Slightly Behind Yet Somewhat Above

 The Cottage, Moose River, New York, October 16, 2015.

Ursa Once

Thousands of hours in the woods up North; hundreds of stories from neighbors about things, and it takes a trail-cam to provide proof of a bear's presence at The Cottage. Like Edwin Way Teale says, it's astonishing how many awesome things happen once...

Audrey

The thing about the universe that always brings a lump to my throat is that it never seems to fail bringing you what you need...which isn't quite right, because that's not where the feeling is. The feeling is in the knowledge and the remembrance and the chills you happen upon when you stay up all night thinking about things. Said "things" being in my immediate case a woman named Audrey Nyber Tucci, a woman who among other things was born in 1931, was photographed on her Dad's shoulders in the picture above about 1934, lived a life as a mother and teacher and all-around great spirit, and passed a couple months ago.

But that's the easy part. And finding out last night about her passing was not much harder. Unhappy, and caused teary eyes for more than a second or two, but 88 is a pretty good run on this planet, unless you're someone like me who would be angry if people I love were to only make 150 or 307 years. I am greedy that way: I love them and never NEVER will be satisfied with the "pretty good run" thinking. If you matter to me, and you are forced to leave, I cannot play the "better place" game, either. All credit to those who can; I just cannot.

So here is the story I have to tell tonight. 

My mom and dad and I purchased a camp in a place almost every map has revised its records so as not to say "Moose River". I don't mean the actual river; that still rocks and rolls as strong as I can imagine it ever has. I mean the town, or the hamlet, or...yes: this!...the settlement. We got a place in Moose River Settlement. Location? Nowhere to most. Population? Not many to most.  And we loved it and still do, regardless of piles of non-existence evidence. I've written about it and taken thousands of pictures; Mom has written several books about it. Dad has mostly just kind of quietly dug it in his own way. Which I think is a great explanation of things: there's no one way to care about things you love. Which makes sense, considering how different we all are.

But...

Part of the way some people love that place, is to wonder what anyone can find out about its past. And so, in 1999, I checked out an internet search on I think Copernic, which led to a book about Moose River Settlement called "Siblings Scribblings and Borrowed Children," by Mae Nyber. It was in the Rome, NY, library database, and I figured sometime I might get up the ambition to go there and look at that book. 

Please remember when you hear what I'm about to say that this was the late '90s, not now, with 20 more years of love built into every single thought I have of the place; also not ten or whatever years from now, a time when if I am still striding across this universe I am pretty sure I will (though I can't imagine it possible from this time) care more wholeheartedly and true than I can possibly know from here.

So, to wrap up my extended period of silliness in this matter, anyway: at first I came as close as I could to not considering the importance of Mae's book. 

But...

Every once in a while that book would allow its title to show up. And in the meantime I'd grown increasingly in love with the place, and so, eventually, years later, I found a copy of the book for sale and bought it and..."paydirt" seems like the right word.

There are a bunch of reasons this book means so much to me; it was well written and I love the humor of it, and the tales of living in the wilderness in a camp near ours.

Near ours. Or so I thought. But there were pictures similar to the one above, and my mom, being Mom, took one look at the cottage picture and said "That's our place!"

***

On a rainy day in October 2008, Mom and I are standing outside waiting for a car.  We mostly stood under the big trees in front of camp so we probably only got slightly more rained-on than if we'd stayed in the open area of the yard. Mom was nervous; she was pacing as best one can pace amongst raindrops and tree roots and pine cones and random foot-by-foot elevation changes. "I hope I'm right," Mom said. "I'm sure you are," I said, not because I had any reason to be sure but because somehow I knew I was anyway.  And a few minutes later a car headed west from McKeever flipped on a left-hand turn signal and pulled in the driveway/lawn area and Mom was as sure as I was, and then things got greater.

***

Audrey Nyber, born 1931, arrived in style and remains in my head as the coolest visitor ever to The Cottage. Which, since she wasn't a visitor but just coming back home for a little while, was, if you knew her or us, exactly how you'd expect me to think about this. We talked for hours and looked at pictures and missed her parents and Bert Salg (a great illustrator who lived down the street). We told her about writing projects and photos and music stuff we had no proof of on hand; we were rightly believed. Audrey told us about her life in the happiest way, all kinds of great past but just as much wonderful now, said she was reading historical novels and creating fabric art and substitute teaching. I fell in love with her. We all did.  Later, after most of the talk, we went to the Old Iron Bridge, and checked out the rolling current of the Moose and the leaves on the trees along its banks. We headed back to camp afterward and Mom and Dad and I stood out front while Audrey walked around the yard a while by herself... everything stopped at some point, because it had to. And Audrey left, but only after having been back for the first time in 70 years.

If you ask me of best days at The Cottage, I will likely place the Audrey day first on the list. Truth is, at the end of that day I drove back to what I call The Lower 48 a day earlier than I logically might've, because my mind was blown. I'm sure I missed some great stuff, but how do you face the day after perfection?

***

And last night I found out she is gone away. 

Wherever Audrey Nyber is now, I hope she knows how much she means to us. I'm gonna guess she does: when you're a little kid on your dad's shoulders in a book almost no one knows about, you know you can work miracles.

A Friend With Seed...

...is a friend with seed, simple as that. A friend, Moose River, New York, June 25, 2019.

A Christmas Sort Of Away

I love Christmas, but not for what I think the usual reasons are. Not that I'd have any idea what the usual reasons could be, I guess. So forget all that.

In 1978, my dad and I had the great idea of attending the U.S. Grand Prix at Watkins Glen. After all, we lived 12 miles from the track; we could just show up and buy a couple tickets and head in the morning of the race and get in.

Well, as we didn't know until we tried: nope. We got a nice long walk in great weather out of the deal, though, so it wasn't a total loss.

Fast-forward one year: my dad is working in some sheet-metal place or other somewhere within 60 miles of Dundee, New York; I'm in eighth-grade in a school I'll be leaving very soon after, mostly wishing I was in our back field (yes, we had a big field on top of a hill and I had a bat and ball and friends who were honest but even more kind) so as to facilitate continuing my imagination's ability to let me think being a New York Yankee was possible...

And somewhere in this, under anyone's radar, was my Uncle Al.

And one day, toward mid-September, sitting in my grandparents' place on Harpending Avenue, he gets up and says something and hands my dad two yellow tickets.

And so, by the grace of my uncle's kind intentions (not a rare instance), Dad and I find ourselves in Watkins Glen at 4:30AM on the day this video was shot. It was, is, and always will be among the top several days of my life.

And I understand why it might seem funny to read that. After all, if you watch this you will not see lots of sunshine to loll in, not that I've ever been much of a sunshine loll-er. This thing just shows part of a 40-year-old auto race. Yet in telling you that one of my favorite Formula 1 drivers EVER won the race, I must tell you that I sometimes forget that detail. Because like always in great moments, the things that seemed like most people would think matter took a back seat to a lot of silliness and fun and details no one else but their includents (I just made that word up) would ever know about. For instance:

* Dad and I walked the entire track in darkness...I don't mean around the edges of the track; I mean we walked ON the track, passed every inch of every straightaway and turn. I remember walking past campers with lights on and people laughing (I assume laughs) and lots of beer, but we hiked in the mist and while I don't recall every turn now (and wouldn't have then, being distracted by many things) I know we made the circuit. Dad and I completed a lap. Never thought about it that way, but it makes me laugh now to do so.

* Dad and I made it to the paddock, which is or was then like the biggest coolest unguarded collection of cars on the planet. We walked in, figuring it might be drier, and were alone except for a few other fans up that early... and all the freaking Formula One cars. Seriously: we just walked in and hung around and no one thought to say we shouldn't. There were a hundred thousand people at that race and any one of those people could have conceivably changed the race's results by...what...swinging a ball-peen hammer for fifteen seconds? They could've. I could've. And we didn't. Because we wouldn't. Something to consider when you wonder if security is more important than remembering common decency and manners. Not taking a political side here; just saying it's something to think about given the chances people (who after all are always people) didn't take then.

* After our paddock time, we went back to the car, which was a red Toyota truck my mom named Truckee. And this, like Al getting the tickets at all, is where fortune shows itself to have shown up before it was noticed, because in the darkness of our arrival Dad parked Truckee right next to the entrance/exit from the Skid Pad, where the drivers sometimes landed in helicopters. Which explains why, among others, Emerson Fittipaldi stood out the window and chatted and Jody Scheckter (crowned 1979 world champion a few hours later) sat on Truckee's hood and talked.

* After some truck time, the race started and Dad and I were trackside watching cars fly by. And I tell you, my friends: it was a scene. People with bedsheet banners saying "Welcome CBS Sports" on one side which they'd flip when they thought they were on camera to reveal such sweet words as "Show us your tits!". About ten thousand little brown stickers with a profile of someone who looked like whichever Carradine (David?) was in "Kung Fu" but emblazoned with the words, "TUCSON'S NEXT MAYOR". People on scaffolds four stories high quickly building mountains of beer cans beneath their lairs. And lots and lots more, and rain and mist and racing.

It was awesome in the truest, most pure and undiluted sense of that word. And it's Christmas, and though it doesn't seem like much of a Christmas story, I share it because I am thankful to have it to remember and have looked forward to and kind of keep. And the video will show rain and the race and will give you clues to what matters about it all but unless you can reach deeper it will end up telling you nothing. Evidence is not the same as facts, and the facts are not the story.

And yeah: Merry Christmas! And thank you Uncle Al, wherever you are right now! Your kindness and love are never forgotten.

Will It Go Round In Circles?

East woodpile. The Cottage. Moose River, NY, October 5, 2019.                                                                              

Equal Time (PSD)

Fawns. Moose River, New York, July 24, 2017.

This might be a shout-out to Pearl Maier, born 102 years ago today and gone from this place since early 1993.

It could also be a picture of a couple of fawns behind camp a couple years ago.

I love either or both of those possibilities. 

Which only goes to show you: distinctions are nowhere near as tricky as some would have them seem.

Happy Birthday Gran!

Keep It Coming Love

Just a mouse on a tarp, seemingly.  Turin, New York, 1986.                                                                                                                                                      

A Veery Story: Part Pain

I'm not sure it sounds like the narrator is teary-eyed and afraid at the prospects but I can assure you of one thing: he was scared as hell. It was a very long hour for more than one of the principles. A little birdie claims this all ends well, though, so hang in there.

A Veery Story In...Some Order: Act One

A veery (THE veery) makes an appearance near the fire pit several moments before the story begins. The Cottage. Moose River, New York, May 11, 2019.

A Veery Story: Coda

Veery poop. The Cottage, Moose River, New York, May 11, 2019.

A Veery Story: Act 3

 

Hard to hold a camera steady when you're shocked and thrilled and crying.

The Scene As Seen From Base Camp

From the foothills of Mt. Wilson. Moose River, New York, July 27, 2015.                              

"I Met A Girl Who Sang The Blues..."

Alice. Moose River, New York, August 25, 2014.

Mirrors Everywhere

Moose River, New York, July 3, 2016.                                                                                    

And It Stoned Me To My Soul

Edmund's descendant contemplates the universe. Moose River, New York, May 3, 2019.                                 

'Tis Of Thee

Mt. Wilson and environs. Moose River, New York, June 11, 2016.

El Cameron

C. Pleasant reigns at The Cottage. Moose River, New York, May 31, 2010.

The Light Line

   
I try not to offer advice, not so much because nobody wants it as because nobody wants it. Which is, actually, liberating and great. You'd (which means I'd) think it would make life easier, as if you got off the hook, as if the dreams and thoughts you wanted to share disappeared the second you claimed you forgot to share them.

They don't. Pains and foolish or at least misguided certitudes hop forward (though "hop" is too much action and "forward" seems obvious so forget that last little bunch. But whatever; life is life and we notice what we notice and we love or hate or don't notice.)

Three choices seem enough: Love. Hate. Ignorance. Any variance adds up to some collective confusion of those words or the thoughts we attempt to express with them.

This must be confusing even to anyone who understands it all (and those people-if any-both scare and energize me) as it confuses me letter by letter. But that's no reason to give up. Hell; it's not even a reason to pretend to quit anything. Right now it glows as quite the opposite.

And so: here's a phoebe perch waiting through this fall and impending winter and most likely a bunch of spring, surrounded by its neighborhood (perhaps friendly; maybe otherwise) and unmarked by clawstrikes for months now. The stick in the middle, the light line, is the thing here. Which is odd, and not just because it mostly isn't.

MJ

Almost Eight Seconds Of New

After twenty-plus years noticing things in Moose River, I never saw a chipmunk (OK; HAS to be a Wilson by attitude and fortitude and gumption and/or something) drink from the wheelbarrow. But now I have. And now you can too.   Behind The Cottage, Moose River, New York, October 19, 2019.

Back On My Star

The Cottage, Moose River, New York, June 19, 2017.

Watchers Watch

Moose River, New York, June 12, 2017.

The Light

Moose River, New York, June 8, 2019.

Let's Go Back A While

The Old Iron Bridge as seen from the woods. Moose River, New York, May 11, 2019. 

Late-night Central Doings

The Cottage. Moose River, New York, June 1, 2017.

Connections

Cameron floats just above The Cottage floor. Moose River, New York, May 31, 2010.

Bat

Bat McGrath watches over Moose River Settlement. October 12, 2019.

Some stuff from last January 8th...

Dear Bat:

I won’t waste your time and will cut to what matters.

1. To carry forward the story I’ve heard about Steve Earle, I’d stand on Townes Van Zandt’s coffee table in my steel-toed shoes and tell him “From The Blue Eagle” is the best album ever made. And Townes would know I meant it.
2. A friend of mine once told me the Indians (he didn’t specify which Indians) claimed that no one dies as long as their name is said. You, my friend, have no worries.

Thank you, really, truly and deeply, for your music.

Love, Mike Jones

Hey Mike,

Thank you, really, truly and deeply for your kind words 😏

You are kind to bless me with your thoughts.

Be well and love life.

Sincerely,

Bat

Midnight Moon

Moose River, New York, October 13, 2019.

Friends for sure. Moose River, New York, October 12, 2019.

Lead On

Moose River, New York, October 12, 2019.

Ma Cat Grabs The Near Six O'Clock

A Friend Among Friends

 A woolly bear caterpillar makes its statement amidst
 the wind and drizzle behind Central.

 Moose River, New York, October 6, 2019.

On The Way Home

Empty chrysalis, Moose River, New York, October 5, 2019.

More Campfire

West Looks In

A while before sunset. Moose River, New York, September 21, 2019.

The Cottage, Moose River, New York, September 21, 2019.

Long Ago And Far Away

There is nothing like this lovely mountain air to make one eat and sleep and feel good. Cousin Delia might just as well make a bonfire of all her asthma medicine here. She does not need them. Will tell you all about it when I get home Sat. L&K

Card sent to Miss H. Mary Greene of Bank Street, Batavia, NY, August 10, 1908.

Meet Me In The Woods

A friend. Moose River, New York, August 26, 2015.

Across The River

Behind The Cottage, Moose River, New York, August 20, 2018.

Green Grass And High Tides

Lilo chills to the Outlaws. Moose River, New York, May 26, 2019.

Calling My Name

Cookout fire getting ready.  Moose River, New York, May 12, 2018.

Fight The Power

Alice hangs tough in a blackout. Moose River, New York, May 11, 2019.

Wilsonia

A friend works through the immediate troubles of life in 64 seconds or less.

Moose River, New York, September 20, 2017.

Lilo

The feline hiking hound of Moose River Settlement chills before the cameras. 

Moose River, New York, August 15, 2015.

Life and more life. Near the Spooky Promontory, Moose River, New York, August 23, 2019.

The New Kid

Sheila practices her glare at Cottage insiders, thereby keeping up her family's longstanding tradition. The kid is a quick study.

The Cottage, Moose River, New York, August 31, 2019.

Where No One Is Small

The gang behind The Cottage. Moose River, New York, September 1, 2019.

North Of Lilo's Bridge

Just a picture from a very dry spell; two hours later it started raining steadily, not hard but perfect; I thought of the toads and snakes and birds and everyone else I could think of and smiled as the drops bounced off the tin and headed homeward.  MJ

Only A Dream...And It's Fading Now

"This view is taken from the peak of Bald Mountain which is opposite our hotel. Serious forest fires in the neighborhood have caused the air to be filled with smoke today. Still having a fine time. Going to Beaver River soon.

Keith"

Note to Dr. Paul B. Brooks, Norwich, New York. Postmarked Old Forge, New York, 8PM, October 20, 1908.

Sheila

Sheila, this weekend's only Wilson. Moose River, New York, September 2, 2019.

Life On The Lot Line

East-side maple. Moose River, New York, September 1, 2019.

Hanging In There

Chrysalis. Moose River, New York, August 29, 2019.

One More

The last known apple of the year. Here's to the many unknown ones.

Moose River, New York, August 23, 2019.

Outtakes From Your Dream

Fungi trying to hop from the old tipped-over splitting log to...?

Moose River, New York. August 25, 2019.

Someone Else In The Settlement (This Might Lead Somewhere)

A caterpillar strangely both like and unlike a tomato worm checks out wood a million miles away from a tomato. Moose River, New York, August 24, 2019.

(The story moves on and even though I am blasting Boz Scaggs and feeling beat down it STILL has the potential to improve or not suck or get it right or something. Let's all hang in there.)

Hanging In The Settlement

Monarch caterpillar hangs beneath a wheelbarrow handle. Moose River, New York, August 24, 2019.

Cellar Door

Moose River, New York, June 1, 2019.

Cardy And The Card

THURMAN LEE MUNSON

CAPTAIN OF THE NEW YORK YANKEES

1976-1979

So says the headstone of a man gone forty years today.

My great aunt bought this card for me a few months before she, high up among the kindest and most decent people I've known, died in as awful and undeserved a way as I can imagine, a lingering torture that didn't seem like any god could've ordered it.

And so, as this cardboard leans against other paper products in a small room in the North Country of New York, I must offer this:

CARMEEN REYNOLDS BEHAGE
NO NICER PERSON EVER WALKED THE EARTH
1906-1982

The Clear-eyed Daredevil

Lilo on one of her diversions from the trail. Moose River, New York, September 26, 2015.