Tag Archives: outdoors

Cabin Life – #48

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A reader recently asked me what a normal day out at the cabin was like.  Unfortunately, most of my days consist of getting up, going to work, and coming home to go to bed.  But on the weekends and when I’m not working, I’ve settled into a nice routine mixed with plenty of different chores.  No, not chores.  Activities.

Pico or Ed usually wake me up on the weekend, so I get to sleep in until about six.  After ignoring them for an indeterminate amount of time, I relent and get their food.  Then Pico and I take a walk up the Right Trail to the Upper Camp.  I check the log cabin that’s another quarter mile or so into the woods.  I live in the middle of nowhere, and Upper Camp is even closer to the center of the middle of nowhere.

Upper Camp was built by the previous owners and is a pretty big log cabin.  Not huge, but more than twice the size of my place.  When people see it, they ask why I don’t live there instead of in my little shack.  First, there’s no way I could get someone to plow it.  Going to Upper Camp is at least three-quarters of a mile from the road.  Second, because it is so big, I would need a lot more wood to heat it.  And the main reason is that Upper Camp is the “weekend getaway” for my landlord.

After I make sure no windows are broken and no trees have come down on the place, Pico and I bushwhack off to the east towards the Left Trail.  Sometimes we go a little further into the woods and partway up the hill out back, but mostly we just cut through to the Upper Field.  This is essentially a big, brush-covered extension of my yard.  If I’m lazy (Pico never is) then we just head back to my cabin.  Otherwise we’ll make our way to the Left Trail and then head back down.

Once we’re back at the cabin, I grab a large pot and go to the little stream.  I put the pot on the wood stove to get some moisture in the air.  I also recently started keeping the tea kettle on the wood stove, which seems like something I should have started doing a year ago.  I’m still learning how to do this whole off the grid thing.

Then I’ll usually take the chainsaw and head off to cut some dead trees.  I buck them up into manageable pieces so I can carry them back to the yard.  I like to block them up and split the logs right then, so my pile of wood for next winter gets bigger all year long.  Sometimes I’ll go work on the trails that haven’t been used much (most of them), I’ll go clear brush and try to open the trail a little bit.

I guess mostly though, my life off the grid is a lot like most people’s.  I have to wash dishes and brush pets and bring wood in for the stove.  I cook and sweep and do yard work.  Sure, I have to put in more than the usual effort due to the lack of running water, but other than that, I’m pretty normal.  You know, normal for a guy with no running water.

Cabin Life – # 47

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There’s big fat flakes of snow slowing drifting down out of the sky.  I just threw a few logs in the wood stove and the small waft of smoke that escaped is mixing with the aroma of the black beans I’m simmering on the stove.  It’s a nice night to be out here in the cabin.

Ed’s curled up next to the computer and his tail is leisurely hitting the back of my hand.  Herbie’s asleep and snoring on the foot stool near the woodstove while Pico is contentedly laying on the bed.  The temperature is supposed to go up a little in the next few days, but for now, it feels like winter.  If it does warm up, it will be a nice treat.

My parents came up this weekend to help stack the wood in the shed.  Four cords are in there, along with the other four stacked outside under tarps.  It’s nice to be all set with heat for the winter, bringing a deserved sense of satisfaction in having taken care of that one aspect.  When you live in nature, like most Adirondackers, you try to control what you can, knowing that you can’t control it all.  No one knows what type of winter it will be, but we can get ready the best we know how, and in the spring take pride in the fact that we made through another one.

As I watch the candle light flicker against the wood paneled walls, I can’t help but think about the path that brought me here.  Fighting depression, anxiety, stress, and self-loathing, I ended up in this little shack in the middle of nowhere.  I have no neighbors but wild animals.  I have to go outside to use the “bathroom.”  I force myself to have contact with the outside world, otherwise I’d be a little afraid of what I might do or become.  I do not want to be the Unabomber.

I do want a simpler life though.  No life is free from stress, but ensuring that there’s a fire going is usually the biggest worry of the day.  That, and the temperature of the seat in the outhouse.  That’s a big concern.  I once heard someone say that depression is like a train that comes barrleing along, and the only thing you can do is hold on as best you can.  I think that’s an apt metaphor, and one I relate to well.  The nice thing about being out here is that I haven’t heard that train whistle in a long time.  And I now have the confidence to know that I will be able to hold on the next time it comes around.  Trust me, that’s a stress reliever if I ever knew one.

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Cabin Life – #46

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There’s snow flying around in the air.  It’s been snowing on and off all day, with some sticking to my car this morning, but there’s none on the ground.  I noticed the slightly silvery coloring of the pines and hemlocks from snow sticking to the branches, though.  I’m glad it’s not sticking on the ground yet, but it won’t be long, and even though it’s been cold, we’ve been lucky that the snow didn’t start flying a week or two ago.

They say that this is the remnants of Hurricane Sandy, which at the cabin turned out to be a whole lot of nothing.  We had a wind storm last winter where I could hear trees coming down with a fair amount of regularity, but this past Monday night didn’t add up to much.  There was one branch down on my road, so it turned out I didn’t need to bring my chainsaw with me.  But I guess it’s good that I was prepared to cut my road clear to get to work.  Or maybe it’s not good.  I don’t know.

The one thing that struck me about Sandy was that everyone was preparing for the worst.  They were prepared to not have power for days or even weeks.  And I realized that the phrase “Oh no, the power might go out” really doesn’t enter my day-to-day conversations any more.  I bought some extra food just in case Sandy became another Ice Storm like in 1998.  That storm is my reference for everything now.  I always say to myself that I better be prepared for these storms just in case it’s another Ice Storm.

I have nothing but sympathy for those who were actually affected by the storm.  I can’t imagine being stuck in New York City with no power.  But for the northern Adirondacks, it was just another storm with lots of rain and not so bad winds.  I wasn’t that worried about it for the obvious reason that power outages don’t affect me.  Just one more way in which my life is simpler out here.  And it’s one more way in which this type of life is easier to handle.

Cabin Life – #42

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Bizarro World.  If you’ve never heard of Bizarro World, then you didn’t read Superman comics as a kid.  Well I didn’t either, but I learned about it in an episode of Seinfeld.  I am in my own personal Bizarro World right now, flying about thirty thousand feet over the country on my way to South Carolina via Chicago.  And I can’t think of any place that could be more different from my normal lifestyle.  This is as far from simple as you can get.

The guy sitting next to me has commandeered the armrest, which I guess is alright since we’re in an exit row.  You have to take the good with the bad.  I’m also pretty sure he is reading this as I write.  It’s ok for you to keep the armrest; I have the aisle, and that’s a fair trade.

It has been simple lately out at the cabin.  The leaves are gorgeous, and I hate to break it you if you’re not in the Northern Adirondacks, but peak leaf season is just about over.  The red carpet of leaves on the trails is so bright it almost hurts your eyes, and the yellows, oranges and golds overhead create the appearance of a nice bright day even when it’s overcast and rainy.  But those random shafts of light that penetrate the trees bring out so much color it’s a wonder to behold.  This is what I missed while I was in Florida.

There’s a bear lurking around out here, and the evidence is obvious, even though I haven’t seen or heard him at all.  There were a few old logs lying by the outdoor fire pit which were turned over, revealing what no doubt was a huge horde of bugs.  I also found the remnants of a ground hive that the bear must have dug up.  It was apparently a huge hive down in the lower field, since the hole that was excavated was about the size of basketball. 

There was leftover honey comb at the mouth of the hole, but not very much.  I don’t know how much honey ground bees produce, but I am jealous of what the bear got.  Not that I would have gone in after it like he did, however, I give him kudos on taking the hit to get his honey.  The bear must be hurting for food with the lack of berries this year, but he hasn’t tried to get into the cabin, so I can’t complain about his presence too much.

Yup, the guy next to me was reading.  He just said “Thanks” as he put his arm on the rest between us and tucked a pillow under his head.  He closed his eyes and leaned the seat back.  Now he’s asleep and snoring loudly, but his arm has fallen off the armrest.  Like I said, you take the good with the bad.

Cabin Life – #38

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Pico was just digging in the ground, making a cool spot to lie down in.  After the rain we got last night, the disturbed ground had a nice, earthy smell to it.  A week ago, it would have been just dust, floating up into my face and choking me.  Now it smells good.

This is my favorite time of year.  The leaves are starting to change color and it’s not due to the drought this time.  There are bright yellows and orangeish-reds.  Most of the trees are still green but that just makes the few that are changing really stand out.  They look striking even though I have to see them through red, scratchy eyes most of the time.

The road is covered with dead leaves that blow around on the dry days.  The good news is that since there are dry days now, it also means that there must be wet days.  The rain we’ve gotten isn’t making up for the summer yet, but at least it is raining once in a while.  We needed the water, but it’s also nice to get a free car wash now and then too.

I’ve always liked fall the best, and after this ridiculously hot and dry summer, the cool nights and warm days are a huge relief.  Just cool enough for a long sleeve shirt at night.  The mosquitoes are starting to die down and there’s a noticeable difference in the amount of daylight we’re getting.  I’ve seen some geese heading south and even with no water, the few apples that made it are ripening up.  I guess that’s what I like about fall.  All of the above.

Cabin Life -#37

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I love lying in the hammock.  There’s a cold beer on the upright log next to me and Pico is lying on the other side.  Shamelessly, I use Pico as a push off to swing the hammock.  He weighs enough to absorb the push, and seems to be content with the petting.  Luckily he hasn’t attempted to join me in the hammock yet.

There are a couple of spider silks strung between two branches, and the afternoon light is glinting off of them.  When the light breeze blows, they disappear and then reappear as a shimmer in the middle of nothingness.  I can’t see where the silks tie into the leaves, but the suspended middle of the strings is visible more often than not.

Even when I’m not tired, the hammock seems to lull me into a state of pure apathy.  Especially with the heat we’ve had this summer, the feel of the breeze encompassing my whole body is very relieving.  Whatever book I’m reading inevitably ends up on the ground, and I have no qualms about spending an hour in semi-consciousness while hanging out in the hammock.  Even Pico seems to relax when he’s there, only getting up to chase a red squirrel or chipmunk up one of the pine trees.  He hasn’t gotten hit by a pinecone yet, but it’s not for a lack of trying on the squirrel’s part.

I push off of Pico again and run my hand lightly down his back as the hammock swings away.  It’s a small price to pay for having such a reliable and useful partner.  Lying in the hammock not only relaxes me, but brings back lots of memories from growing up.  My grandparents had a summer camp on the Sacandaga Reservoir, near Vandenberg’s Point.  The camp was set up on a hill, but it was just a short walk down to the beach. 

They had a flight of wooden stairs that went down from the camp through the blueberry bushes.  Halfway down the stairs, there was no railing on the right side, and that’s where the big, classic, white cotton hammock hung.  It was low enough to the ground that an adult could put their foot down and push off.  I just belly flopped onto the thing, shoved my arm through the netting and pushed off of one of the big knotty roots with my hand. 

It was one of my favorite things about spending time at camp.  The place was pretty close to home, so we would go up there a lot.  There was no hammock at home, though, and the one at camp always seemed special.  Maybe it’s because I shared it with so many of the important people in my life, but I don’t think I got lazy when I lay in that particular hammock.  I just got happy.

Ausable Marsh

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Pico and I hiked the Ausable Marsh Wildlife Management Area trail a few weeks ago.  Here’s a few shots from the marsh.  I don’t know wildflowers, so if any of you know what these are please clue the rest of us in with a comment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cabin Life – #24

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I’m sitting on a picnic table on the shore of Lake Champlain. Valcour Island is in front of me, the sun is shining and the birds are chirping. Tonight is the calm before the storm so to speak, as the campground opens tomorrow.

Paved roads, electricity and hot showers are now plentiful, as is the wildlife. There are three osprey nests within a half mile of my new cabin, and of course, the raccoons are around a lot. Pico has been marking the yard, and that’s keeping them away for now, but the cats still aren’t going outside.

Opening the campground is nice, getting the place cleaned up. Last year at this time, the entire site was under at least three feet of water. I know, because we needed kayaks and boats to get in here and check on the place. We didn’t open until the middle of July last year due to the epic flooding of the spring. And only a little over a month later, we were shut down for a week because of Hurricane Irene. In between those two events, it was a drought.

I finally found my bird book, and am really looking forward to learning the different birds. Less than forty miles away, the cabin birds are on their own for the summer. But the differences are stark. The only birds I’ve seen that I had out at the cabin are robins. But I’ve also seen the osprey, sea gulls, a bald eagle and some sparrows.

It’s good to be back to work, and the fact that I still get to be outside surrounded by wildlife (yes, I do mean campers as well as wild animals) is just superb.

Cabin Life – #23

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Life is definitely easier out here now.  Most of the trees are leafing out, flowers are blooming and the woodstove has been idle for almost two weeks.  And tonight I’ll be having fiddleheads sautéed with garlic.

The work season has begun, and I’ll be starting off the season on trail crew again.  After a week or so of clearing trails, I’ll be moving out to the campground I work at.  There’s some positives and negatives to this:  I live at work, I don’t have the freedom that the cabin offers me, but there’s indoor plumbing and the commute is great.

 But I’ve also discovered that as the weather has gotten better, I’ve become more excited to get the cabin ready for next winter.  The outhouse has already been moved, but I have more plans in store.  Build a shed for the generator and get a solar panel and battery for electricity next year.  The solar panel won’t provide a ton of electricity, but it should be enough so that I don’t have to have to walk around in a headlamp for five months of the year.  And honestly, I won’t run the generator unless I have to use some power tools or something like that.

I’m also looking forward to some of the conveniences that I’ll have at the campground.  After months of considering what it is that I miss most, being able to take a hot shower at home whenever I want is the biggest thing.  It’s not that I haven’t been bathing, but the shower at the gym sucked, and my friend’s showers were always open to me, but it still meant driving somewhere.  I can’t wait to come home after a long day of work and take a shower. 

It’s definitely a time of transition, but one thing has become clear to me.  After bouncing around apartments during college, and living inJacksonville, and living in a house where a double homicide was committed, I have some peace.  It’s less than four hundred square feet and a lot of people wouldn’t even stay here for a night, but I call it home.

Cabin Life – #21

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There’s a soft, wet blanket of snow covering everything.  It’s also eerily quiet.  The last two mornings I’ve been woken up by a yellow-bellied sapsucker banging on the metal roof of the wood shed.  And the morning before that, Pico woke me up barking at the turkeys that were walking by.  Today, the birds are silent.

The rabbits that are all over out here are brown on top and white on the bottom.  It’s an interesting site as they sprint down the road in view of my headlights, then dart off into the woods.  All winter, I saw lots of rabbit tracks, but no actual animals.  Now that there is no snow and they are that awkward combination of colors, I see them all the time.  Their winter camouflage obviously works well.

The two robins that have been hanging around are constantly scanning the ground for worms, and the ruffed grouse run that weird little scramble of theirs whenever we get close.  I think most of the birds that are around, and there are quite a few, realize that we are more a source of food than a threat though.

The chickadees and robins don’t take off when Pico and I are out, and the yellow-bellied sapsucker let me take a picture from about ten feet away.  (For those of you who don’t know, the sapsucker is a type of woodpecker.  When I took his picture, he was banging his head on a metal pipe, so maybe he’s not tame so much as brain damaged.)  The American woodcock didn’t even bat an eye when I rode by on the four wheeler.  And the eastern phoebe that picks up all the seed that the chickadees drop looks akin to a gray-colored robin with no legs.  It’s like a baseball with a beak.

Maybe it’s just that no one lived here for a long time, so the animals are used to not being in any danger when they walk around, but I like when they come into the yard, or I see them out in the big field.  And since I don’t feel like hunting, they don’t have to worry about being bothered for a long time yet.