tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80424784327913692112024-03-05T22:17:09.519-05:00Just off the TaconicLife and Adventures in the Hudson ValleyChristine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-17808720500383609492012-02-11T15:39:00.009-05:002012-02-11T18:25:33.113-05:00For the Love of Skiing<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCd7HoodskpvnaVsaRY_uN2pjiFvmpCjgfls9sZKZcMPD-FYs-sq30JsVz9hdiyby0rhW9B0yTYTOzbBVbCFuK_Z2x7V1OwU9PwX3hYwa_eUhNA4EB-GLwTH4MtwEO2feJsmASLw3bkIwk/s1600/2011-12-25_13-57-22_284.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCd7HoodskpvnaVsaRY_uN2pjiFvmpCjgfls9sZKZcMPD-FYs-sq30JsVz9hdiyby0rhW9B0yTYTOzbBVbCFuK_Z2x7V1OwU9PwX3hYwa_eUhNA4EB-GLwTH4MtwEO2feJsmASLw3bkIwk/s320/2011-12-25_13-57-22_284.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707982521434520514" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Catamount, Christmas Day 2011</span><br /></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves/> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:donotpromoteqf/> <w:lidthemeother>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:lidthemeasian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> 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Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">I first fell in love with skiing sitting on the couch watching Wide World of Sports on Saturday afternoons with my father. He was starting a business and worked Saturdays, coming home in time to take in whatever Howard Cosell had in store for us (this is why I also have a vast appreciation for sports like bob-sledding, boxing, F1 and Indy car racing, not to mention figure skating and women’s gymnastics). <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We’d watch Franz Klammer, Billy Kidd and Jean-Claude Killy bomb down the mountain and all I could think was, “I want to do that.”</p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">But growing up on Long Island, I was a ‘Flatlander.’ Before high-school, the closest I got to a ski mountain was via a children’s magazine that had a maze puzzle in a ski theme (complete with a glossary of ski terms). 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mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">By high-school, I took advantage of a few school trips to Vernon Valley Great Gorge. I recall Vernon Valley was really nothing much more than a steep parking lot -- in the middle of New Jersey – with snow. Most of the kids who went on the ski trip just stood around smoking and hanging out, just like they did back in the parking lot at school. But being a jock, I hit the slope, quickly realized that skiing was much harder than Franz and his friends made it look. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Fast forward a year or two, and I found myself attending college in the Green Mountains of Vermont where a close friend sold ski passes to Mad River, a ski mountain that dared me to “ski it if you can.” I dared, and headed up to the mountain with six friends who all insisted they’d give me lessons and before we arrived had me nearly convinced that skiing was easy. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Lesson one started in the bar and included more than a few shots of tequila. “It’ll loosen you up.” “Liquid courage,” I remember them saying. By the time we got to lift, I was barely coherent. On the first run, I swear I saw double. Getting down the mountain in one piece was a miracle, so naturally, I thought I’d push my luck.<br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">The second time down, I misplaced my friends (read: they skied off without me), then took a spill that left all my gear strewn across the mountain. A real yardsale. In fact, if I hadn't rented or borrowed it, it would most certainly have been for sale right then and there. Gathering myself up up, I began walking down the mountain, skis over my shoulder when a little boy skied up to me and asked if I was alright. I replied, “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just terrified,” deciding to keep the part about being drunk and about to puke to myself. Even still, he shook his head and bombed off, his form reminiscent of a miniature Billy Kidd.Hrmph.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Following college, my then boyfriend (who was one step below a Flatlander -- having been born and raised in Brooklyn) and I decided to take a week-long ski trip to Whistler/Blackcomb through the health club where we met. I didn’t dare tell him that I wasn’t a skier, this being our first vacation together and all. Nor did he fill me in on the fact he’d never been on ski mountain either. I guess we both thought we'd wing it.<br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Going up the mountain on the high speed 20-person gondola I nearly passed out. Not the altitude, but nerves. This was no Vernon Valley, but there we were… what people will do for love.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">“I can do this,” I attempted to convince myself.<br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">“God knows I’ve got a good snow plow technique.” </p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">What more could one need? </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Terrified that I’d never measure up to the beau's natural athletic abilities, I locked in to my bindings and hoped for the best.</p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">That’s when he came zooming from behind me… in full body crouch, knees in deep bend, heading straight down the mountain, as if a ski jump were about to appear. Eddie the freaking Eagle about to take flight. Thank god he fell over.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But then he got up… and tried the same technique again. When I asked him about the possibility of incorporating some slaloming into his ski style, he looked at me as if I was taking the piss. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">“That’s <span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span> how it’s done.” </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">After an animated discussion about “how it’s done,” a few more of his attempts at careening straight down the mountain, accented by my attempts to muffle my laughter -- and<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>a near break-up (all the space of about a half-hour) -- I took off my skis and began walking down the mountain...again. Thankfully, he followed, and as if through divine intervention, we passed a sign for a five day ski camp program and signed up. There we took lessons in the morning with other hopeless campers who paid far too much to be skiing in Canada and had far too little business being on such a big mountain. In the afternoon, we did 'free ski' with our fellow campers and instructor, and then hit up Apres Ski. With crisp Canadian beer, a great exchange rate, and even a Picabo Street sighting, I was in ski heaven. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">While it rained most of the time at Whistler and we ended up skiing in large plastic garbage bags, we both became fairly decent intermediate level skiers.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The following year we traded in the garbage bags for Sun Valley, where I suffered my first ski injury -- torn thumb ligaments and a deep cut to the lip when I jammed my pole into my face. Looking back, I remember I couldn’t open a bottle of beer with my hand for about a year (this was a serious hardship at the time), and eating hot spicy chicken wings was also a challenge (I have a photo to prove it somewhere), I can’t say I wasn’t having a good time. It was just the price I had to pay. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">After the beau and I broke I up, I headed back up to Vermont with my friend Jennifer. We joined up with the <a href="http://www.swissskiclub.com/">Swiss Ski Club</a> of New York to endure the strict, regimented fun that only the Swiss seem to be able to force on folks. There were rules for everything. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>From how to park your car to how to participate in Apres Ski. When Jennifer opted to sleep-in rather than partake in a two hour breakfast debacle, we felt the cold Swiss brush of social disfavor. Still, Jennifer and I put up with the rules for a bit of outdoor activity… and the potential for meeting men. It was a during a weekend with Jennifer at Stowe where I got this little nugget of advice from a woman (with her husband and child) I met on the ski lift. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Woman: <span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>“Why are you here alone? You’re so cute, you should have a boyfriend.” </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Me: <span style="mso-tab-count:2"> "</span>I just had a bad break-up."</p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Woman: <span style="mso-tab-count:1"> </span>"Oh why, did you want to get married?"</p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">When I couldn’t respond, she went on:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">“Listen, honey. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Men? They’re all assholes. This is my third husband (she pointed to man next to her, who slouched silently trying to disappear into his Northface jacket). <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He’s not much different than the other two. Save your time and your money and when you get married and things get tough, save yourself from a divorce and just work with what you got.”</p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Horrified, I drove back to NYC that very afternoon and haven’t really skied again… until now. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Settled in with one husband (My first! No trade-ins!) and two cats, John and I decided we’d give skiing a go. We’d done it before (not together), but weekends in the country can get a little dull for me without an outdoor activity, and with Catamount Ski Area just a few miles away, it seemed like a good thing to take up again. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Now for the past two winters, it’s been snow central in the Hudson Valley. Last winter at this time we had two feet of snow on our roof and we were worried about ice dams and the roof caving in from what seemed like a weekly wallop of weather. The two times we went to Catamount, the mountain was heaving with activity… and snow… and vast ski trails... and happy skiers. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">In preparation, this May I bought ski passes at a deep discount and this fall we rented and bought gear and other accoutrements – to the tune of an investment of about $1500. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We were in the sport. All we needed now was snow. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">And so we waited. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">And waited. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">And waited. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Yeah, this hasn't exactly been a stellar ski season, which makes me wonder if maybe I should have joined the country club and played a few rounds of golf this winter instead. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Each time we go (three times now!) I amortize the cost of our outings. Today we’re down to just $200 per person per ski outing. I figure if we ski twice more, we’ll have “gotten our money’s worth.” </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">But maybe there’s a better way to look at it. I love being outdoors. I love being active. And I love being active outdoors with the person I love more than anyone in the world. I’m no Suzy Chapstick and I’d love to have prettier form, but it’s fun to be able to coast down the mountain for a few hours and then head back home to the kittens for a bowl of chili and a nap. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Not to mention that <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m living out my Wide World of Sports dream. </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">I’m skiing! </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">I’m skiing! </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">This ‘Flatlander’ is… skiiiiing! </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Yet always someone who dreams bigger… today I spotted my next goal. A pair of tight, bright, wildly patterned ski wear that can only be described as Spideypants!</p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNcuucwuiKND_XM3V0kvSzegh6Q0TK971iRWXQsrwv86xb8PrrnqfSc0zlOi0XS0y_MmMaWMIa1c5TcSUFhHvUqQx7mFdrWiNN73qwG59fh0LuuLsF1t0EKONNLqpk4KW8KDa09cCPXS9/s1600/47115.117654_e.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 174px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNcuucwuiKND_XM3V0kvSzegh6Q0TK971iRWXQsrwv86xb8PrrnqfSc0zlOi0XS0y_MmMaWMIa1c5TcSUFhHvUqQx7mFdrWiNN73qwG59fh0LuuLsF1t0EKONNLqpk4KW8KDa09cCPXS9/s320/47115.117654_e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5707982177938810434" border="0" /></a></p> <p style="text-align: center;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >Spideypants!</span><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">I hardly have the ski chops and I barely have the buttocks to pull them off, but one can dream, right? </p> <p style="text-align: justify;" class="MsoNormal">Yes, Flatlander. One can always dream. </p>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-19927458079645254942010-07-11T16:28:00.001-04:002010-07-11T16:30:51.507-04:00Sunday Afternoon Cat Nap<div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDwau0uft11tHN0InCwXnwTLYRWX8O6OwJdloRi3iElNs181ZMRsBhnSA-ojq0NrO7Q6ccYKX6yHigPRc3Hivy2z4WQEy95jFrSBe6EKGhbKp9Dfw-2H9bMGBMCn_Z8q7jdFt2weE_Il4/s1600/Mido.2010.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSDwau0uft11tHN0InCwXnwTLYRWX8O6OwJdloRi3iElNs181ZMRsBhnSA-ojq0NrO7Q6ccYKX6yHigPRc3Hivy2z4WQEy95jFrSBe6EKGhbKp9Dfw-2H9bMGBMCn_Z8q7jdFt2weE_Il4/s400/Mido.2010.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none; padding: 0px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-63261087823403995772010-07-10T12:02:00.010-04:002010-07-10T13:01:48.438-04:00Baking Bread<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Last fall, John mentioned that he'd like to try baking bread.</span><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >"From </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >scratch</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >?" I asked, befuddled, since John's cooking repertoire consists little more than Chili con Carne and Cottage Pie.</span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br />'Yes,' he nodded.<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Not </span>in one of those big bread-making machines..," I wondered out loud, terrified at the thought of losing more counter space.<br /><br />"No. I'd be the bread-maker. By hand..." he retorted.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >So thinking there really couldn't be any downside, for Christmas I got him a book on bread-making, all the while figuring the book would be eagerly perused for a day or so, then placed on a shelf with my cookbooks, never to be considered again.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >But within a few weeks, John had accumulated all the necessary tools, a bread stone, a bowl, BREAD FLOUR (I had no idea there was such a thing) and corn meal. We even had to hunt through the supermarket to figure out where they hide the yeast (not to mention how to activate it!)</span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br />This guy...was </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >serious</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >But would it be any good? </span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadsQWAL2vPjPMokt3ytr0z5a1t6ifh6m-6dpR80QTds3gwlpRSvMuDlcJxvNA8q7E4Hy3_OC5arVUOGW-gmhyuXj8aU_Oj5RI85k36B1fwx8NFatf0-Znhvoz_sSPpleRyj1gFMJ-ZikD/s1600/Loaf(2).jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjadsQWAL2vPjPMokt3ytr0z5a1t6ifh6m-6dpR80QTds3gwlpRSvMuDlcJxvNA8q7E4Hy3_OC5arVUOGW-gmhyuXj8aU_Oj5RI85k36B1fwx8NFatf0-Znhvoz_sSPpleRyj1gFMJ-ZikD/s320/Loaf(2).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492317000796340658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">My husband made this bread with his own two hands!</span></span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >Well, above is a photo of his second loaf of bread. Impressive, right? And even more impressive is that it looks as good as it tastes. And sometimes, when the bread comes out in a funny shape (usually crescent, we're not really sure why yet), it takes even better than it looks.</span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >Okay. But would it last?</span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >Well, here it is July and we've been enjoying John's bread every weekend since the beginning of the year. From basic white bread (with a slight sourdough taste) to whole wheat, his bread has become one of our great weekend rituals when we're Upstate.</span><br /><br /><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >And by rituals, I mean that John wakes up at 4 a.m., puts on his bread-baking outfit....</span><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br />No, no. It's not like that at all...</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">But he does get up earlier than me. So he bakes bread while I sleep in, waking up later to the smell of freshly baking bread (which is almost as good as the smell of bacon...almost).</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">And later we have the bread as a late morning snack, use it for sandwiches for lunch and eat with dinner.</span> </span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Yeah...I could get used to this!</span></span><br /></span>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-71769739198266193882010-04-23T15:09:00.007-04:002010-04-23T15:48:09.404-04:00Here Comes The Sun...<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGVQnQYdDI38B3DTJWbLhVUsk3p940rz5zd2yzT-aWnZmU_a-cQdcUlC2QD-G8EQmohfi2DUqGyDBQRd_rUfseso8cdASSGt8YRvSBYNV1TWR_drM1vy4v-kqBsL3KpzBDxGGsaPjS6sp/s1600/DSCN1179.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhGVQnQYdDI38B3DTJWbLhVUsk3p940rz5zd2yzT-aWnZmU_a-cQdcUlC2QD-G8EQmohfi2DUqGyDBQRd_rUfseso8cdASSGt8YRvSBYNV1TWR_drM1vy4v-kqBsL3KpzBDxGGsaPjS6sp/s400/DSCN1179.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463421243254051890" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter...</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" >Little darling, it feels like years since its been here...</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />Here comes the sun.</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" > Here comes the sun.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;" ><br />And I say, it's alright.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >I think I took this photo just a week (or two?) before Easter, when we had the great thaw here in the Valley. Anyway, it's been a hell of a winter -- more stormy downstate than upstate -- and tumultuous times for John and me no matter where the location. </span> <span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br />But we're back in action. John is consulting, my public relations work has rebounded (enough to give up the retail gig - though on many levels, I miss it), I'm shopping my two spec screenplays around and in general, getting to a good place.<br /><br />The best part is that we're back to spending the weekends together Upstate and we've got our focus on a few house projects, as well as exploring the area a little more. In fact, since we bought the place nearly four years ago, this may be the first summer we're able to fully embrace "Valley life" (is that what they call it?). And without my head stuck in some gigantic writing project (<span style="font-style: italic;">aka up my a**</span>) we're going to attempt to redo the porch (perhaps our first true DIY project;) finish off the interior painting (that "the paint guy" never came back to do);) attack the goddamn milk thistle (before it attacks us); strike back at the over-growth of brambles (I've already gotten started on that) and maybe...maybe do some bike riding, (if I can convince myself that hills are my friend), more running, more hiking and buying/eating local (and I don't mean frequenting the local Taco Bell).<br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" >Stay tuned. It's good to be present. It's great to be back. :)</span><br /></div><br /><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none; padding: 0px; background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-54097877435161596772010-01-09T13:38:00.007-05:002010-01-09T15:34:09.715-05:00Pennywise at the Price Chopper<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LBJyJJGOzAVhrSsAfC8oCDS5d9dllvu6usGMeUtR4AqKdGJrU73iiTXBWU8inZ9jQoShKf6NCXX3Eiqosl_Bf0ItDLNFRLK74SYgrdJB8sgJdVAcEfVuYcPuJBWd6KqqEb7RG4F8Zp4K/s1600-h/103_0256.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LBJyJJGOzAVhrSsAfC8oCDS5d9dllvu6usGMeUtR4AqKdGJrU73iiTXBWU8inZ9jQoShKf6NCXX3Eiqosl_Bf0ItDLNFRLK74SYgrdJB8sgJdVAcEfVuYcPuJBWd6KqqEb7RG4F8Zp4K/s320/103_0256.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424830338092887858" border="0" /></a>So, we noted a few months back that we were minding our pennies as of late. And for the most part, it's never really fun watching every dime you spend. But for some reason, when it came to our <a href="http://www.pricechopper.com/">Price Chopper</a> outings...well, we actually had fun (or at least a "not so terrible time.")<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />While not really into the coupon thing, I may challenge myself to a round of shopping using as many coupons as possible after reading about a PC-shopper who bought $96 worth of goodies for just $25. But I digress.<br /><br />What I found pretty fascinating was testing out the various Price Chopper brand products (and their signature Central Market goodies) against other name brands. Overall, I'd say Price Chopper products pretty much rock. Here's a list of the items we bought from the Price Chopper brand that we liked, and the others that we'd suggest avoiding.<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Recommended:</span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Macaroni & Cheese:</span> I actually think this is better than the Kraft version and comes is a guilt-laden 12-pack.<br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Thick Cut Bacon:</span> Compared to our Bacon of the Month stuff, we preferred PC's bacon goodness</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Potato Chips:</span> The wavy kind. It holds up well to the Heluva Good onion dip (which is a throw back/indulgence from my UVM days).<br /></li><li style="font-weight: bold;">Stock/Broths: <span style="font-weight: normal;">Same soup, different label.</span><br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Central Market Cereals:</span> namely the Low Fat Granola and Museli mix</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">PC-Brand Off the Bone Ham:</span> Not exactly a cost savings, but good quality deli meat (this from the grand-daughter of a NY-German deli man!)<br /></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Cheddar slices:</span> From the dairy section</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Central Market Pasta Sauces:</span> Vodka, in particular. But stay away from anything that mentions Garlic in the type of sauce, it's totally sub par.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Central Market Skillet Meals:</span> Wow. Had the Asian Style Pork Lo-Mein thing. Quality pork and veggies. Great if you don't feel like cooking and cheaper than take-out.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dishwasher Powder:</span> Cheap and it works.<br /></li></ul><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Not-So-Good:</span><br /><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tomato Paste. </span>Tasteless and damn near ruined a meal for me.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Paper towels.</span> Let's face it, you gotta stick with Bounty.</li><li style="font-weight: bold;">Dishwashing liquid.<span style="font-weight: normal;">Watery.</span></li><li>Price Chopper's version of <span style="font-weight: bold;">food storage items</span> are junk. It's sort of tupperware, it's sort of Glad stuff. Either way, warps in the dishwasher and doesn't seal well.</li></ul>Yeah, so not a lot of clunkers.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">And speaking of clunkers, the best part of the whole Price Chopper experience is their <a href="http://www2.pricechopper.com/fueladvantedge/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Advantage Fuel Program</span></a>. We load up at the supermarket, then drive our "clunker" down to the Sunoco and fill up with our loyalty points. It's a big day when we cash in for 50 cents of EACH GALLON of gas. Seriously. What a score.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_quN0wr0zxR-bNd1v8RCen3V-85e7r_dDDUvAAu3rOcmIezGmgXn48vOy_R3CScd9rlBvHZCX9Txp7xAdaH7Vap0Fwbai_SCLvNK_BT99arkgCPoSj9Ixxq0LCDBnu0N9fODuRD24zVqK/s1600-h/103_0326.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_quN0wr0zxR-bNd1v8RCen3V-85e7r_dDDUvAAu3rOcmIezGmgXn48vOy_R3CScd9rlBvHZCX9Txp7xAdaH7Vap0Fwbai_SCLvNK_BT99arkgCPoSj9Ixxq0LCDBnu0N9fODuRD24zVqK/s320/103_0326.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424830669654197010" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Mido inspects the goods.</span><br /></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-51347099480944696962010-01-09T12:36:00.005-05:002010-01-09T13:37:30.496-05:002009. The List.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXQ_FitwzXdgw7I3LwFmgwV8sUMmbuIQFwhn1n7l1D2ekzbo4k4Tr19d8t3OzYxXCFCz0zPBauxK8Pvnijs-18TqeWtvSuq00jd0dhukT5NF3VpOs5dDPrnThagFSD58pxvJN__tBQy9N/s1600-h/DSCN0738.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXQ_FitwzXdgw7I3LwFmgwV8sUMmbuIQFwhn1n7l1D2ekzbo4k4Tr19d8t3OzYxXCFCz0zPBauxK8Pvnijs-18TqeWtvSuq00jd0dhukT5NF3VpOs5dDPrnThagFSD58pxvJN__tBQy9N/s320/DSCN0738.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424809463972472210" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Nine days into the New Year, and I've been thinking about a year-end retrospective about Just Off the Taconic - the highlights, the lowlights, the in-between lights.<br /><br />But in the interest in time, and the fact that the general consensus about 2009 was that it was basically crap, I've decided to just do a list of the good, the bad and the downright ugly that we experienced in no particular order, and with no explanation. I'll leave it to you, good readers, to figure out what lies in which category.<br /></div><ul><li>Hummingbirds</li><li>Bacon of the Month</li><li>Taghkanic Tomorrow<br /></li><li>Farting deer</li><li>Wildflowers</li><li>Rain</li><li>Ore Pit Pond</li><li>Smokefest</li><li>Tree removal</li><li>Carpenter bees</li><li>Hummer-drivers</li><li>Musk thistle</li><li>Miller's Tavern</li><li>Nancy's Spicy Coleslaw<br /></li><li>TSL</li><li>ZBA<br /></li><li>The Kanagas</li><li>Moosehead Tavern</li><li>Snowshoeing</li><li>Groundhog<br /></li><li>Price Chopper Fuel Advantage</li><li>Columbia County Democratic Caucus</li><li>Gun Clubs</li><li>Chatham Brewery<br /></li><li>Golf</li><li>Cluster flies</li><li>Local corn</li><li>Beebe Hill</li></ul>And here's to just getting on with things in 2010.Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-63940516259367398522009-12-25T18:35:00.006-05:002009-12-25T20:44:43.905-05:00Merry Christmas!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAvoRlkGTSNsxx-bYhyvjVq1VLn5XRQd8Sotg7rqXnOUdZPQrQ0iZhST9trmjxWMiIQKcTKzMetO1W7Ddo_wbhUVGaDtb7vi4gkhE8dsXMU_f8ePUHte_QR8nZV14YutLEuK3bAHo2idSn/s1600-h/DSCN1135.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAvoRlkGTSNsxx-bYhyvjVq1VLn5XRQd8Sotg7rqXnOUdZPQrQ0iZhST9trmjxWMiIQKcTKzMetO1W7Ddo_wbhUVGaDtb7vi4gkhE8dsXMU_f8ePUHte_QR8nZV14YutLEuK3bAHo2idSn/s400/DSCN1135.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419353800682789314" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:11pt;">Dear Friends,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:11pt;">It’s been a hectic holiday season and as usual, we were remiss when it came to getting stuff on the blog. Luckily (call it a Christmas miracle!), we managed to get our Christmas meal on the table… </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:11pt;">We’re spending the holiday at our “cottage” in Upstate New York and woke to a mixture of winter freeze and flurries. Here are photos from our Christmas morning (okay, Noonish) run. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:11pt;">Here’s wishing our warmest tidings to you and yours -- and nothing but the very best for us all in 2010. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:11pt;">With love,</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:11pt;"> John and Christine</span></span></span><span style=";font-family:Bradley Hand ITC;font-size:85%;" ><span style=";font-family:";font-size:11pt;" ></span></span></p> <p style="margin-bottom: 24pt; text-align: center;" align="center"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbFL6bSVdpAdP2zGWqoZ0Eo-JOaSuAK5HSow7-hJeLADYvDw1mJGfwoaLMv4EQFz38jcDl4nbRj58Xipi3AeSjYNvJmuKy7Sv4MOzffQdh5yfCBAOwjRbLvEQa3tfn-w7xgNk5jiznrVm/s1600-h/103_0315-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRbFL6bSVdpAdP2zGWqoZ0Eo-JOaSuAK5HSow7-hJeLADYvDw1mJGfwoaLMv4EQFz38jcDl4nbRj58Xipi3AeSjYNvJmuKy7Sv4MOzffQdh5yfCBAOwjRbLvEQa3tfn-w7xgNk5jiznrVm/s400/103_0315-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5419353994790601554" border="0" /></a></p>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-67603083330816029882009-11-04T17:54:00.005-05:002009-11-04T19:42:53.964-05:00Oh hi.I know, it's been awhile...<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Basically we've been scrambling as of late. Scrambling eggs (with salmon and capers)? Nope. Scrambling up hills (to check out the jaw-dropping views of the Berkshires)? Nope.<br /><br />Just. Plain. Scrambling.<br /><br />At first I wasn't going to tell you (all two of you loyal readers). I mean, why break the veneer of a "perfect country life," right? But then people begin to wonder. And even worry. And then you realize that even though you've been through one of the biggest personal maelstroms of your life (9/11 notwithstanding), you still have to be grateful about what you do have...and take a deep breath, relax and know it's gonna be okay. If not tomorrow, then the next day. Or even just ...eventually.<br /><br />As a bit of catching up, August went down something like this: Mom goes into hospital while Dad is out sailing. Mom has flu and maybe something else seriously, seriously wrong, but we don't know for sure. Oh, but Dad is still out to sea...oh, wait, no LOST at sea (well, just for a few days), then ends up at the hospital in the Outer Banks (thanks for saving him AGAIN Coast Guard people!).<br /><br />Then my biggest/only freelance client cut me back by 50 percent. I have only myself to blame on that - it's been cushy - and I've been selfish, what, writing a screenplay or two instead of hunting down new clients when I knew that the travel biz was down the toilet. But so help me, I wouldn't give back that gift of writing time for anything.<br /><br />But then you mix that in with the unforeseen over expenditures on renovating the house, (mouse nibbled electric wiring, potentially life-threatening heating systems, ice storms) and the cash tightens up and the job market dries up with the Wall Street nay, Global Market Meltdown... Well, before you know it we're not just feeling empathy for the guy we read about on CNN.com about going from a six-figure job to delivering pizzas - WE ARE THAT GUY!!!<br /><br />And yet, we are doing fine. (Sort of.)<br /><br />In August I took a retail job at a sporting goods store in NYC where I sell running shoes to avid running New Yorkers, International visitors and regular neighborhood folks. Though not exactly what I expected to be doing with my college education at this stage of the game, it's been one of the best work experiences I've had in the last decade.<br /><br />Why?<br /><br />For starters, now I know I can sell and have always wanted to get into sales, but didn't think I had the aggressive quality to do it well. Now I know I can. Hell, I even "won" Sales MVP in August at the store!<br /><br />I've also been forced out of the isolating cocoon of my holed-up home office back into the streets and energy of NYC. Wow...all that I've been missing! Lady Gaga, Jay-Z, the Union Square Green Market!<br /><br />Oh, and I get to hang out with today's young people. They are also struggling - what with their newly minted college degrees and steep college loans. Unable to find work, they still tough it out. Resilient, really. They even make me proud, so different than those Internet bubble babies with their "Gimme Gimme Gimme" rantings.<br /><br />And I lost 15 pounds! (It's amazing the mileage you log standing for six hour stretches and working in retail).<br /><br />And I have one of the best work managers/supervisors I've ever had in all of my working life. So, I feel appreciated. Even if it is only for my sneaker-selling abilities, and for showing up on time.<br /><br />Best of all, John is learning to cook! Hell, he's like a Gordon Ramsey in the making, what with his kick-ass Shepherd's Pie and such.<br /><br />Also, John's got some good job leads when a few months ago there wasn't a thing going on "out there." I mean, we're talking tumbleweeds, folks...but for now, it's his job to find that big job, and mine to keep us keeping on. And as noted above, that works out just fine for me.<br /><br />So , we're hopeful. And we're hanging as a team like never before.<br /><br />So what's not to like about this "new normal"? Well, yes, we've had to find a new rhythm to our life. We've had to take stock. We've had to adjust. We even had to (GASP) clip coupons! And sell stuff on eBay!<br /><br />And maybe we can't be Just Off The Taconic as much as we'd like...but we're holding onto the house with everything we've got. Because this has shown us just how much we love our lives Upstate, as well as our lives and friends Downstate.<br /><br />John has a few interviews lined up. And I have just a few more script pages to write. And after that we'll figure it out all over again.<br /><br />But we're not going anywhere.<br /><br />And yes, we are still here. (Mido, too.) :)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcYVnwCzBmJ1FnZI7AKg05Z5fpA2oUCIJUGD_Cihx_jaaICk2_F69AWf5lcldxQWOXiFyhgkZ65hUXjdoT3i1t2PIQKJK8jo36w_uSfhwJ2wn4An-dgqglaAx90Uo_oTgAyth68KTpGxQ/s1600-h/home-sweet-home.gif"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcYVnwCzBmJ1FnZI7AKg05Z5fpA2oUCIJUGD_Cihx_jaaICk2_F69AWf5lcldxQWOXiFyhgkZ65hUXjdoT3i1t2PIQKJK8jo36w_uSfhwJ2wn4An-dgqglaAx90Uo_oTgAyth68KTpGxQ/s200/home-sweet-home.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400406734855148082" border="0" /></a><br /></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-8881310082219484492009-07-31T16:44:00.005-04:002009-07-31T17:14:57.797-04:00Climbing Up Beebe Hill<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw5Er8HsVEjDptN4qqJePi4xw8RyrSxaUwRHrNbAT6OGBodSW7dDtMCH7RCY3JbkdKo1mjzCNaT-jAztFQokI7DGrpXUsqFVmzhHF7Zjt6E1j9jqqt-xboXTardAiLK8ys5zKg35Wmh7qu/s1600-h/PICT0010-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw5Er8HsVEjDptN4qqJePi4xw8RyrSxaUwRHrNbAT6OGBodSW7dDtMCH7RCY3JbkdKo1mjzCNaT-jAztFQokI7DGrpXUsqFVmzhHF7Zjt6E1j9jqqt-xboXTardAiLK8ys5zKg35Wmh7qu/s400/PICT0010-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364733954713482994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Ahhhh....</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Last weekend, for some miracle reason, it didn't rain. Well, it didn't rain on Saturday. Actually, wait. It rained on Saturday night...and Friday night...and again on Sunday.<br /><br />Well, between rain drops, Tim and Allison visited and we went for a hike over at nearby(ish) Beebe Hill in Austerlitz. I found the <a href="http://www.localhikes.com/HikeData.asp?DispType=0&ActiveHike=1&GetHikesStateID=1&ID=5417">trail</a> on <a href="http://www.localhikes.com/">www.localhikes.com</a>, a cool web site that lists out great hikes all over the country, complete with hiker reviews, that you can source through a zip code or other search criteria.<br /><br />What drew me to this particular hike was that it was close to the house, a short trail (no need to mix up a five pound bag of gorp) and there is a fire tower on top of the hill that promised great views.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Finding the trialhead was probably the toughest part of the hike. As a warm up, we checked out a few headstones from a former family burial ground (we'd later learn that the land was owned by the Barrett family (Barrett's and Harmon's occupied the plots for the most part).<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZakZM6LnY_cy29zBT3lMApBc8sffEyfPViclaZqsjQS5jsdIDTviE2y8seiUCMlIczxjA48AI7xh4WAGKoiLgkE7zgp7AZsiLF5Emqx7ri__6N2Pq4lQ4tfgMR6zQ3y3GXgjiH2I7QEhN/s1600-h/PICT0001-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZakZM6LnY_cy29zBT3lMApBc8sffEyfPViclaZqsjQS5jsdIDTviE2y8seiUCMlIczxjA48AI7xh4WAGKoiLgkE7zgp7AZsiLF5Emqx7ri__6N2Pq4lQ4tfgMR6zQ3y3GXgjiH2I7QEhN/s400/PICT0001-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364732834247740706" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Using the buddy system, we sign our group into (and out of) the forest.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then we tramped on up the hill. More like hitting Harlem hill in Central Park, only stretched out and not paved, it really wasn't all that "challenging," though I admit I was in the back of the pack. A nice lean-to, a pond (buggy!), an outhouse, a sea of ferns and a mess of shelf mushrooms living on the trees rounded out the scenery on the way to the top.<br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilaY7ecFiu-T8dvPbV7DRHPrIE1k6MgcTo9JZXp-26Ul2hXCqPdBpRPapi75-J9QGARzchqeLHSWkuJbplDjG9YbGpbIckjCWyHaLo5lRmL-kZ7_ANmFRnlDCaOyJwg9-3qeBLzLmxheH/s1600-h/PICT0002-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilaY7ecFiu-T8dvPbV7DRHPrIE1k6MgcTo9JZXp-26Ul2hXCqPdBpRPapi75-J9QGARzchqeLHSWkuJbplDjG9YbGpbIckjCWyHaLo5lRmL-kZ7_ANmFRnlDCaOyJwg9-3qeBLzLmxheH/s400/PICT0002-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364732835866501458" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Accommodations are simple, surroundings are sublime.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">At the top, John was sitting on a rock, casually pointing to the fire volunteer Bill Starr (he's really like a ranger) and his car. Hmmm. Bill (who's not an actual ranger, I think due to economic cutbacks) invited us into the ranger house, which once served as a cabin for the former fire watchers who would post themselves atop the fire tower...I guess, looking for fires. (except for that one time when they didn't and the area burned down).<br /><br />We surmised there may have been a few great parties atop that hill at some point in the past. But I digress...and some great info on the fire tower, including pictures of the cabin, etc. are <a href="http://beebehill.info/">here</a>.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuPZM9djDIsVFmU8FMbc3giMatw7tC99yyG_rI6BKG2-sEv0DEcO8jyvG7ZED1aqqkOThiWZ3InKqNQwixtFRW-STfB_Dmdc4ZFv0MJNZmAxSnGEQJXoAIcSzFh6Ybk6a8DpGHPceQMUFG/s1600-h/PICT0005-1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuPZM9djDIsVFmU8FMbc3giMatw7tC99yyG_rI6BKG2-sEv0DEcO8jyvG7ZED1aqqkOThiWZ3InKqNQwixtFRW-STfB_Dmdc4ZFv0MJNZmAxSnGEQJXoAIcSzFh6Ybk6a8DpGHPceQMUFG/s400/PICT0005-1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364732843256136978" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Your happy bloggers.</span><br /><br /></div>After sending Bill down the mountain in his car, we climbed the fire tower and were rewarded even further with these stunning 360 views.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFoJ0-tgrW4flAn3anxsJ61u4Pyi6os89dVeyiSy9__T6KZQOLn_ExAhekvbzfzRlXYNuaNp3du2ArG8_UntBR3roV0OhJAB4FbqgI2RrBK8oZWH1sLnzAyLSNlEvJVJjxdW7DvajSbrZ/s1600-h/PICT0007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrFoJ0-tgrW4flAn3anxsJ61u4Pyi6os89dVeyiSy9__T6KZQOLn_ExAhekvbzfzRlXYNuaNp3du2ArG8_UntBR3roV0OhJAB4FbqgI2RrBK8oZWH1sLnzAyLSNlEvJVJjxdW7DvajSbrZ/s400/PICT0007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364732830438786386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">View from the Fire Tower: Berkshires?</span><br /><br /></div>We can't wait to get back there, bring a few friends and check out a few more trails in the hood soon!Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-31578977903869951532009-07-31T14:29:00.001-04:002009-07-31T17:43:23.625-04:00Like Freakin' Wild Kingdom Here...<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfxWVhNgBQGM0ALDuAsP4PGOMbv3E96V6lM5U5rXYAJWIsfK0lQlZaCFbjtGzksQcgetbK8uhHEYa3k0mY1Fkk5aUNew9-83kc1tG92FLPqmtVUPsoYgFJhRyxTO6AVagbX2LGDjhOI9k/s1600-h/DSCN0999.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfxWVhNgBQGM0ALDuAsP4PGOMbv3E96V6lM5U5rXYAJWIsfK0lQlZaCFbjtGzksQcgetbK8uhHEYa3k0mY1Fkk5aUNew9-83kc1tG92FLPqmtVUPsoYgFJhRyxTO6AVagbX2LGDjhOI9k/s400/DSCN0999.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364741788341275218" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Chickadee, right after its first flight!</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">So you all know that I've become a bit of a birder. Two chickadees, I may have mentioned, decided to make their home in a nesting perch built into our porch and laid a few eggs. Just about three weeks ago, I noticed that the eggs hatched and there were real, live, baby birds in the nest.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGGoumm_RZujQGZWOPo7myPd2geY4b8BVvnFOL9FTG1Lf8PrfLPLqjz-vwSIa3Z0Qf6tLz0_wj1YnDZ0Sm3xbnEgZgQFxL865M1waHx1ICxU7ChWokzYi-WdOx93UBZ1WqYdsnAxN6VB5K/s1600-h/DSCN0989.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGGoumm_RZujQGZWOPo7myPd2geY4b8BVvnFOL9FTG1Lf8PrfLPLqjz-vwSIa3Z0Qf6tLz0_wj1YnDZ0Sm3xbnEgZgQFxL865M1waHx1ICxU7ChWokzYi-WdOx93UBZ1WqYdsnAxN6VB5K/s400/DSCN0989.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364741779906122706" border="0" /></a><br />Not one to get my hopes up about their survival, the next week, I was thrilled to see not two or three, but FOUR baby chicadees in the nest! Since then, I've watched over these little guys, buying my first round of bird seed and checking in on them like a doting mom. But about a week or so ago, when I waved good-bye to them for the week just before we headed back to the city, they had taken flight (a little wobbly, but they were flying!). But when we returned, they moved to a new hood. We didn't see them at all last weekend, but today, in the midst of the rainstorms, one of the chickadees came back...probably to say hello.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcz1ppRq5_l_6qaylfxJG5eQ9MmjkTDzB07N55zQ4b8xSK2ZNRNqmKw8DrssWzt8FeLBfy2qdFFzTrplVTA2aN43VTAVtJ3YkP-kp3zkcDDKro_5Lmsuvpg8i3DlFJrKLOWCeEFGwXgql/s1600-h/DSCN0997.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 311px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcz1ppRq5_l_6qaylfxJG5eQ9MmjkTDzB07N55zQ4b8xSK2ZNRNqmKw8DrssWzt8FeLBfy2qdFFzTrplVTA2aN43VTAVtJ3YkP-kp3zkcDDKro_5Lmsuvpg8i3DlFJrKLOWCeEFGwXgql/s400/DSCN0997.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364741785393713378" border="0" /></a><br />Speaking of saying hello... a few weeks back, I sent John back to the city while I stayed Upstate for another day (digging into the heart of the next spec screenplay). Late in the afternoon, I heard some rustling in the bushes. Then a good deal of grunting. I though it was the groundhog, but when I started to hear the FARTING (yes, farting!), I had wait to see what kind of beast of nature would make such noises.<br /><br />After a few moments, this beautiful thing appeared from the woods:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4wG-nDi_lk1ZtCFZUAFIJ_qOMR_ilJVMNOPMVM6R2Y6LMTkZHcvRQeTqaYfZhN5xkbg1LVzIiv5eRbmelcffZIAZmT86wSENt2p2M5eU2tsPgzAsYJuIVpN3ThTXAm3dGZBxXTFpbiOIr/s1600-h/DSCN0987.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4wG-nDi_lk1ZtCFZUAFIJ_qOMR_ilJVMNOPMVM6R2Y6LMTkZHcvRQeTqaYfZhN5xkbg1LVzIiv5eRbmelcffZIAZmT86wSENt2p2M5eU2tsPgzAsYJuIVpN3ThTXAm3dGZBxXTFpbiOIr/s400/DSCN0987.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364741775895174834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">When a deer farts in the woods?</span><br /><br /></div>I'm not sure if it was embarrassed, or just checking on me, but we had a good old stare down for a few minutes before it moved on, farting and grunting its way back into the woods. Just thought I'd share.<br /></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-17132424713921676572009-07-13T19:19:00.002-04:002009-07-13T19:30:00.659-04:00In Honor Of Cheese-Eating Surrender Monkeys Everywhere<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFKxmez4XJy6cIEmh7g6L1PYQh7ofY-a-KhBE5rJE5zkA4gO8s8q7EgrFJgycWEuMNeMgbcHHTgX3ihWJkq5fbp46imwClTw_Q5o75rDwbTAY6qSxhRs0ExAGrLX9Qk45wx3dYAqLK8OI/s1600-h/DSCN0838.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqFKxmez4XJy6cIEmh7g6L1PYQh7ofY-a-KhBE5rJE5zkA4gO8s8q7EgrFJgycWEuMNeMgbcHHTgX3ihWJkq5fbp46imwClTw_Q5o75rDwbTAY6qSxhRs0ExAGrLX9Qk45wx3dYAqLK8OI/s400/DSCN0838.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358090026259349858" border="0" /></a>Too late for Flag Day...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_dlmdgNPG2W164xI-fTjuOPK579mmJsLpgqSzpKTscus3ly3XKyaUeilOY06htQLB60mDq2-IX2xdlmesbs4_3Vvjkr7uDE1VVc374J3roBmF2DUtrx1B8dCVZ25cX0o-XVTNgfv_h8H/s1600-h/103_0263.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_dlmdgNPG2W164xI-fTjuOPK579mmJsLpgqSzpKTscus3ly3XKyaUeilOY06htQLB60mDq2-IX2xdlmesbs4_3Vvjkr7uDE1VVc374J3roBmF2DUtrx1B8dCVZ25cX0o-XVTNgfv_h8H/s400/103_0263.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358090029163622386" border="0" /></a>...and Fourth of July...<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-PZuf6p5gqmcothyphenhyphenQYEZYHtHD6ZtivuDO4CJyXQLAz4RNzR8I66vdMC9vtYaoJIeMsRCS52q5PMMoYhCQOWFnJ-h2PjTSqMPBsAnCi3tUxLchU-RUNR9OyC9JCJeCAzeILy70ucajd8tw/s1600-h/DSCN0843.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 345px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-PZuf6p5gqmcothyphenhyphenQYEZYHtHD6ZtivuDO4CJyXQLAz4RNzR8I66vdMC9vtYaoJIeMsRCS52q5PMMoYhCQOWFnJ-h2PjTSqMPBsAnCi3tUxLchU-RUNR9OyC9JCJeCAzeILy70ucajd8tw/s400/DSCN0843.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358090036023618626" border="0" /></a>...and too early for Labor Day (dieu merci!)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">But here's some red, white and blue from our garden<br />to wish everyone a Happy Bastille Day!<br /></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-44306733320823265372009-07-12T11:19:00.004-04:002009-07-13T19:18:43.516-04:00Bird Talk<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzybOz8JWhmGlVvAJl9UD-Z535Ysx5nL7CurlBIXanvDlE2ipxqJ9FtAeNERUW1fPxPRa60XP4P7mA-9rDF3EWE6DZdawErmGmmgwPV3G9psi4IAW_BDoUAcjeXl8zgPrqcLYuyPWQw-9/s1600-h/DSCN0960.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 366px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCzybOz8JWhmGlVvAJl9UD-Z535Ysx5nL7CurlBIXanvDlE2ipxqJ9FtAeNERUW1fPxPRa60XP4P7mA-9rDF3EWE6DZdawErmGmmgwPV3G9psi4IAW_BDoUAcjeXl8zgPrqcLYuyPWQw-9/s400/DSCN0960.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358088083707822210" border="0" /></a><br />So, I'm becoming quite the birder. Above is a photo of a hummingbird I took that feeds off of our bee balm plants just outside of our screened porch. According to our newly acquired <span style="font-style: italic;">Smithsonian Field Guide to Birds of North America</span> (thanks Jean!) this is a ruby-throated hummingbird.<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Below is a black-capped chicadee. We have two adults and a nest of babies -- about 2-3 that I can see without getting in their space.<br /><br />We also have goldfinch(es?), woodpeckers, cardinals, robins and wild turkeys. Will try to get a photo of a goldfinch at some point to post. But in the meantime, I'm looking to purchase a hummingbird feeder to keep these babies around into September.<br /></div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_n1uB25XEhEA/SlvAuyyu63I/AAAAAAAABdI/vZgrREU5yqA/s1600-h/DSCN0929.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_n1uB25XEhEA/SlvAuyyu63I/AAAAAAAABdI/vZgrREU5yqA/s400/DSCN0929.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358088091828415346" border="0" /></a> </div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-33623583820379980302009-06-26T18:24:00.018-04:002009-06-26T23:50:17.892-04:00Six Things...<span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><div style="text-align: justify;">While <a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.modernemama.com/">Beach House</a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> covers a lot of </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">interesting</span> things that make me happy</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> - including great </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.andrewgeller.net/">modern design</a><span style="font-family:georgia;">, great </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.modernemama.com/search?q=beef+en+daube&x=0&y=0">beef stew</a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> and great </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.modernemama.com/2009/06/another-evening-another-sunset.html">Long Island sunsets</a><span style="font-family:georgia;">, </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">the </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">wonderfully dry-witted, smart and sassy modernemama </span><span style="font-family:georgia;">recently tagged me to share</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;" > six <span style="font-weight: bold;">uninteresting</span> things that make me happy</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">.</span><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />It's taken me awhile to fulfill the assignment, but better late than never. </span>Here are my six:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zyI0KLf9qZeomqQJ835uAudvYk5Gq1WdHgjPQpZ3Nq6lC_oK9R0mwWr-UEY13M4geC4LU-ZdAymRwHAqaktPAuablcagrkEh2DRbAqy_5RxPx8ETjV34O564OdW9ulshhUjB1HHV41lW/s1600-h/103_0261.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 348px; height: 347px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zyI0KLf9qZeomqQJ835uAudvYk5Gq1WdHgjPQpZ3Nq6lC_oK9R0mwWr-UEY13M4geC4LU-ZdAymRwHAqaktPAuablcagrkEh2DRbAqy_5RxPx8ETjV34O564OdW9ulshhUjB1HHV41lW/s400/103_0261.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351770369804413330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Roberts' Farm.</span> Those who opt for the East End of Long Island as their weekend getaway may look to </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://www.bygoneli.com/roadshow/stargazer.php">Stargazer</a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> as a sign that they're entering the Hamptons, but for me, it's the Roberts' barn and accompanying silo that serve as that innocuous indication that "we're almost there!" To our happy place just down the road, that is. </span><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOfFcpc8XZinRTGdYvRBk1QqeF6AVvtzEsnqHQL1TWM5zK0mmOMkPwJUPeIu608N7vOwo-_4-zlf4MTIA9Y5xemMCOeHe4Y-CL8otZy1tbKkur-6Nb3aQKjGr5KP4ywoAWvnOq8RdDL_p/s1600-h/103_0221.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOfFcpc8XZinRTGdYvRBk1QqeF6AVvtzEsnqHQL1TWM5zK0mmOMkPwJUPeIu608N7vOwo-_4-zlf4MTIA9Y5xemMCOeHe4Y-CL8otZy1tbKkur-6Nb3aQKjGr5KP4ywoAWvnOq8RdDL_p/s320/103_0221.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351772228926516178" border="0" /></a>I've always been fascinated by Stonehenge and most recently, the dolmens and <a href="http://www.stonepages.com/ireland/ireland.html">stone circles</a> of Ireland. So much so that I plan to build my own stone circle in our garden at some point with this otherwise uninteresting <span style="font-weight: bold;">backyard boulder </span>to serve as the keystone.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQwq7I7cVAQkLj8iyIGZSTN5LvjMVVpP6UwDxUX5JVPNamrWCuNCvwVKnmISEdroQGeWwMs9-nB0dZUXHTA-yye65RofeuKhNdYWCGLFW8YxupHHXTtKqGBO1cCJ597a5cC2on1hMhJv3/s1600-h/103_0231.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZQwq7I7cVAQkLj8iyIGZSTN5LvjMVVpP6UwDxUX5JVPNamrWCuNCvwVKnmISEdroQGeWwMs9-nB0dZUXHTA-yye65RofeuKhNdYWCGLFW8YxupHHXTtKqGBO1cCJ597a5cC2on1hMhJv3/s320/103_0231.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351773665283352050" border="0" /></a>As a kid at summer camp, <span style="font-weight: bold;">fresh corn</span> was a once a week treat, but with 500 ears that needed <span style="font-weight: bold;">shucking</span>, we needed a little bribing to get the job done. I was always that ready volunteer who helped peel back husks in exchange for an ice-pop, and the satisfaction in knowing that to-die-for sweet corn would soon follow from a nearby Vermont farm. Since then, shucking corn always brings me back to that wonderful time and place.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRxqBXxSpp0LzD2S_Kf4aXTd8E5L4ghCZSEq_iFJf8r6cKKCvbFa0Ud7Wpk0PceFkoyxJfoYJ8DcSlfsO4A8J1S8dOFv8oZu0R6Jbh8ioJdHKfaJqNlA9o9eQWskUSv2O_C77-5Piz5eU/s1600-h/103_0259.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRxqBXxSpp0LzD2S_Kf4aXTd8E5L4ghCZSEq_iFJf8r6cKKCvbFa0Ud7Wpk0PceFkoyxJfoYJ8DcSlfsO4A8J1S8dOFv8oZu0R6Jbh8ioJdHKfaJqNlA9o9eQWskUSv2O_C77-5Piz5eU/s320/103_0259.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351774950358657010" border="0" /></a>To be honest, it's a bit embarrassing to admit that I've recently gotten into a bit of <span style="font-weight: bold;">bird-watching</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span> But with chickadees, woodpeckers, hummingbirds and wild turkeys floating through our yard day in and out, it's kind of fun for a Citiot like me to match up the birds in the yard with the birds in the book. Next up, trainspotting?<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaDnlRuvQpzn9EWjCJzIkn8-iPGBLqKxWIlJKAL91SQJ7RrSaT2-zMDIzxNGVKA5GciuojrgdgSPlsI3aJUm_-H4EItpyLNh-BID9sC5RSAEL5PzUdH1VvBdKQITUojhb6MfyvcjRX4DPe/s1600-h/103_0220.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaDnlRuvQpzn9EWjCJzIkn8-iPGBLqKxWIlJKAL91SQJ7RrSaT2-zMDIzxNGVKA5GciuojrgdgSPlsI3aJUm_-H4EItpyLNh-BID9sC5RSAEL5PzUdH1VvBdKQITUojhb6MfyvcjRX4DPe/s320/103_0220.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351776290485518130" border="0" /></a>After a round of bird-watching, there's nothing like a little <span style="font-weight: bold;">country</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">cat nap</span> (but I'll spare you those images). ;-)<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bhD3OhcVyL9CvaprLtQAL4nnQcrOfuzTGSAWc-YoUeNKLaMksyYfxX9STgFsb9jisnbdNtcsDP5r4ZXoaJoMfeHUpAmWwXSijh0fgQYB7WXxxZyEOpcAptcJp1rC8su-sd2w0R6QGRjt/s1600-h/103_0233.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4bhD3OhcVyL9CvaprLtQAL4nnQcrOfuzTGSAWc-YoUeNKLaMksyYfxX9STgFsb9jisnbdNtcsDP5r4ZXoaJoMfeHUpAmWwXSijh0fgQYB7WXxxZyEOpcAptcJp1rC8su-sd2w0R6QGRjt/s400/103_0233.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351776748551012578" border="0" /></a>Even after a summer of renovation work on the house, we have nothing to show for it when it comes to our 18' x 18' concrete slab porch. That is, except when it comes to these <span style="font-weight: bold;">white trash lights</span>. Not only do they provide ambient light for dining, but afterwards we can push back the table and chairs and turn the entire space into an outdoor dance floor...And those who know me, know that I'm NOT kidding.<br /><br /><br />Now I'm supposed to tag other victims to share their six <span style="font-style: italic;">uninteresting things that make you happy</span>. After which choose another six people to tag and link your post on back here.<br /><ul><li>Mary at <a href="http://www.klutz-in-the-kitchen.com/">Klutz in the Kitchen</a></li><li>Hallie at <a href="http://holyhudson.blogspot.com/">Holy Hudson</a></li><li>Patti at <a href="http://pagibbons.blogspot.com/">Eat Man Drink Water</a></li><li>Jean at <a href="http://iloveupstate.com/">Renovation Therapy</a></li><li>Stacey at <a href="http://becauseisaidgo.wordpress.com/">Because I Said Go</a></li></ul></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-21251687887549516522009-06-21T16:09:00.010-04:002009-06-21T17:55:12.604-04:00At War With My Musk Thistle<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEEsFiXsw3zhTmniMhrseuK8wor9awB5W1bQR2Ly3BjK4vFXGGUa5HB5zI9qhyphenhyphen4zbWrusrw73Ix9oQpdPxsdkFRBoaRhzG-SyGKvf5FSPcZy2YKCQL-YVJpueXJOc7R-kRcHM376h6fzj8/s1600-h/103_0239.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEEsFiXsw3zhTmniMhrseuK8wor9awB5W1bQR2Ly3BjK4vFXGGUa5HB5zI9qhyphenhyphen4zbWrusrw73Ix9oQpdPxsdkFRBoaRhzG-SyGKvf5FSPcZy2YKCQL-YVJpueXJOc7R-kRcHM376h6fzj8/s400/103_0239.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349888708501722882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Above: A six-foot stalk of musk thistle,<br />surrounded by baby thistles.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: justify;">It's been two weeks since our friend Dave stopped by for dinner, and following a walk around our "garden," he pointed out to me that the front "lawn" area had been taken over by the noxious weed called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Musk_thistle">Musk Thistle</a>. Apparently this tough, prickly stalk-like plant could take over the lawn, crowd out real flowers and other plant growth and generally make it impossible to walk barefoot in one's own grass (and that's really what any Citiot really wants to do at their country place).<br /><br />Looking around and thinking he might be over-stating any real cause for concern, I realized that we were actually <span style="font-style: italic;">surrounded</span> by hundreds (hundreds!!) of these plants. They were everywhere, hiding in plain sight. Suddenly I felt like my lawn had been invaded by alien beings and needed to be stopped....immediately.<br /><br />But how?<br /><br />Nothing like a round of Googling to make make me seriously hysterical about whatever situation I'm facing (whether it's an invasion of musk thistle or a papercut that might lead to lockjaw, I'm always convinced I'm gonna die) and put getting rid of my musk thistle problem at the top of my list of things to get obsessive-compulsive about.<br /><br />Within hours, I learned that <a href="http://extension.missouri.edu/publications/DisplayPub.aspx?P=IPM1010">musk thistle weevils</a> would be the easiest and most biologically-correct way to control my musk thistle problem. Then thinking that I could spend 25 bucks for a box of weevils to be delivered to my door via Fed Ex, I made a few weevil jokes, then logged onto to e-bay, amazon.com and a couple of gardening web sites to take care of business.<br /><br />But it wasn't as simple as just throwing money at the problem and releasing a few bugs into the yard. Poking around and not seeing any weevils for sale, I finally read the fine print on various State thistle-control web sites (Kansas, Missouri, Idaho and Colorado are active users of weevils for thistle control) and learned that weevils could only be obtained through the Federal government to State agencies. Hmmmm...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSTAO72XRPe5aoDonx4-ukeUGw1a4LYv7GLIBjMFma6h8SRFAUiunTmpsD2Phy3IrZz0JavAkUynU56Yk5mxMnQiD6Nafqr313XPYTboODDEcphm0yU8vaVVlBCqIxbRQ9sFQED-Fi8eiZ/s1600-h/103_0244.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSTAO72XRPe5aoDonx4-ukeUGw1a4LYv7GLIBjMFma6h8SRFAUiunTmpsD2Phy3IrZz0JavAkUynU56Yk5mxMnQiD6Nafqr313XPYTboODDEcphm0yU8vaVVlBCqIxbRQ9sFQED-Fi8eiZ/s320/103_0244.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349902581532830866" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Musk Thistle Close Up.</span><br /></div><br />So the next option was to mow down the thistle. But mowing thistle would require mowing down all the other, less invasive weeds, that make our garden actually <span style="font-style: italic;">look </span>like a garden, so I took out my pruning shears and set to work -- snipping each musk thistle stalk that I could find, one by one. I snipped stalks both large and small at their base and gathered them together to clear the land. In the end, I gathered about 4 large wheelbarrows full of musk thistle stalks (in about a 1/8 acre section of land).<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6GBQEYj_CEiGhL2lsWbwak2eoTDxbBRRwdvpszqO86rix0d0d78OjuUfwnGfeT9ipFZBzY0RL8Zj1PIPTEkup7WRBmgmQa4QaOduRoO-y3FELWkM96cFx643MdiTddptCwiISLsU_FRc/s1600-h/103_0242.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD6GBQEYj_CEiGhL2lsWbwak2eoTDxbBRRwdvpszqO86rix0d0d78OjuUfwnGfeT9ipFZBzY0RL8Zj1PIPTEkup7WRBmgmQa4QaOduRoO-y3FELWkM96cFx643MdiTddptCwiISLsU_FRc/s400/103_0242.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349888711295169266" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Above: Winner of this Years' Miss Musk Thistle Pageant</span>.<br /></div><br />According to the folks on the Internet, I'm now supposed to either set my pile of musk thistle on fire (which I'm scared to do) or cover it with black plastic so that it suffocates and dies without blooming -- though I still run the risk of the seeds getting planted and turning our gravel driveway into a hazard area for tire punctures next spring. Step two, apparently, will come this fall, when I'll have to use pesticide to kill off any re-growth before the winter. I'm not sure I want to go this route (see 'It's Not Easy Going Green), I'm just going to see how strong they come back over the summer.<br /><br />Anyway, I'm taking the rest of the day off after the thistle attack. I read that what makes musk thistle "noxious" is that it can cause severe hayfever symptoms for people -- which is definitely what John has been dealing with here for awhile (though again, this could be a Google-effect -- the grass and tree pollen counts are off the charts right now, too). But to be honest, I feel a bit wheezy and itchy and I now completely understand why the Vikings put up such a fuss when faced with this menace as they invaded Scotland.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_n1uB25XEhEA/Sj6fqWCqMMI/AAAAAAAABZc/VuzgPxXoS90/s1600-h/103_0243.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_n1uB25XEhEA/Sj6fqWCqMMI/AAAAAAAABZc/VuzgPxXoS90/s320/103_0243.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349888957182783682" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Above: My musk thistle pile, ready for weevils.</span><br /></div><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1swQ60ujeTr_HeRil6Sn0hLFXtt5loCY3HftuRcStYreiXUdJA0kRpN79-MGEX16W2ohdh2LIXgekuNntZztq1uE3Mrex4hckO5tzI4qlg68mffbuTQpmLozvRmiGyEKo4eGOtbX8PQ2/s1600-h/103_0242.JPG"></a> </div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-3452062591321150972009-06-18T18:20:00.004-04:002009-06-18T18:51:10.338-04:00Oh My, Omi<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPzuzYYVDFY8m6TGpHc865b2XIjB9r7cK15XaC77YO-nwbW_IFrCgD6h5RUdODD_uMxnoDBPxXR0_mlS7TrlEGPGtOeVWycGtPetVbjGHQd2BdaYkyyk8hWRRhakXbkOTT4ab5uDveBb0/s1600-h/103_0200.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 295px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPzuzYYVDFY8m6TGpHc865b2XIjB9r7cK15XaC77YO-nwbW_IFrCgD6h5RUdODD_uMxnoDBPxXR0_mlS7TrlEGPGtOeVWycGtPetVbjGHQd2BdaYkyyk8hWRRhakXbkOTT4ab5uDveBb0/s400/103_0200.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348797033115430354" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Over Memorial Day weekend, my good friends Jean, Lesley and Peter came up for a visit. While Peter was summoned to take John to Catskill to pick up a new chainsaw, I suggested to the ladies that we go get ourselves a little "cultcha," and take a visit to <a href="http://www.artomi.org/fields.htm">The Fields Sculpture Park</a> in nearby <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?q=omi+new+york&oe=utf-8&client=firefox-a&ie=UTF8&hl=en&ll=42.327332,-73.681526&spn=0.029888,0.077076&z=14&iwloc=A">Omi</a>.<br /><br />All was going well when we arrived. I parked the big, honking SUV just next to the space reserved for "eco-efficient vehicles" and Jean managed to go to the loo without dousing herself by accidently turning on the random knob coming out of the wall that she didn't realize led to a showerhead (she thought it was an art installation). Then we grabbed a map from the LEED visitor center and looking out upon the vast greens, decided to lube up with some insect repellent to keep the ticks away.<br /><br />Thinking we had taken all precautions, out we went, across the field, feeling all arty and stuff. But it wasn't long before Jean began swatting the air, as if having an epileptic fit.<br /></div><br />"Are you having the same problem," she asked.<br /><br />But since I wasn't flailing about, I wasn't quite sure what she meant.<br /><br />"The bugs."<br /><br />What bugs?<br /><br /></div></div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdl9fhgnQqrO_gahrMdAiW7i2rtwhZPIliRnR7mu59gfF-pWZUrTPa7VEmDXxH7D7nq93AztIgKEhUlWWa2C86VvyNH9lUeNF8PIPxCWCPJpAT4xFWO2vMq2YCb6fNMtgE4hTcLaqWrhvO/s1600-h/103_0201.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdl9fhgnQqrO_gahrMdAiW7i2rtwhZPIliRnR7mu59gfF-pWZUrTPa7VEmDXxH7D7nq93AztIgKEhUlWWa2C86VvyNH9lUeNF8PIPxCWCPJpAT4xFWO2vMq2YCb6fNMtgE4hTcLaqWrhvO/s160/103_0201.JPG" border="0" /></a></span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Are you sure the bugs aren't getting you?</span><br /><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-6q7qeDFyD-QIrAVTh9yLKSLt8apgPz4EbUqHR_1_hVEuDz2JlrjbS3EUi9YXNeWdVc-RVKAyHUaU0NCZkLlasVyBOj8OYpR_CBZ0TA0J3tRNJPI6V9VefK17-Se5iALbmNZ5SbBWVBi/s1600-h/103_0202.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-6q7qeDFyD-QIrAVTh9yLKSLt8apgPz4EbUqHR_1_hVEuDz2JlrjbS3EUi9YXNeWdVc-RVKAyHUaU0NCZkLlasVyBOj8OYpR_CBZ0TA0J3tRNJPI6V9VefK17-Se5iALbmNZ5SbBWVBi/s160/103_0202.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Stop laughing, these bugs are annoying.</span><br /><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDo4D-dxPiSKojs-57YMuWilLaEkZS0jZBVAVKQ5D_Go8_TnLM493Sbvhsi_OMdOMHJrUwelNGPJIPd7JKLn1yb54PHVi0XTqgR5qyhmJ4NyNCwrOVZz-MeFCSx62oED1cSzhLEIBX81S3/s1600-h/103_0203.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDo4D-dxPiSKojs-57YMuWilLaEkZS0jZBVAVKQ5D_Go8_TnLM493Sbvhsi_OMdOMHJrUwelNGPJIPd7JKLn1yb54PHVi0XTqgR5qyhmJ4NyNCwrOVZz-MeFCSx62oED1cSzhLEIBX81S3/s160/103_0203.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Okay, I've really had it now...</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">But bugs there were, and when the breeze stopped, there were tons of them. Well, tons if you're a Citiot, like us. So we tried to hang in there, with Jean swatting in misery, and me taking pictures of her, doubled-over laughing, and then decided to hell with it, who needs culture when there's a <a href="http://local.yahoo.com/info-11536712-dairy-queen-ghent">Dairy Queen</a> nearby.<br /><br />Which goes to show ya, bad things happen when you leave Manhattan, but there's always room for ice cream.<br /></div></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-49738339521739802392009-06-18T16:52:00.011-04:002009-06-18T23:20:27.502-04:00It's Not Easy Going Green<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK2BCn43Oy5xKt0MYDtoAeFKijSUcotNhuuvJvHTARKyXFYfveW1A3aCmm7ObqAW-V32BkF64wZXtLYNkkyn67-6kcXYx2VXsMThyphenhyphendcr8RLO9Z64v6x9ywHj5uAWZahQzhORAVOjm8bZ6E/s1600-h/103_0198.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK2BCn43Oy5xKt0MYDtoAeFKijSUcotNhuuvJvHTARKyXFYfveW1A3aCmm7ObqAW-V32BkF64wZXtLYNkkyn67-6kcXYx2VXsMThyphenhyphendcr8RLO9Z64v6x9ywHj5uAWZahQzhORAVOjm8bZ6E/s200/103_0198.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348792085045565442" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Nothing says "I love you" more than when a guy buys his wife a composter for her birthday. So when hubby presented me with my very own <a href="http://www.greenfeet.com/itemmatrix.asp?kw=ThermoQuick-WIBO-Easy-Use-Composter&groupcode=9008-00539&eq=&matrixtype=1&gclid=COTQ7ObclJsCFRpN5QodgVZXpA">Thermoquick <span style="font-style: italic;">Express 410</span></a> to celebrate another year of living, as I'm sure you all could imagine, I was rendered...speechless.<br /><br />Seriously though, this is our first full summer in the house, and aside from all the floods, clean-up of fallen trees and infestation of carpenter bees, we're eager to embrace the full country living experience. Trying to be more "green" is a big part of that (nevermind our recent use of pesticides and florocarbons to kill said bees as well as the newly found noxious weeds -- but I''m getting ahead of myself).<br /><br />As I stood in stunned birthday silence, John quickly assembled the composter and I read the directions, which were a treat:<br /></div><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;">With compost bins from Remapla, you will get very quickly an effort, if you place the composter at an half-shady place, where the air can ventilate easily. </span>(Okay, I think I got that.) <span style="font-style: italic;">The compost bin must have direct contact to the soil to let invade micro-organisms, insects, larvae and worms. </span> (The area seems to be suddenly popular with squirrels and chipmunks as well.) <span style="font-style: italic;">Do not place the composter to close to the property of your neighbour; a distance of 20 inch might be enough </span>(then again, it might not).</blockquote><div style="text-align: justify;">It's been about six weeks since my hopes for a diamond tennis bracelet were dashed, er, I mean since the composter has been in place, and things do appear to be happening. Weeds are wilting and onion skins seem to be decomposing...<br /><br />But beyond helping me determine what the difference is between diamonds and decomposition, the composter has really given John and me a reason to take a look at our diet. In the daily peering down the compost shoot so to speak, the items we seem to be most composting are coffee grinds, onions and egg shells (we can't compost the accompanying bacon).<br /><br />Also, we can't compost our cocktail garnishes such as lemon and lime (the rinds are dyed so not good for the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humus">"humus"</a>) and it turns out we're taking chances in trying to compost potato skins (apparently the skins often have pesticides lingering on them) so there's little to feel good about there. (And for the record, we eat a lot of potatoes. A lot.) But our worst offense seems to be the organic salad greens we never seem to get around to eating. Seriously, it's kind of embarrassing to take an unopened (un-recycleable) box of mesclun and walk it directly to the compost -- but at least nobody's watching. Nobody except that damn squirrel.<br /><br />Suddenly I'm having serious thoughts about going macro-biotic, or at least buying a copy of <a href="http://www.michaelpollan.com/indefense.php">"In Defense of Food,"</a> so one of my new goals this summer is to look for ways to add more compost-ables to our menu. Fresh corn, local tomatoes and even kale are just several items I'm on the lookout for at the farmer's market.<br /><br />I'll keep you (com)posted on the outcome.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0qmpPWqgc_281GcZTBQpjaSpqMvbiHnOZu6O75E-soMEwjyCECxKIjQ9BJSwTufwBGwHr9kuBs_14jl3D9VeuIVrioBz7HEAjfbTx4YaaTQAlaEDL_HiVJh7R4DI0bHqSHKsrLgirt6Q/s1600-h/103_0209.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 371px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0qmpPWqgc_281GcZTBQpjaSpqMvbiHnOZu6O75E-soMEwjyCECxKIjQ9BJSwTufwBGwHr9kuBs_14jl3D9VeuIVrioBz7HEAjfbTx4YaaTQAlaEDL_HiVJh7R4DI0bHqSHKsrLgirt6Q/s400/103_0209.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348792237042176306" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Above: A peek into our composter...and our diet.</span><br /></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-11187495003260919062009-05-17T14:47:00.009-04:002009-05-17T15:15:08.657-04:00Weed, Not a Weed.<div style="text-align: justify;">I did a bit of "gardening" this weekend. I'm putting the whole "gardening" thing in quotes because I'm not really sure if you can really call what I was doing "gardening" or not.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />Sure, the pouring of the potting soil into a wood-framed flower bed and then planting the purple-ish plants that I picked up at Walmart counts for gardening. And the blowing off of the planting of the rosemary, mint and basil until it warms up next weekend (we have frost warnings this week -- FROST warnings!) can also, sort of still be considered gardening (of the non-gardening variety).<br /></div><br />The rest of the time, I walked around the property, pulling up dead bits to let room for the growing bits to, um...grow. The problem is the only bits we really have growing are weeds.<br /><br />Last weekend, a friend commented that our blue weeds kind of looked like blue bells. We decided to call them "Wild Blue Bells." The rest of the flowering weeds I've turned into a game called, "Weed, Not a Weed."<br /></div><br />Come and play along...<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6pTjOBwfvZ2INw1rDBoAC6nUNFrl4p8UyWBuPH6QgF2hwrxhZl5eMsJc1wgIXDHzEaS5TPC1iESjasYJwbBRDdd1GIqr8X6SzNvVmh3mRPCM5RGhKOPs-SWF8VyhvK-eQPfvEgADLCuN/s1600-h/DSCN0785.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6pTjOBwfvZ2INw1rDBoAC6nUNFrl4p8UyWBuPH6QgF2hwrxhZl5eMsJc1wgIXDHzEaS5TPC1iESjasYJwbBRDdd1GIqr8X6SzNvVmh3mRPCM5RGhKOPs-SWF8VyhvK-eQPfvEgADLCuN/s400/DSCN0785.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336869753361782610" border="0" /></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></span>Bluebell or 'Wild Bluebells'?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg26qrLrCSla9eNNh3Z7Z6v5sljq-Kc7_87461gEzU3Hc4mBQEOsTccxkwdL07n3XNeJlk0bNHezmZlFIV8gajEBRRcnxWeNxRoLRvjb8ijM8KOz_5Qy0Q6kifDf3VeC7RYLoPmPTyUtFry/s1600-h/DSCN0787.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 302px; height: 402px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg26qrLrCSla9eNNh3Z7Z6v5sljq-Kc7_87461gEzU3Hc4mBQEOsTccxkwdL07n3XNeJlk0bNHezmZlFIV8gajEBRRcnxWeNxRoLRvjb8ijM8KOz_5Qy0Q6kifDf3VeC7RYLoPmPTyUtFry/s320/DSCN0787.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336870515178246050" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4fNWgGC50z2iqY2D9emY4IJMjMULhrJQmNQCKALfQYWUQ7Ydeb_na3lh7cGuK0PDlthcTOjgl82Zlys62Gpft4CiN2sHz7EnUYQZM-qFi1DG2RVHrdeC9BG8XDNItUT21c8sDaB5q98j/s1600-h/DSCN0788.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4fNWgGC50z2iqY2D9emY4IJMjMULhrJQmNQCKALfQYWUQ7Ydeb_na3lh7cGuK0PDlthcTOjgl82Zlys62Gpft4CiN2sHz7EnUYQZM-qFi1DG2RVHrdeC9BG8XDNItUT21c8sDaB5q98j/s200/DSCN0788.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336870746016259810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Forsythia or "Wild Forsythia"<br /><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6akgt2aOiW4J-zm3t8OXArLNGlpIFTWxKJ4XMLoKf10Ff6KbT1Ao9V4xf9R3qjFQCq6FSHFLivCrwx5ey6pic8ng59JcpWq2wd3CGKqIyLpoHbcc12yhk0CwJaok25xqmAiQf4bKx7eM9/s1600-h/DSCN0783.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6akgt2aOiW4J-zm3t8OXArLNGlpIFTWxKJ4XMLoKf10Ff6KbT1Ao9V4xf9R3qjFQCq6FSHFLivCrwx5ey6pic8ng59JcpWq2wd3CGKqIyLpoHbcc12yhk0CwJaok25xqmAiQf4bKx7eM9/s400/DSCN0783.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336871137133741778" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5mJEZ85eYyOoa6qHzXorkJCuuBDwGBjDOLsiP6BvpVhhqYKqGyQ-9jn_oiTSGG9uHz2lvg78QZo6W0utpRzuzE25l7BiFyp8A5wnh3S_fmI2JL7PnAeRi_dtevorb5F_LLxgEcs0RXeIy/s1600-h/DSCN0789.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5mJEZ85eYyOoa6qHzXorkJCuuBDwGBjDOLsiP6BvpVhhqYKqGyQ-9jn_oiTSGG9uHz2lvg78QZo6W0utpRzuzE25l7BiFyp8A5wnh3S_fmI2JL7PnAeRi_dtevorb5F_LLxgEcs0RXeIy/s200/DSCN0789.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336871271799906018" border="0" /></a>Verbena or "Wild Verbena"?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">And what the hell is all of this???<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AnX9oQYTnmwdIf4SntjF5glNqbk-hVcpcPMX3WhQ42HzMZNPZ0pg9NYgYCBbW6GKfIj6Ry5uM93cr1cvqlgRPLEJZtkwhja9f3zeQL-vDyTxy6a_UPVgb8A0JlmcCii_XyFNEGCmODpo/s1600-h/annapurna_circuit3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AnX9oQYTnmwdIf4SntjF5glNqbk-hVcpcPMX3WhQ42HzMZNPZ0pg9NYgYCBbW6GKfIj6Ry5uM93cr1cvqlgRPLEJZtkwhja9f3zeQL-vDyTxy6a_UPVgb8A0JlmcCii_XyFNEGCmODpo/s400/annapurna_circuit3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5336872498863382386" border="0" /></a>JUST KIDDING!<br /></div></div><br /><br /></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-86069972510447621002009-05-08T17:12:00.007-04:002009-05-08T18:02:39.550-04:00Beer is Good<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHLvdl9x5Kgld-qAd0o9NqIcSD3BXZ5ZxBq3L6mmBTxjt4RHB04V4mElYJAxaj8EdBIZCPPPWWgX0Zr9N3IVrH0JWw8_5Z89n7RdwuSq7T9Ouws5eFeNUNf2y7RVW38TZGBNoVWGNdzjV/s1600-h/103_0189.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 95px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtHLvdl9x5Kgld-qAd0o9NqIcSD3BXZ5ZxBq3L6mmBTxjt4RHB04V4mElYJAxaj8EdBIZCPPPWWgX0Zr9N3IVrH0JWw8_5Z89n7RdwuSq7T9Ouws5eFeNUNf2y7RVW38TZGBNoVWGNdzjV/s320/103_0189.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333570010045344546" border="0" /></a>A few weeks back we took a drive up to <a href="http://www.chathambrewing.com/index.html">Chatham Brewing</a> to see what's what.<br /><br />Located down the end of an alley just off of Main Street (near <a href="http://ralphsprettygoodcafe.com/">Ralph's Pretty Good Cafe)</a>, Chatham Brewing is what a PR-chick might describe as a "boutique operation." With three small vats brewing 100 gallons each of IPA, Amber Ale and Porter -- it looks more like a home brew kit gone mad than a fledgling operation.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6YC_321MXvUG60mGC5SxYdckJKP5jrTQVy5jwt6-vQ3a8wivPtARaucNRE5tVxfi-HxX_hX0xKmId-ui896-1aV3cdonx6ETF7VKjrFrAJDt7P4_StM4lZJWAbv2qpLn78FgjJ6F1ImK/s1600-h/103_0185.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO6YC_321MXvUG60mGC5SxYdckJKP5jrTQVy5jwt6-vQ3a8wivPtARaucNRE5tVxfi-HxX_hX0xKmId-ui896-1aV3cdonx6ETF7VKjrFrAJDt7P4_StM4lZJWAbv2qpLn78FgjJ6F1ImK/s320/103_0185.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333573697269852098" border="0" /></a><br />Yet despite its modest looks, the line of Chatham beers packs a powerful punch. We took home a growler of IPA (Retail $10 + two bucks for deposit on the jug). The IPA is the lowest in ABV (alcohol content), tasted light but had a full body taste (yeah, like I know what I'm talking about).<br /><br />Since I <span style="font-style: italic;">don't</span> really know what I'm talking about (I drink Bud Light when Sam Summer is out of season), I'll let you know that Chatham Brewing recently got "the nod" from NYC's <a href="http://www.divebarnyc.com/">Dive Bar</a> owner Lee, a guy who <span style="font-style: italic;">does</span> know a lot about good beer (and wine!), and who regularly showcases new brewers and craft ales. Lee now carries Chatham's goods under a Dive Bar label, as well as Chatham's own.<br /><br />Chatham Brewing is open every Saturday from 11 a.m. - 2 p.m. to meet all of your growler needs. Though be warned, we tried to visit Chatham Brewing about a year ago in the winter and they were closed due to a "Growler Shortage" (personally I think the brewer was probably skiing). But you gotta love a beer brewer who understands the depths of despair that come with a "beer emergency."<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PDDGqTayD0ty4v0f0ul8AyhNiUY90-oZJG7xmbpln18mao_2lRvVuR1Z9VgYPgq8gxzVZZWruMTb4g7mx-qhCTB8s1ieh-UiptryviRWs8ZzkU_Aexxp6dnxgEJS-IC6KunAB5RbL9aq/s1600-h/103_0187.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 334px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6PDDGqTayD0ty4v0f0ul8AyhNiUY90-oZJG7xmbpln18mao_2lRvVuR1Z9VgYPgq8gxzVZZWruMTb4g7mx-qhCTB8s1ieh-UiptryviRWs8ZzkU_Aexxp6dnxgEJS-IC6KunAB5RbL9aq/s400/103_0187.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333569584700049906" border="0" /></a><br />As an added bonus, John spotted this authentic UK Mini-Cooper parked on Main Street in Chatham, where we took some snaps (Yes, I am that tall, and yes, the Mini is that small).<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7RVIZwGVJ5Urg579_FySGwJpt_u8NaCFU263P8y9Ez8ouFk0RrkL7nATboVfNNA9vLK4yEBmwqCz-6nzcQxS7C-2wdlw9kFpzGipeEq1sYDa6Nr5MgqaiOL0fN8oSX4u4uixloLx3CQ7E/s1600-h/103_0188.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 317px; height: 247px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7RVIZwGVJ5Urg579_FySGwJpt_u8NaCFU263P8y9Ez8ouFk0RrkL7nATboVfNNA9vLK4yEBmwqCz-6nzcQxS7C-2wdlw9kFpzGipeEq1sYDa6Nr5MgqaiOL0fN8oSX4u4uixloLx3CQ7E/s400/103_0188.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333569591396497874" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Chatham or Portobello Road?</span><br /><br /></div>We look forward to imbibing CB's beer and ales both here (on tap at Radio Mexico in Hudson and at home) and when we're in the city (where I enjoyed the Amber Ale at Dive 75).<br /><br />Cheers!<br /></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-76648794616795296272009-04-14T13:48:00.001-04:002009-04-14T13:50:06.476-04:00All That and a Bag of ChipsSome people hoard paper towels, others hoard chicken breast that they get on sale and freeze for years. Me? Potato chips. I don't what it is, but any time I walk into the supermarket, I can't seem to get it through my head that we have PLENTY of potato chips (of many varieties!) at the ready to accompany most any type of sandwich.<br /><br />Here's my stash....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1U3bujrQepRwqaKaJXVowXczMA55Wa3S-jc-lMeTXq0zocu22ZPRvuC_kAwjgzXyq4uztxnCE5BTs5So1lEFdrlrYyvBByPigl0vtR1XwZwoq_u-nfIhyphenhyphen4nDcHt3p5rFGDu0_btfjVvff/s1600-h/103_0133.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1U3bujrQepRwqaKaJXVowXczMA55Wa3S-jc-lMeTXq0zocu22ZPRvuC_kAwjgzXyq4uztxnCE5BTs5So1lEFdrlrYyvBByPigl0vtR1XwZwoq_u-nfIhyphenhyphen4nDcHt3p5rFGDu0_btfjVvff/s400/103_0133.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323193223887251378" border="0" /></a><br />I'll be entering potato chip rehab shortly, but let me just check up on my cheese collection first.Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-382605926483817742009-04-10T16:58:00.020-04:002009-04-10T18:06:35.147-04:00Gone Fishing!<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrm7xZg2Aq8J2Eb-SdZ_YXdMCSex_EPuuOEdYlFkpAe9Nlt9hwSKyI-InUQoKpYuuTTAVoNCjR7BVYJlJWxKj46mr2g7BoWrOkHz_dNh_Fp8yNi-vc9dIem9BXmEKfes02if7Vs70ml5G/s1600-h/103_0141.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtrm7xZg2Aq8J2Eb-SdZ_YXdMCSex_EPuuOEdYlFkpAe9Nlt9hwSKyI-InUQoKpYuuTTAVoNCjR7BVYJlJWxKj46mr2g7BoWrOkHz_dNh_Fp8yNi-vc9dIem9BXmEKfes02if7Vs70ml5G/s400/103_0141.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323177216279478626" border="0" /></a>It's been a year of waiting for today. Last Spring, our friend Farmer Dave told John and me that he volunteers with the state to help replenish the local streams with trout from the New York State Fish Hatchery. Curiosity got the better of me, and a few weeks ago I called Dave to let him know I'd like to help out.<br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidvKuJ6GO9CrvFn4IHbWI6U7Cs5aPEXVqC2RU0GDmpOK_jPx2RH0ytcAc204Cy1LpMNObrUcPq2X13yy1VD4sHp7mCyAaUTmmplZhUt_SrWSWiSCW7up3c2ZAXCASEV7IFTfCPv1b9Jj-j/s1600-h/103_0172.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 104px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidvKuJ6GO9CrvFn4IHbWI6U7Cs5aPEXVqC2RU0GDmpOK_jPx2RH0ytcAc204Cy1LpMNObrUcPq2X13yy1VD4sHp7mCyAaUTmmplZhUt_SrWSWiSCW7up3c2ZAXCASEV7IFTfCPv1b9Jj-j/s320/103_0172.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323183522838365042" border="0" /></a>So this morning he picked me up in his truck and we went down to Livingston, where we met up with about 30 or so other volunteers waiting for the fish truck to show. Standing around in the KwikMart parking lot, I was introduced to Austin, our youngest volunteer of just shy of three years of age; John, a WW II Veteran and Pearl Harbor survivor and Barb, a local transvestite who used to go by the name of Burt (talk about local color!).<br /><br />Soon enough, Greg from the fish hatchery arrived with about 8,600 fish (all one year old) from Rome and Van Hornsville, NY that would be dispersed into various sections of the Roeliff-Jansen Kill River (better known as the Roe-Jan).<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICn93pemg1jKpWTCBWy-oIQPkNHKDH74HpHSaVg2PCkkXPM0nQ3BrAQDsclTaqv0Tlduy2d-yd2sY3nN7JOd9V59j-9COYE-VyiAJC1DFpFra1zjabWzaYpfTVTkhZjNR17d4N_VYqgDZ/s1600-h/103_0140.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICn93pemg1jKpWTCBWy-oIQPkNHKDH74HpHSaVg2PCkkXPM0nQ3BrAQDsclTaqv0Tlduy2d-yd2sY3nN7JOd9V59j-9COYE-VyiAJC1DFpFra1zjabWzaYpfTVTkhZjNR17d4N_VYqgDZ/s400/103_0140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323183141787794418" border="0" /></a><br /></div>It was Swiss precision in terms of the work (minus the few fish that jumped out of the buckets here and there - not to worry, all were saved). We did about 15 stops in all, with Dave and John escorting a small caravan of trucks and cars. In some spots, Greg was able to just dump the fish from the truck, and in others we hauled the fish from the truck to the river in 30 gallon pails.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToVCphskLOhvVbMLdGTDZUHABf-vb87GybpkvzFI-1L4088uzqURWY56rrxx0kGhiwDp73oPI4MFYSI64bXBFxjBONau9Xj7EJCoFsD37YoIOb0b39laLTzk9ZzWjnWPoiA75Lg69LjdO/s1600-h/103_0146.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToVCphskLOhvVbMLdGTDZUHABf-vb87GybpkvzFI-1L4088uzqURWY56rrxx0kGhiwDp73oPI4MFYSI64bXBFxjBONau9Xj7EJCoFsD37YoIOb0b39laLTzk9ZzWjnWPoiA75Lg69LjdO/s320/103_0146.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323182371927920898" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0iQWhmHeNJ4ucOh2r-inGZTXFBc_LDsrpLugNWaxTNFGoQzSXqFH2i3wOYJlEfWe3Q48YxiRQHMIi6xq8u2J2ps5roapBc4mz_F5N9vP2D3a7FNs8ifC_dje82RTU8PS5t3l3cBPk_QKk/s1600-h/103_0147.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0iQWhmHeNJ4ucOh2r-inGZTXFBc_LDsrpLugNWaxTNFGoQzSXqFH2i3wOYJlEfWe3Q48YxiRQHMIi6xq8u2J2ps5roapBc4mz_F5N9vP2D3a7FNs8ifC_dje82RTU8PS5t3l3cBPk_QKk/s320/103_0147.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323182369968407330" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">Above: Eager trout fishers</span><br /><br /></span></div>Surprisingly, at almost each stop we made, we were welcomed by eager trout-fishers, which didn't seem all that fair to me. I mean, I would say the trout should get anywhere from a five-minute to 24 hour head start before being allowed to be lured onto a line. But maybe that's what the local game warden was trying to help out with, as he tailed along checking on <a href="http://www.dec.ny.gov/permits/6091.html">fishing licenses</a>, etc. Trout season starts on April 1 in New York and more information about trout stocking can be found <a href="http://www.dec.ny.gov/environmentdec/30723.html">here</a>.<br /><br />Below, some more photos from the day. The next drop is next Thursday, with probably about 4-5 more to follow (dates TBD).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXEw2QZBCxcLFBuMktAxpqMH2flXOjTNlS-eBND0rqHcNeiefq_n6AviuDtLN64b1ezL4atoRnEHFCRGiwC9cakbivwOtXOw06olRFf4FigvTyBlwM0UftdwOAJvXzUKEq9YvPiXMNRrnz/s1600-h/103_0151.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXEw2QZBCxcLFBuMktAxpqMH2flXOjTNlS-eBND0rqHcNeiefq_n6AviuDtLN64b1ezL4atoRnEHFCRGiwC9cakbivwOtXOw06olRFf4FigvTyBlwM0UftdwOAJvXzUKEq9YvPiXMNRrnz/s320/103_0151.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323177602732119474" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Left: Greg with a netful of trout.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqToxbaCEETdGYVccR2x0Xsk4ur4VWzUGGm62sokKuoFX-f4tM_LNGzD0go-FF0dnOoHS5n73loDsNWbe8LIV3qY5nkdnoebj4MlS47no_keJZzLq5uUi6prmgmkNuKkPjWF_dy2DUuok/s1600-h/103_0152.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKqToxbaCEETdGYVccR2x0Xsk4ur4VWzUGGm62sokKuoFX-f4tM_LNGzD0go-FF0dnOoHS5n73loDsNWbe8LIV3qY5nkdnoebj4MlS47no_keJZzLq5uUi6prmgmkNuKkPjWF_dy2DUuok/s320/103_0152.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323177605187259794" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Left: Greg freeing the fishies!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJf0woEk_B6VzQeGV8FOaC2fG-CHoVX1FGcg4JJA39CYSGdwA2Esxi1NYvLriz9meeuc82fJsnwezf3TNg_32UtZ3fuxwS5i8iIR32ZDqkl-LbS49BHC5eFZQfZTe3AOGnldYu-n9JZkPX/s1600-h/103_0153.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJf0woEk_B6VzQeGV8FOaC2fG-CHoVX1FGcg4JJA39CYSGdwA2Esxi1NYvLriz9meeuc82fJsnwezf3TNg_32UtZ3fuxwS5i8iIR32ZDqkl-LbS49BHC5eFZQfZTe3AOGnldYu-n9JZkPX/s320/103_0153.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323177605320796434" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Left: Flying fish!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi2JBQFRfkj8wIZQ3glbNlMum_IOW9Eecx0VtwredZ4nW1HSLFFvF5nib1D5Vn3gHJgZYTSkSdKxASvuLOtjJUYZYkk4pt7JsYQdLNntbXadpIyilUXZDvr2BtLcwXrWdTw100LYSMbZkS/s1600-h/103_0158.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi2JBQFRfkj8wIZQ3glbNlMum_IOW9Eecx0VtwredZ4nW1HSLFFvF5nib1D5Vn3gHJgZYTSkSdKxASvuLOtjJUYZYkk4pt7JsYQdLNntbXadpIyilUXZDvr2BtLcwXrWdTw100LYSMbZkS/s400/103_0158.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323183138074390770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj96X4ndGNY0Pxz2Ha-GAtfcAqGAt3qGr1rYJ9GASJ8TEXJQOi2MbZqq6EJQd0RtU4v8J7dA3cHrd1mTBX4Sl1Dle5_QV1abeeMeCUQ8dckQyIKVWST-wqDa7_uBpMedNbMQfod3qUrFHVA/s1600-h/103_0161.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj96X4ndGNY0Pxz2Ha-GAtfcAqGAt3qGr1rYJ9GASJ8TEXJQOi2MbZqq6EJQd0RtU4v8J7dA3cHrd1mTBX4Sl1Dle5_QV1abeeMeCUQ8dckQyIKVWST-wqDa7_uBpMedNbMQfod3qUrFHVA/s320/103_0161.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323178563482679538" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">Above: Volunteers wait for a pailful of fish.</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjL6vg63sDQXpQtkJ7VyOO74Mc3q-6TBpIIO5tySLky3c7sviIOSzilCbvudPEiej5MMwMj6aIc3kBBTTcIIxnRO287pK6O4Rv7Lm76KLOS_VTcyYb4o8fI5RUSzcwuRA-MrsKh8TnrZ0W/s1600-h/103_0157.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjL6vg63sDQXpQtkJ7VyOO74Mc3q-6TBpIIO5tySLky3c7sviIOSzilCbvudPEiej5MMwMj6aIc3kBBTTcIIxnRO287pK6O4Rv7Lm76KLOS_VTcyYb4o8fI5RUSzcwuRA-MrsKh8TnrZ0W/s320/103_0157.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323178568713569234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">Above: Me, novice trout releaser in action. Below: FISHIES in the wild!</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kTodFsAkFOhsjG3mbcKHnpGVscfSm6ZtHaHbxJHcseM5s0eb8-aWsYDh47QPhi2X5WjqxKAAZ54zKkTJa0Op1ybzkO6fe-G0I9bcMTKVNd13VNDu42xevSFfpqJM-PsfGgx7vYWV7R_M/s1600-h/103_0166.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-kTodFsAkFOhsjG3mbcKHnpGVscfSm6ZtHaHbxJHcseM5s0eb8-aWsYDh47QPhi2X5WjqxKAAZ54zKkTJa0Op1ybzkO6fe-G0I9bcMTKVNd13VNDu42xevSFfpqJM-PsfGgx7vYWV7R_M/s320/103_0166.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323182770479437266" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"># # #<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHY2my1AfECqhPvZN5aIyVXsn0z2ligVLubk24XmO610QhIpgrqCi_zs4rNxAgeNFzJa6v6-CAGS1wSIcQ-WVTiVvFQjeHqU0bMdoWaU-7nB17zX1CEyrtPUX9Um-tTEhdQyxTBY_JiMyQ/s1600-h/103_0160.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 175px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHY2my1AfECqhPvZN5aIyVXsn0z2ligVLubk24XmO610QhIpgrqCi_zs4rNxAgeNFzJa6v6-CAGS1wSIcQ-WVTiVvFQjeHqU0bMdoWaU-7nB17zX1CEyrtPUX9Um-tTEhdQyxTBY_JiMyQ/s200/103_0160.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323186965118096338" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Well said.<br /></span></div><br /></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-51070292319312299002009-03-29T12:10:00.007-04:002009-03-29T12:52:53.503-04:00Spring Cleaning<div style="text-align: justify;">While I was recently entertaining journalists in Puerto Rico one weekend, John was at the house doing a bit of Spring Cleaning. Not the kind that includes opening the windows wide and letting fresh air in while vacuuming, dusting and windexing. This Spring Cleaning included chainsaws.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJCD1k0hVrC-puhbUva2llphGIZTrqjbiCsf6Q0mubtDCsCDqys9Ec1lgxZ-T0g3YtwlhRHJMS8hzQZCeHWM65098-nref9FD39XZBjAti5Ipt6JymSvLyfxyNE_AV-tvf2tGaZePmk2r/s1600-h/Clean+up+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkJCD1k0hVrC-puhbUva2llphGIZTrqjbiCsf6Q0mubtDCsCDqys9Ec1lgxZ-T0g3YtwlhRHJMS8hzQZCeHWM65098-nref9FD39XZBjAti5Ipt6JymSvLyfxyNE_AV-tvf2tGaZePmk2r/s400/Clean+up+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318646976320283138" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">As great as it is to have a cleared yard (I did a bit of raking yesterday, my big contribution to the effort), John is actually in the doghouse on this one. Reason? He didn't have anyone at the house around who could help him in case he chainsawed his fingers or leg off by accident.<br /><br />That's my rule: you use chainsaws or climb on the roof (to direct the antenna for better local television/internet reception) and you have a buddy nearby who can either hold the ladder, drive you to the hospital in case of an accident, or call 911.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdhICEsPkF3dDzUnlFMhTv9ZaZwIvqLF_dMJVMq7Ti4wl9IqVFYH1nn_YMZOmLCFNI5fp8aGdosxCIGbyI5fIps9ndCGcA1cxMCzYzVpob23z6vlewgO8siQ_Bx0A8KHe14FGIFqGlgs9/s1600-h/clean+up+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpdhICEsPkF3dDzUnlFMhTv9ZaZwIvqLF_dMJVMq7Ti4wl9IqVFYH1nn_YMZOmLCFNI5fp8aGdosxCIGbyI5fIps9ndCGcA1cxMCzYzVpob23z6vlewgO8siQ_Bx0A8KHe14FGIFqGlgs9/s320/clean+up+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318649323382329170" border="0" /></a><br />As you can see <span style="font-weight: bold;">John just can't live by my rules</span>...(as if *this* is news). ;-)<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZ-4D_z4VJhmXrQxBu-EJyfx6717wOL5qs-7XCS2r3fpjSd3fUvg0Vjb7QXwzghaH-ZupYKt3kJHZzNv6drEuEtmwsWkFL1DfB9W8AtKw5fM7K_f_0-Hx0YFmmmwPgnSvIR1mBEvjRT0E/s1600-h/clean+up+4.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZ-4D_z4VJhmXrQxBu-EJyfx6717wOL5qs-7XCS2r3fpjSd3fUvg0Vjb7QXwzghaH-ZupYKt3kJHZzNv6drEuEtmwsWkFL1DfB9W8AtKw5fM7K_f_0-Hx0YFmmmwPgnSvIR1mBEvjRT0E/s320/clean+up+4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318650812739181490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Above/Before: Gnarly tree limbs in front yard. Below/After: Gone.<br /><br /><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_n1uB25XEhEA/Sc-kvWGJXqI/AAAAAAAABPU/1K1bnWRncJk/s1600-h/clean+up+5.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_n1uB25XEhEA/Sc-kvWGJXqI/AAAAAAAABPU/1K1bnWRncJk/s320/clean+up+5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318650818240011938" border="0" /></a>I'll have to forgive him just this one time. Afterall, he did kick-ass job. Now if I can just get him to do some of that other Spring Cleaning next weekend (the kind with the Windex) while I'm toughing it out in San Juan again for a food festival...<br /><br />xoxo<br /></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-48172829775486817012009-03-29T11:30:00.000-04:002009-03-29T11:30:56.608-04:00Spring?<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTkmsJMxgDJoekLGt2emXX6XurTQq4770AEC0garg3MxS92S2yCCItEz0UvjwbznhMDmSedJ-a-CVoVvl_-44ukbPvQutSgizkiysXVrvdbaifZJOcLT6vNNZEypIuWQ8ZSuHgFB5LVDO/s1600-h/DSCN0738.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTkmsJMxgDJoekLGt2emXX6XurTQq4770AEC0garg3MxS92S2yCCItEz0UvjwbznhMDmSedJ-a-CVoVvl_-44ukbPvQutSgizkiysXVrvdbaifZJOcLT6vNNZEypIuWQ8ZSuHgFB5LVDO/s400/DSCN0738.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br />Yea, we got that.<div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-28368469642736157832009-03-24T18:17:00.002-04:002009-03-24T18:29:39.132-04:00Trainspotting, Hudson Style<div style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCyz6Zv4dfohc2ItTdlD_NA3gMciWz0IaqTVasTrQkC247dKttW2LsOFGtqHrh8GqK-Nbe02Ezja0RZTudlFOvACGpz7a5cB182FJfvnRGPvL1R1Y5A52mVVK31NDesI0bQ2NA_0M51sC/s1600-h/000_0014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; clear: both; float: right;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCyz6Zv4dfohc2ItTdlD_NA3gMciWz0IaqTVasTrQkC247dKttW2LsOFGtqHrh8GqK-Nbe02Ezja0RZTudlFOvACGpz7a5cB182FJfvnRGPvL1R1Y5A52mVVK31NDesI0bQ2NA_0M51sC/s400/000_0014.jpg" border="0" /></a></div> <div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I just booked my train ticket for the weekend, which reminded me that I need to share a bit of my husband's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Railfan">trainspotting</a> tendencies... I mean brilliance, when it comes to taking the train from the Hudson Valley.<br /><br />Most of the time when I take the train it's from NYC to the big HV. There are two options: MetroNorth, which will get me to Wassiac for about 13 bucks (and cost John about 1 1/4 hours in round-trip drive time...blah), or Amtrak, which will get me to Hudson (and cost John 30 minutes in total drive time, AND get us closer to the Red Dot) for $39 and change. Of course, that's if I go at a slightly "off peak" hour and use my AAA discount (booking three days in advance). Peak hours can be upwards of $60.<br /><br />But despite the cost (which is exorbitant), it's the return trip from Upstate to NYC that seems to get the weekenders' panties all tied up in a knot.<br /><br />And not even in terms of $$, but in train delays.<br /><br />Besides "overhearing" tales of train delay horror by long time weekenders who have grown bored of the spectacular river views from the train car and prefer to bitch and moan about their last train slog back to The City, I've seen ranting status updates on Facebook of friends "stuck" waiting for a train (that was supposed to, eventually, get them to a plane). In the end, with hours of delay, they were just plain out of luck....vacation and other travel plans completely ruined.<br /><br />I've only taken the train from North to South once, but John has the INSIDE SKINNY on how to avoid extensive delays with the infamously tardy track record of our national rail line, and here it is:<br /><br />As one might imagine, trains which originate in Albany have a lot less train line to screw up on than say, the trains that originate in Montreal (Adirondack), Toronto (Maple Leaf) or even Rutland, Vt. (Ethan Allen "Express").<br /><br />With a little more digging, John came up with this gem: Trains with a 200 sequence starting with 23-, 24-, 25- or 26- (i.e. 234, 242, etc.) originate in Albany. Therefore, if you take one of these trains, you're less likely to get the ol' Bronx salute in terms of travel delays courtesy of Amtrak.<br /><br />In doing a quick check on the Amtrak <a href="http://www.amtrak.com/servlet/ContentServer?pagename=Amtrak/HomePage">website</a>, these seem to be the trains that are listed as Empire Service. But beware, as some of those trains originate in Niagara Falls...<br /><br />All aboard, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anorak_%28slang%29">Anorak</a>!<br /></div><br /></div></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-78819283967596142542009-03-08T21:50:00.014-04:002009-03-09T00:21:08.594-04:00On Beavers, Mud & Sh*tkickers<div style="text-align: justify;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxriJR-qPWEmzxbZSo5_djro2Q9cHJPaht2MvIJGFzYbMlX0AVOTWZm8qvaXF-39E61q7OsZgbO6W5037KUlYe9IWKgt5M3DNjYnoK5wpaNQIz8WHJiJGS-FK5vDHVPYp5Jbflu03gmSZ-/s1600-h/beaver_castor_canadensis_imagelarge.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxriJR-qPWEmzxbZSo5_djro2Q9cHJPaht2MvIJGFzYbMlX0AVOTWZm8qvaXF-39E61q7OsZgbO6W5037KUlYe9IWKgt5M3DNjYnoK5wpaNQIz8WHJiJGS-FK5vDHVPYp5Jbflu03gmSZ-/s400/beaver_castor_canadensis_imagelarge.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311001129277534802" border="0" /></a>Today's springtime adventure consisted of a visit to Downey Farm over Millerton-way, where our friend Dave informed us of a beaver "situation" at his property.<br /><br />As he described it, a den of beavers had blocked up his creek and had begun building a dam, resulting in a lake forming on his property.<br /><br />Ever eager for beaver (inside joke), we hoofed it on over there to trespass and tramp around Dave's property to have a general, all-around, look-see.<br /><br />Even though Dave wasn't around, we figured the beavers were probably doing their dirty work right in the creek that runs right behind Dave's house. But upon further inspection (and no beaver sightings,) we were reminded that Dave's backyard actually consists of roughly 60 acres of farmland and set out "tramping" across Dave's farmland, trying to avoid stepping in cow pies, as well as goat and sheep pies. After that, we faced the perils of several lines of barbed wire fences (flashback to my cow-tipping days) to get to the back part of the property where we spotted something that looked sort of like a new lake.<br /><br />Low and behold, we spotted a beaver swimming along and up into a little creek. But even though we had a camera in tow, we were unable to get a shot of the little bugger because I was too busy screaming with excitement, which sent the darn thing swimming upstream even quicker (I know, typical Citiot maneuver). We tramped around a bit more, spotting a pile of sticks and twigs and wondered whether it was a dam or the remnants of Dave undoing of the beavers' busy-work during the week.<br /><br />On the way back to civilization, I realized that with this being the height of Mud Season and my tramping through mud, marsh, and cow poop and *still* having dry, happy feet, I really needed to give props to my pair of <a href="http://www.keenfootwear.com/">Keens</a> (aka Sh*tkickers).<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5peOXOPTh8tiUSUq-AApQigF9dDl9EyVPE_TiVRH7-ldDI0apJpFD-f_9uIVlmrPVEKs3kS0hBmgyYB7dS6G_lP2n0GbePeQznYQWNtFekQgtCu6VUdTPNz3W5gM_2fuBK5a6PHJMT9BQ/s1600-h/103_0042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 339px; height: 339px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5peOXOPTh8tiUSUq-AApQigF9dDl9EyVPE_TiVRH7-ldDI0apJpFD-f_9uIVlmrPVEKs3kS0hBmgyYB7dS6G_lP2n0GbePeQznYQWNtFekQgtCu6VUdTPNz3W5gM_2fuBK5a6PHJMT9BQ/s400/103_0042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311011654950986050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">Above: You call them Keens, we call them Sh*tkickers</span><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I bought these (admittedly ginormous) babies at the beginning of the Fall, and even though I thought they were overpriced ($100 and never on sale! Except <a href="http://www.lonelyplanet.com/bookings/trvl_gear/item/keen_mens_brooklyn_mid_boot.htm">here</a>), these have been the BEST personal gear purchase thus far in my life as a Citiot in the Hudson Valley (and I'm not the only one who thinks <a href="http://www.rei.com/pwr/product-reviews/Footwear/Casual-Footwear-Men-s/Casual-Footwear/Keen/p/725542-Keen-Brooklyn-Mid-Shoes-Men-s.html">these rock</a>). Not only are they sooooo comfortable, they've kept my feet warm and dry all winter long, have a rubberized toe for tramping (and tripping/stumbling) purposes, and look good enough for follow-up chillin' over a cup of Joe at Millerton's <a href="http://www.irvingfarm.com/index.cfm?c=3&s=2&pg=coffeehouse.cfm">Irving Farm Coffee House</a>.<br /><br />What can I say, more mud please!<br /></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8042478432791369211.post-20289651329694759482009-03-04T21:51:00.001-05:002009-03-04T22:31:33.349-05:00Mud Season<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKAfYPfmpuoUtnKp-Kaz21294mKloW6unsAsIOD94PuCbwHmLjQVqqHQJxrTjYCBzkEaNIqbLIUcvPpKwJCbS3ZFeRukPq_UmjS0tMjflyQNPZpJZUwKZpqSdySNNQLgXg46hgnmPE22Ov/s1600-h/000_0015.jpg"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKAfYPfmpuoUtnKp-Kaz21294mKloW6unsAsIOD94PuCbwHmLjQVqqHQJxrTjYCBzkEaNIqbLIUcvPpKwJCbS3ZFeRukPq_UmjS0tMjflyQNPZpJZUwKZpqSdySNNQLgXg46hgnmPE22Ov/s400/000_0015.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: justify;">As a flatlander, I learned early on during my college years in Vermont about"Mud Season, " the time of year when the snow finally starts to melt and the ground thaws. The good thing about mud season is that you're likely past the worst of the season's snowfalls. The bad thing about mud season? M-U-D.<br /><br />Up in Northern Vermont, Mud Season starts in March and ends some time near the Fourth of July. ;-) But in 12521-land, I'm hoping that mud season ends by the time the NCAA basketball champions are decided.<br /><br />So far we're not off to a good start, what with getting slammed with 7-plus inches of snow on March 1st. Here are a few photos of the mud on our road prior to the latest snowfall.<br /></div></div> </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDFJSEJiglx00vmz5brVuNBYGCY0P2qDPgZPuosESY9TWxBqJ6ICHrDPHc1eTjVYp1H65dcqBZX-DKrssvBNULCTf7TzX_JUtcKEogLm6C2_cdJpZj5Kh75xh31ybM3gMwx1mdT9uXKJw/s1600-h/000_0013.jpg"><img style="width: 536px; height: 401px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDFJSEJiglx00vmz5brVuNBYGCY0P2qDPgZPuosESY9TWxBqJ6ICHrDPHc1eTjVYp1H65dcqBZX-DKrssvBNULCTf7TzX_JUtcKEogLm6C2_cdJpZj5Kh75xh31ybM3gMwx1mdT9uXKJw/s400/000_0013.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Christine H.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10032731400737819249noreply@blogger.com2