Fall into Change

 

  This is The Mirror Lake Inn, in Lake Placid, New York. It instantly reminded me of all of the beautiful fall trips I would take into the Adirondacks and Green Mountains of New York and Vermont. The fall colors of the East are beyond words. The many hardwoods each with their own distinctive colors are exceptional. I have missed the falls of the East greatly. In Colorado, the Scrub Oak turn red and the Aspens of course are brilliant gold set against the lovely pines. But nothing compares to the Eastern Fall. Take a ride on the Gondola on Gore Mountain to view fall colors. Ride along the shores of Lake Champlain which is spectacular. Or just take a drive into anywhere Vermont, Rutland, Bennington, any of the Ski Mountains and their awesome Valleys will suffice. Just get out doors and view the colors. At last the fall in the West may be less than average because of a mold on the Aspen's this year that is causing the leaves to drop prematurely.


   My wife, Kathy, was a DJ in Aspen and Carbondale, Colorado for many years and often puts together some great song lists to listen to. This week we were talking about our meeting in Aspen in November at our job we shared that brought us together. I remember being kind of a lonely old ski bum and she being a popular outgoing personality. It seemed unlikely that we would ever be together. I guess the Lord does work in mysterious ways. What I am trying to say is to get out of your comfort zone and to go for whatever your dreams are. I know that I am pursuing mine this year. Look for my collection of short stories on book shelf near you in the coming year.

A couple of songs to sooth your memories:
Don Henley; "Last Worthless Evening"
Billy Joel:"New York State of Mind"

Let the Journey Begin

  Colorado was never the end game for me, I had originally set my sites on Big Sky, Montana. A very good friend of ours from Albany had moved to Montana. We had written letters back and forth and I liked what he was about. So Montana was the goal, and the West was the way. There was no consideration of traveling by car or by bus. Hitchhiking was only the way. Besides people where freer then and would often stop and take you for a great distance, if they were going somewhere. I was a climber or at least so I fancied myself as one. I had purchased a big heavy pair of leather hiking boots with Vibram soles. Heavy gripping rubber for climbing on rocks and a rather large green backpack. It was a Tough Traveller. Frameless because I was never a big fan of frame back packs. They were too bulky and rigid, took up too much room and never conformed to a space. I would not conform but my pack had to. The key to having new climbing boots is that you have to wear them everywhere. I would wear mine to parties, social events, and generally all around town. If I wasn't a climber with pitons and ropes and clips and rings, I was going to at least look and act the part of one. Willing to tell any one I was that I was heading to the mountains. We had just ended our lease on our cabin at Thompson's Lake in the Helderberg's and I could not face another winter in Albany, New York. I was determined to get to Big Sky. So on and uneventful morning I said my goodbyes to my friends and my poor Mom who worried for my future and lit out on the road. I never thought of myself as a writer then. I was and adventurer off on a new adventure. A skier in search of the next big mountain and the deeper snows. I had already used up all of the Adirondacks, Catskills, Berkshires, Green Mountains and White Mountains. There was simply no place with steeper mountains and deeper snows than the West. Visions of endless wide open snowfields with untouched virgin powder danced in my mind and filled my days and nights until I could no longer resist the call of the open road. So along with some heavy winter clothes I stuffed my copy of Leaves of Grass, by Walt Whitman into my pack and was gone. My favorite route west was not the Thomas E Dewey, Thruway as you might expect. I had always been partial to old Route 6 leaving Albany through Cherry Valley and west. My grandfather had grown up on a farm in western New York State and had often taken me there to visit his mom and his cousins. We had always driven Route 6 stopping at the towns and sightseeing along the way. My sister Linda and brother - in law John operated a cash crop farm there. I worked there for a summer in between College Semesters. It was during the early 70's. Farming was a bit too remote and also very time consuming. It gave me a great appreciation for their love of the land and the struggles of an individual family farm. I thought you would have better odds if you were a gambler in Los Vegas.
 

   My most memorable trip to the family farm came when I was fourteen. My Uncle Buzzy, (Verne my grandfather's name) worked at a car dealership in Albany and had purchased a new 1964 Thunderbird. It was copper tone and it was a convertible. What was so unique about his car, was that when you put down the top. You would raise the trunk which opened front to back and the top of the car would disappear into the trunk and then you would lower the trunk. I thought this was the coolest thing ever. On this particular trip, just outside of Albany, my Uncle pulled to the side of the road and motioned for me to drive. I had arrived at manhood for sure. Was I not the coolest kid in the world? Driving a brand new copper tone thunderbird with the top down with one hand on the wheel, through the peaks and valleys of route 6 & 20 from Albany, to Rochester, New York at 14 years old.


   This trip was my farewell bon voyage journey. I was hitchhiking with my old dog Dusty. He was a 12 year old Airedale Terrier Lab Cross and an all around mellow guy. It was a new experience for me to be hitching with a dog. The rides came easy, but when he became restless we were off on our own again on the side of the road. The actual journey could be done in a day, even if you had to get several rides. I remember making it in a long day.


   While my family thought of me as an errant Vagabond, and lectured me about saving my money and making something of myself. They were also supportive of my wanderlust and allowed me the freedom of leaving my best friend in good hands. There was no better place for my good friend than to retire to farm life.

 To Be Continued.....

A Song for the Lunar Eclipse: "Dark Side of the Moon," Pink Floyd

Celebrate the Harvest Moon.

 Celebrate the super harvest moon this weekend. On Sunday the 27th there is a rare total eclipse of the moon resulting in a blood moon. It promises to be a spectacular lunar event so be sure to catch it. You can google the Harvest Moon and learn all about the incredible celestial event happening. I tried to link it but was not able to. Don't miss the cosmic show. Hope your skies are clear!

A Song for the Event:"Nights In White Satin," The Moody Blues

Follow Your Dreams

   When I originally thought of White Dreams, I thought it was my quest for Alpine Winter Adventures, after all the quest for steeper mountains and deeper snows was the singularly greatest drive in my life. I listened to my grandfather talk about Whiteface and Gore Mountains as a young man. He worked for the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation as an accountant. Along with a Southern Catskill Mountain, they were his accounts. I listened intently to his tales of these areas and the views in the winter. So much so, that every spare moment I had I went skiing in the Adirondacks and quickly moved on to bigger and greater mountains and snows. Nothing new I've covered this topic a zillion times in my writing many different ways. I have given homage to the dreams I have pursued in my stories and poetry. It has been a trip into single mindedness. A one way trail you might say.

   These days, my thoughts have focused on my writing entirely. My friends and I would often say about skiing, "If not now, when!" The time is now. I know that there is a lot of insane research that goes into a Historical Novel. The thing that attracts me the most these days is the passion. It has never diminished. It grows in strength and desire as the seasons come and go. The fall and winter have always been my greatest time of adventure and travel. The spirit is willing and as the nights grow colder and the sun shifts in the sky with the Autumnal Equinox I feel the shift and pull in my spirit and psyche. It is the the familiar feel of the beginning of a new dream and adventure. Another White Dream, this one the biggest dream I have ever dared to dream. You have got to follow your dreams or become numb and dead to the world in your staleness.

A Song about Complacency:"Comfortably Numb," Pink Floyd

A Song of Conquest: "Conquistador," Procol Harum                     
 

The Pied Piper

   

 The stories of great saints have always fascinated me. I don't remember the specific name of the particular saint that has been referenced, but I remember the story vividly. He had such a magnetic personality that when he would walk through the towns and villages that mothers would clutch their children tightly to them for fear that they would leave and follow the saint out of town. A true Pied Piper. I have had my share of egotistical complexes in my life including a Pied Piper complex. Some of the lines to my poems are "Stealing little children and filling empty auditorium seats." "Go upon the mountains my beautiful innocent children and leave the cities far behind."

    These days I follow my own Pied Piper. It happens to be a 5 lb. toy poodle, named Piper. My little Pie, Pie, Pied Piper. I am smitten and yes I do put her Sweater on in the mornings before taking her out. Yes, I do reassure her that the sweater doesn't make her Butt look big! I have found myself clearing out and cleaning my shop to install a wood stove and make room for a nice big couch and writing podium, ( I like standing and writing and typing on my computer). You see my little girl likes to be told stories. I find myself explaining long complicated things to her. It only seems fitting that I would use all avenues open to me to continue my story telling. Not to mention that I want to spend much more time at home with my beautiful wife, writing.

    My new bible is "Bullet Proof Book Proposals", by Pam Prodowsky, and Eric Neauhaus. It is finally time to move forward and to get on with the pursuit of my goals. This fall and winter instead of picking out a ski mountain or a ski town, I am going to pick out a book publisher and pursue the goal of publishing my short stories, and pursuing the goals of finishing my novels in progress and researching my historical novel.  Wish me Good Luck!
A Song for Memories "Wish You Were Here," Pink Floyd

Music In The Cafe's At Night And Revolution In The Air

 

 No that is not my line. Yes I did steal it from a Bob Dylan song. I hung on to and clung to the lines of all Dylan's song's as a young man. I was not alone. It was the sign of the times. Oddly I was reminded of Saratoga, New York this week with the running of American Pharoah at the Travers Stakes. I thought of the many days spent at the race track and Hattie's Chicken Shack and Caffe Lena. Of course, I remember Bob Dylan in Saratoga and Caffe Lena, I was taken by the scenes, the times, and the cultural revolution. All this because of a horse race this week. It was more than just a horse race. The culmination of American Pharoah sweeping the triple crown. He was so impressive in his races.

   Here is where life's experiences creep into your world. I once was impressed by and attended horse racing on a regular basis as well as gambled at OTB parlors in New York, that was until I became an Equine Massage Therapist and co-owner of a rescue ranch. I learned so much about horse anatomy and the musculature of the Equine Athlete. I came to realize what a brutal sport horse racing was and how insane it is to ask three year olds to do what they ask of them in the triple crown races. I was saddened to the core to see the Legend of American Pharoah jaded by the greed of his owner to win a race at Saratoga and increase the stud fee of the horse. The horse looked worn out to me. His eyes were hollow and his confirmation was tight. I thought that he looked somewhat tight and had a hard time making the tight turns in the paddock. His race showed that he did not have the gas to go the distance and in the end his legacy is jaded by the desires of a misguided owner. It was disheartening to say the least. Please let him retire in peace.

   It brings me to the Music and the Revolution. I loved the music and believed in the revolution. I think I still do. Only the revolution is within me now, it is not the violent over throw the government and the establishment revolution of my youth.  (Hell I think I probably am the Establishment) Yes, do I hope that something that I write helps cause a revolution. Except now I hope it is a revolution of mind, body and spirit for the individual as it has been for me. These days I find joy in my home, my meditations and my daily life. I hope you are finding yours.

"Tangled Up In Blue" Bob Dylan

My Baby Blue (Piper)

 

 

The Golden Years

   Life moves forward rapidly it seems. I often joke by saying it seems only a few short years ago I was twenty five. I blinked my eyes and now I am entering my mid-sixties. All of the mountains and ski areas I have visited are all a distant memory as well as our equine rescue ranch and all of the multitude of animals we loved and took care of. The loss of our youngest ranch girl our golden Gracie was perhaps the hardest of all the animals I had the honor to escort to the next realm. She was the end of an era for us. You know in life when your world shifts. This was monumental for Kathy and myself. I cannot speak for her, but for me, my whole life's focus changed. The dawn of a new life stretched out before me. I have always had an excuse why I could not pursue my dream of finishing my Historical Novel about Arapahoe Basin in Colorado. My job, my business, our rescue ranch, making a living, blah, blah, blah.

  Our little Golden Friend was all about Love. The pursuit of love, the people, the places, the things that are love. Just after she passed, we spent a weekend in Ouray, Colorado. We had to change our reservations at the last moment because we adopted a toy poodle we named Piper. So we ended up down town for the weekend in a Hostel style hotel above a restaurant. I was blown away by the views from our third story window. I almost named this piece A Room With A View. Someone else has already taken the subject and written eloquently about it. Any way, the San Juan Mountains are beautiful and rich with the history of the Uncompaghre Ute Indians. The town of Ouray bears the name of the great Chief Ouray who had an influential wife named Chipeta. I was fortunate enough to find a wonderful book titled, People of the Shining Mountains

People of the shining

, A history of the Ute Indians.

   So now it ushers in the new era of the study of the Ute Indians and their migration and near extinction in the West. I look forward to the journey. I have an angel in heaven who whispers in my ear, "you've got to follow your heart Albert."

 My heart has always been in the mountains and the San Juans are amazing.Mt. Sneffels is a jewel in the crown of Colorado mountains. I look forward to my research and the joy of spending time there with Kathy and my new best friend Piper. I am truly the Luckiest Man in America.

   A Song about Life's Loves
"Brandi," Looking Glass