Tubing on the Big Moose
I guess the best way to explain how this all happened is to imagine us reading some Gene Stratton Porter books, about Indiana and the North
Woods and wilderness. We talk about butterflies and birds, the beauty of the full grown forest, moss covered paths leading into secret caverns of cathedral growths wi8th meandering brooks to surprise us. The fantasy of living in that wonderland could not be shaken, and we reclaimed it each summer when we drove 770 miles north to Eagle Bay, New York, and spent time in the Adirondacks.
Nights we lived without TV or radio, forcing our children to hear bits of "Freckles" or "The Girls of the Limberlost". We would spend the days at the beach, swim, take hikes, find crafts to engage our time, and read. We made campfires and cooked outdoors, telling jokes and stories about the fish that got away the last fishing trip. We took our little motor boat water skiing and tubing, went sailing when the winds were strong. We floated on boat cushions and went snorkeling to a sand bar, checking to see which fish were swimming around so we would know which bait to buy for the next fishing trip.
The cold spring water in the lake just strengthened our intent to keep the stories alive, we were tougher than the "others" that stayed behind in warm water pools and did not experience this summer "camp" life. If you were a part of the ballet world, of course summer also meant some time with Anneliese's Ballet Camp on West Avenue. Her deck was a marvel, surrounded with barres so that dancers could practice outside in beautiful weather. We would perform the Adirondack Broom Dance, sweeping the deck and the n class began each day. Anneliese would sit with her boom box at the foot of the deck, reciting the combinations, while dancers performed. If there were observers they watched from inside the camp, sitting at the windows. And if it started to rain, there was a sudden rush into the studio as dancers concluded the class indoors. The neighbors on one side complained they wanted nothing to do with this interference with their summer vacation, so Anneliese put up bamboo curtains to cut off any view of the dancers. On the other side lived Blanche, and she would prepare her breakfast, sit at her window, and watch what we were doing. She was part of everything going on at the ballet camp, even the performances, either observing or as a participant. One time she rode the Exercycle in a skit, while dancers jogged past. She always wore a smile, often wore a plastic hood(because of the sudden showers in the mountains), and was a good sport.
The first time I brought my new husband to Eagle Bay, early the first morning, following a late arrival, someone knocked on the door. I thought no one knew we were there. a tiny voice spoke, "Cornelia?"
I did not know who this might be. I was confused. Again the knock. The tiny voice, announcing a surprise. I opened the door a crack, peeked out, and a hand reached in. It was Blanche with a plate. Two doughnuts fresh from the Donut Shop for our first morning in Eagle Bay.
As a child we had used car inner tubes to float on the lake, and even float around from Little Beach to the edge of Big Beach. Now years later, bringing our children to Eagle Bay we had the idea to do some easy floating down the Big Moose River.
We began by bringing tubes, life pillows, life jackets and ropes to the water's edge. We used the ropes to lie the younger or smaller tubes together to the tubes used by the older and better swimmers. That way if we got to deeper water, we would not worry about the safety of the younger children. We could always swim to shore and pull the others to shore. Besides being inside a floating tube everyone wore a life jacket. Of course, picnic supplies were mandatory, and they floated along, too. We floated, swam, followed along, and then picnicked on the shore. We did this several years in a row.
We have not done this for a long time since the lands on both sides of the Big Moose River are now posted "No Trespassing" and private property surrounds both sides of the river. It is not possible to float, if there is no entrance or exit for persons. I understand but it is a shame.
We could still float on the lake, but the river pushes you along. You get hung up on the rocks, or slide down o9n them when you push alongside. It is sort of like a natural moving ride. On the lake you just sit, rock with the waves, and stew in the sun. Not the same thing.
We have always enjoyed picking berries in the Adirondacks, mostly wild raspberries, and I would make jam or pies. I have a delicious recipe for the crust and the filling. I always cook in a tablespoon of tapioca to firm it up. I also add extra sugar if I know people like it extra sweet. It does not taste right, if you make it sour, and expect to sweeten it afterwards. It has to be sweetened just right, depending on whether the season was sunny and had just enough rain or not. Extra sugar after the pie is done will not do. and it takes a lot of picking to make a pie or enough jam. Throw in some green ones for the pectin. I have picked a lot. I don't like picking alone. I meet the bears out in the sunny fields, and they like the berries. I don't like to be surprised by some bear sitting and eating berries. When there is a group of us picking, It is not so likely we will surprise each other picking.
Another thing we do almost each summer is to find an artist fungus and draw a souvenir. These are huge
growths on dead or dying trees, white on the underside, that turn brown after a year and petrify. They keep forever. Once you draw of write onto the white underside, you display them as a memento of your summer. We have memories of each year saved at camp for us to reread ad enjoy.
Driving up from Forestport we know we are in the Adirondacks as the scent of the pines slap our senses awake. So too we leave the Adirondacks with the scent of the fungi on our fingers from carving the artist's fungus, driving down the mountain through Forestport.
Woods and wilderness. We talk about butterflies and birds, the beauty of the full grown forest, moss covered paths leading into secret caverns of cathedral growths wi8th meandering brooks to surprise us. The fantasy of living in that wonderland could not be shaken, and we reclaimed it each summer when we drove 770 miles north to Eagle Bay, New York, and spent time in the Adirondacks.
Nights we lived without TV or radio, forcing our children to hear bits of "Freckles" or "The Girls of the Limberlost". We would spend the days at the beach, swim, take hikes, find crafts to engage our time, and read. We made campfires and cooked outdoors, telling jokes and stories about the fish that got away the last fishing trip. We took our little motor boat water skiing and tubing, went sailing when the winds were strong. We floated on boat cushions and went snorkeling to a sand bar, checking to see which fish were swimming around so we would know which bait to buy for the next fishing trip.
The cold spring water in the lake just strengthened our intent to keep the stories alive, we were tougher than the "others" that stayed behind in warm water pools and did not experience this summer "camp" life. If you were a part of the ballet world, of course summer also meant some time with Anneliese's Ballet Camp on West Avenue. Her deck was a marvel, surrounded with barres so that dancers could practice outside in beautiful weather. We would perform the Adirondack Broom Dance, sweeping the deck and the n class began each day. Anneliese would sit with her boom box at the foot of the deck, reciting the combinations, while dancers performed. If there were observers they watched from inside the camp, sitting at the windows. And if it started to rain, there was a sudden rush into the studio as dancers concluded the class indoors. The neighbors on one side complained they wanted nothing to do with this interference with their summer vacation, so Anneliese put up bamboo curtains to cut off any view of the dancers. On the other side lived Blanche, and she would prepare her breakfast, sit at her window, and watch what we were doing. She was part of everything going on at the ballet camp, even the performances, either observing or as a participant. One time she rode the Exercycle in a skit, while dancers jogged past. She always wore a smile, often wore a plastic hood(because of the sudden showers in the mountains), and was a good sport.
The first time I brought my new husband to Eagle Bay, early the first morning, following a late arrival, someone knocked on the door. I thought no one knew we were there. a tiny voice spoke, "Cornelia?"
I did not know who this might be. I was confused. Again the knock. The tiny voice, announcing a surprise. I opened the door a crack, peeked out, and a hand reached in. It was Blanche with a plate. Two doughnuts fresh from the Donut Shop for our first morning in Eagle Bay.
As a child we had used car inner tubes to float on the lake, and even float around from Little Beach to the edge of Big Beach. Now years later, bringing our children to Eagle Bay we had the idea to do some easy floating down the Big Moose River.
We began by bringing tubes, life pillows, life jackets and ropes to the water's edge. We used the ropes to lie the younger or smaller tubes together to the tubes used by the older and better swimmers. That way if we got to deeper water, we would not worry about the safety of the younger children. We could always swim to shore and pull the others to shore. Besides being inside a floating tube everyone wore a life jacket. Of course, picnic supplies were mandatory, and they floated along, too. We floated, swam, followed along, and then picnicked on the shore. We did this several years in a row.
We have not done this for a long time since the lands on both sides of the Big Moose River are now posted "No Trespassing" and private property surrounds both sides of the river. It is not possible to float, if there is no entrance or exit for persons. I understand but it is a shame.
We could still float on the lake, but the river pushes you along. You get hung up on the rocks, or slide down o9n them when you push alongside. It is sort of like a natural moving ride. On the lake you just sit, rock with the waves, and stew in the sun. Not the same thing.
We have always enjoyed picking berries in the Adirondacks, mostly wild raspberries, and I would make jam or pies. I have a delicious recipe for the crust and the filling. I always cook in a tablespoon of tapioca to firm it up. I also add extra sugar if I know people like it extra sweet. It does not taste right, if you make it sour, and expect to sweeten it afterwards. It has to be sweetened just right, depending on whether the season was sunny and had just enough rain or not. Extra sugar after the pie is done will not do. and it takes a lot of picking to make a pie or enough jam. Throw in some green ones for the pectin. I have picked a lot. I don't like picking alone. I meet the bears out in the sunny fields, and they like the berries. I don't like to be surprised by some bear sitting and eating berries. When there is a group of us picking, It is not so likely we will surprise each other picking.
Another thing we do almost each summer is to find an artist fungus and draw a souvenir. These are huge
growths on dead or dying trees, white on the underside, that turn brown after a year and petrify. They keep forever. Once you draw of write onto the white underside, you display them as a memento of your summer. We have memories of each year saved at camp for us to reread ad enjoy.
Driving up from Forestport we know we are in the Adirondacks as the scent of the pines slap our senses awake. So too we leave the Adirondacks with the scent of the fungi on our fingers from carving the artist's fungus, driving down the mountain through Forestport.
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