Road Trip 2005; II. The Homeland
The beauty of Upstate New York is somehow bound within its permanence -- things may superficially change but the fabric and sensibilities of its being, the people, the land - these intrinsic things remain relatively unscathed and are as soothing and comfortable to an expatriate as an old pair of worn slippers.
First day back is moving day
It's Saturday the 17th and all is right with the world ... almost. I sip my coffee as the Upstate darkness gives way to a new day, where Upstate birds are singing, Upstate bees are buzzing, Upstate fish are jumping in the lake, but three hours' sleep is not enough -- and it's Moving Day. That's right, MOVING DAY. Remember Loren and his terrible revenge? This was his payoff and those of us who were pressed into slave labor to help move Loren's belongings on this Black Day From Hell may never recover.
Off we go in the big Dodge to the hamlet of Painted Post. It's early morning and a heavily-overcast sky threatens rain. Must pick up the rental truck and it just wouldn't be right or proper if we had to move an entire household full of furniture on a sunny day. Uh oh, what the...? The size of the truck Loren leased is the first indication that things are going to end badly -- I've seen smaller ships landing aircraft on their decks. The next indication was when he stated, "Yeah, I've got a 'few household items' stowed away in a 10-foot by 40-foot storage bay in Elmira."
This can only end badly
Say what? 40 feet? Little alarm bells were jangling in my mind, but I was trapped -- no sleep, some body plumbing problems causing the usual pain -- but Loren is a stalwart friend so suck it up and ...
I'll not bore you with trivia about the daylong drama that was Moving Day, nor will I dwell on just how much suffering can occur when you try to cram 40 feet worth of drill presses, table saws, beds made out of tree trunks, bureaus and dressers larger than Buicks, and all the other incredibly heavy and bulky stuff that was collected primarily for its weight value into a 30-foot truck. Yup, 40 feet worth of storage into 30 feet worth of truck -- do the math.
Mike, you are a saint for finding the strength to crack jokes all day long and keeping Dounce, Loren, and B2 so mercifully giddy that we mostly forgot the self-induced agony -- at least until after the ordeal; it was a good time nonetheless.
Then off to Elmira Heights to meet Mike's better half Jill, knock back a few cold ones, spend quality time with quality folks, shamelessly beg for some delicious home-grown Upstate tomatoes, then on to the lake and my very first good night's sleep in four days. Loren stayed with Mike and Jill and would hit the road back to Knoxville Sunday morning. It is good he did so, as he might have been strangled in his sleep ... nah, he was safe -- we didn't have the strength.
Digging and rock don't mix
Later in the week I was to forgive Loren and start slinging arrows in Dounce's direction. Did you ever wonder why there are so many stone fences, houses, walkways, walls, and fireplaces in Upstate New York? Because the entire region is ROCK interspersed with just barely enough granules of soil so farmers will keep on killing themselves in pathetic attempts to grow things. If you removed every single rock from a plowed field, you would find just as many rocks in that same field the next morning.
This is the terrain upon which Dounce decided to anchor down his new, huge metal canopy, designed to protect his old Studebaker truck and travel trailer from the ravages of Upstate weather. The anchors? Very long, very stout auger anchors designed to screw into the ground -- the kind they use to wire down ... oh, I don't know ... Boeing 747s.
"Piece of cake!" friend KC2 opines with a smug little smirk. "Shouldn't take long!" friend Dounce innocently but boldly predicts. "Let's get at it!" friend B1 seriously quips. "This can only end badly!" B2 moans pathetically. It wasn't, it did, we did, and it did. Seven hours later and nightfall upon us I was down to inventing names to call Dounce, but the job was done. Did I mention that Upstate is mostly rock?
Special things, special people
Assuming that one survives such projects, there should be regular occurrences in life when you take time to appreciate all of the special things that are interwoven into your existence but are too often overlooked. You know, the simple, pleasurable things like a hike in the hardwoods, unhurried chatter with friends over mugs of coffee, observing the wildlife, marveling at the night sky, appreciating the quiet, dabbling in little, mindless projects, and generally taking stock of all of the truly wonderful people and places we are fortunate enough to experience. This I did and more.
It is heartwarming to hit Tuesday Wing Night at the Pine Grove and have Nancy remember you after a year and give you a hug, or see Joanie and Fran at the Branding Iron and be treated as though you never left since the last time you were there, so long ago.
I spent my days swapping stories with Dounce, B1, and KC2, wolfing down B1's ripe, garden-fresh tomato sandwiches, traipsing around the countryside with KC2, meeting or re-acquainting myself with some of the nicest folks anywhere, reading in solace at lakeside, soaking up the sheer beauty of the homeland, and of course teasing the hell out of people I don't see often enough and wishing it was not so.
The only real downside to this visit was the fact that Dounce had to leave for Europe on the 20th. He's more brother than friend and I don't head Upstate to enjoy his place; I can sleep anywhere. No, I go there to enjoy his company, bitching and all, because ... well ... he's part of my family. Life has meaning and is good when you have friends like him, Loren, KC2, B1, and Dana -- and they are to be treasured and protected from harm. Dana, you query, scratching your head in befuddlement? You'll meet him in the next installment.
Hard-living but warm-hearted
No pilgrimage to the Finger Lakes would be complete without a stop at Seneca Farms for homemade ice cream, the Red Rooster for a world-class cheeseburger, sampling some fresh-squeezed cider, and relishing in the bane of any diabetic's existence -- crusty, fresh-baked northern bread and the best pizza this side of Napoli.
I had the pleasure of cruising up Route 23 and meeting Terry and Stephanie, and gladly handing over my hard-earned greenbacks for a new Stihl chain saw. Where else are you fed cookies and given a ball cap while you dicker over a saw? I met Harvey, an extremely pleasant, hard-working young Mennonite lad whose zest for life is so downright real that you feel good just talking to him.
I initiated idle chitchat with perfect strangers and shop owners in town who will never be total strangers again, took drives up into the hills and set out on aimless meanderings through field and woodland, once again enjoyed the simple, soothing sounds of rills and waterfalls, took the time to watch a Preying Mantis at work, and generally let the homeland weave its magic and wash my cares and pent-up stress away.
The road beckons
In the blink of an eye it is time to depart; too soon, much too soon. Back to the hurricanes, serious public safety issues, too many tasks for too little staff, impossible deadlines, mandated responsibilities dependant upon an impossibly meager budget, and stress. Back to Little Martin, once a small, quiet, safe haven and now a congested mess, back to a house that has flooded out once too often, back to ...
But I'm not there yet and there is still some time. Time to shut down Dounce's place, dump the trash, swap a few more yarns with KC2, and share my last night in the homeland with B1 over supper, conversation, and a wee dram or two down on Crosby Point, bastion of Clan McLeod. As usual, the allure of the road keeps me from sleeping for very long, and it is dark on Monday morning the 26th when I bid goodbye to a place and people that I will forever hold dear.
For now, the stress is gone and the road beckons.