temporary docking of a boat if one is in a hurry to get in and out. The floors creak, the water pressure is weak, and the upstairs sleep hot when the summer nights are still, but the river is cold, the skies blue and speckled with a painter's version of puffy white clouds, and the air crisp and warm in the splendid summer sun. It is a glorious place to slow down and get back to basics.
We left on Tuesday afternoon. We spent an exorbitant amount of time packing, strapping, and installing a new roof rack system to haul up our mountain bikes and kayaks. I am hoping to adventure around in Canada for a bit to see some new rivers. We finally had everything ready and hit the road. The drive was not too bad. We stopped a few times to feed 'Olive' our pet pig who gets a bit rambunctious and squeals incessantly when she is ready for milk. It was almost dark when we arrived at the French Creek Marina. We quickly unloaded most of our things on to the new eighteen foot Boston Whaler. The wind picked up as we pushed off the dock. We trolled out of the marina and under the bridge and there were white caps by the time we reached open water. Just as suddenly as it had come on, the wind ceased as we rolled into the dock at Rockledge. A welcome 'hello' from the River.
We retired to bed around midnight and eagerly awaited morning.
I finished up the paddling season with Curt and the boys. The school year quickly came to a halt and I was out the door as mentioned on the road conducting trips. Alas, the trips came to an end, and Kerry and I left to spend six weeks on the St. Lawrence River in upstate New York on the border of Canada. Kerry's family's summer home is an extraordinary place set on a 300 acre peninsula in the middle of the river on an island called Grindstone. The river is no ordinary vision of a river and exists in great breadth as it pours from Lake Ontario, several miles wide in many places. The region is called 'The Thousand Islands', and you guessed it, there are in fact over a thousand islands of all shapes and sizes littering the landscape.
There are three structures on the property: Rockledge, the Acorn, and the Farm Cottage. The two of us are staying in the Farm Cottage for the remainder of the summer. The Farm Cottage is an old white farmhouse circa the turn of the last century. The interior walls are a dark grainy pine replete with wooden floors. There is an immense fifty year old lilac bush that borders that left front corner of the house. A large red barn sits about one hundred yards behind the cottage. The house sits about one hundred feet from the riverbank which is littered with old Shag Bark Hickory trees. There is a silver metal floating dock that juts into the river good enough for the temporary docking of a boat if one is in a hurry to get in and out. The floors creak, the water pressure is weak, and the upstairs sleep hot when the summer nights are still, but the river is cold, the skies blue and speckled with a painter's version of puffy white clouds, and the air crisp and warm in the splendid summer sun. It is a glorious place to slow down and get back to basics.
We left on Tuesday afternoon. We spent an exorbitant amount of time packing, strapping, and installing a new roof rack system to haul up our mountain bikes and kayaks. I am hoping to adventure around in Canada for a bit to see some new rivers. We finally had everything ready and hit the road. The drive was not too bad. We stopped a few times to feed 'Olive' our pet pig who gets a bit rambunctious and squeals incessantly when she is ready for milk. It was almost dark when we arrived at the French Creek Marina. We quickly unloaded most of our things on to the new eighteen foot Boston Whaler. The wind picked up as we pushed off the dock. We trolled out of the marina and under the bridge and there were white caps by the time we reached open water. Just as suddenly as it had come on, the wind ceased as we rolled into the dock at Rockledge. A welcome 'hello' from the River.
We retired to bed around midnight and eagerly awaited morning.
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