Category: Uncategorized

We were fortunate enough to actually depart on time, no weather anomaly delays! The morning was just perfect for traveling, good temps and bright blue skies. There was no rush to get going because we could have made this journey in just one day if we had wanted to, but we elected to do an overnight in Fort Stockton, at one of our usual Walmart’s.

          Unfortunately, this route was the same exact one that we were marooned on last winter in the Great Texas Icemageddon Storm of 2021. It is fascinating how past experiences have effects on our lives today. I don’t lean the obvious, big-ticket events of our lives. My example today is this trip in particular. As I said, the weather was just fabulous, we couldn’t have asked for anything better! So, why was this trip (for me) filled with such a feeling of uneasiness?  I finally figured it out and realized that the last time that we had been on this route was when we got stranded, and then when finally rescued, had to drive all the way back in those terrifying conditions. So much so, that when we retraced this route an underlying feeling crept into my feeble brain and sat itself down, right next to the “nice” feelings that I was having presently. My problem was that the “Bad Vibes” feeling was too fat and kept pushing my “Good Feelings” off of the sofa!

          It took that whole day, and it was not until we got past the “Breakdown Ground Zero Point” did I feel any relief!

          If we had done the trip all in one shot, it would have been a long one, 9 plus hours. And it would have gotten us down into Big Bend National Park by around six PM. The problem was that we did not have a reservation for that day. We had one for the next day which was Monday.

          But that was good, that was the plan!

          That left us with plenty of time to travel, no worries, no real timetable. The following days traveling time was in the 3-hour range so that meant that we did not even have to get going the next day too early, because check-in time was 1 PM!

           This left plenty of time for Paula to make some nice Cinnamon-Swirl French Toast for breakfast and for us to sit around and wait for the Road Service Guy to arrive and fix a flat tire.

          Yup, that’s correct.

          Now, a flat tire on one of these rigs is nothing to sneeze at!

          There is no way to carry a spare tire. They are way too large, and there’s definitely nowhere to store it!

          Nor would I want to try and lift it into place!

          That would indicate that I was able to get the lug nuts off!

          As they say down here, a short distance from the Mexican Border, “No way Jose!”

          The guy (Anthony, not Jose’) showed up with his truck and the requisite tools of his trade, namely a giant pneumatic jack and an even larger pneumatic air-gun-lug-nut-remover that would have made the guys in the NASCAR pits jealous.

          Now the back story.

          Remember back to last year when we bought the Life-Boat Honda CR-V to tow behind us?

          Remember the little automatic-brake-jammer-onner system that we got installed?

          Remember that the system also came with a nifty accessory to it that allowed us to monitor the tire pressure from each tire up front in the cockpit, displayed on a tablet?

          Remember how secure I felt, knowing that I would always be protected from a malfunctioning tire by knowing in advance that something was, in fact, wrong with said tires?

          Hah!

          Was I ever wrong!

          Because it was this system, namely the Pressure Detector Sending Unit, that gets screwed onto the end of the valve stem instead of the usual cap, that caused the problem.

          How could that be? (You may ask incredulously)

          Good question!  And I am now in a position for me to supply you with the correct answer.

          The Details.

          I was sitting at our table early that morning when I heard a little ‘POP’ and felt the motorhome move a little bit. Mind you, everything can make this thing move a little bit. At the same time, I heard/felt Paula arise from her nights respite and start moving about. I chalked up the sound and movement to her waking up. End of thinking about it.

          Until…… I went outside to re-attach the Honda and do an all-around inspection before we got underway.

          The first thing that I noticed was that the right rear outside tire had broken its bead and was no longer inflated. Well, that explains that! The question was …… Why?

          I never mind when something goes wrong except for the obvious reasons like its annoying and usually results in a delay.

          What really gets me is…..  Why?

          Why did this happen?

          When you get that answer, you know how to deal with it and are usually able to understand what to do to prevent it from happening again!

          But this was strange one.

          The tires were cold, we had stopped here in our favorite Fort Stockton Walmart the day before at 4 PM. The alleged offense occurred around 7 AM, a full 15 hours after we had stopped driving, when all was good, or at least it appeared so.

          When the suspected perpetrator went “POP” I did notice (thinking back on it) that there was no release of high-pressure air, you know that loud Hissss that can be heard when pressurized air is released. This just added more quandaries to my mystery.

          Anthony was not much help in this matter, although he was more than capable of fixing our tire. Which after re-inflating we were able to check for leaks.

          Nadda, not nary a one!

          Well, that’s good…  but it left me with the more bothering question…. Why?

          I called back home to Charlie at Tire King in Sussex. That was where we bought these tires, barely 10, 000 miles ago. Alas, Charlie was on vacation, but his son Dan got on the phone with me. I relayed our dilemma, reiterating that the tire appeared to be in great shape. He said that sometimes the valve stem can leak just a tiny bit and when the pressure gets too low, it can cause the tire to pop its bead. I explained that we had checked that already, so now the mystery would continue.

          I went back outside and checked the valves again, conferring with Anthony at the same time. He agreed that if a tire lost pressure then it would definitely be able to break the bead. He also agreed that our valve stem was intact.

          We were glad at least, that we did not need to replace the tire. Not only is that expensive, but it seems that there wasn’t any of our size in that region of Texas that day. It would need to be ‘imported’ from lands beyond. I went about re-attaching the valve stem sending units to the rear tire that had been worked on. The first one (inside) was just fine. But when I went put the second one on……..

          Hissssssssss…………very slowly.

          Ah-Ha! It seems that the sending unit had developed a crack in a seam (?) and was letting air escape! I screwed it off and called Anthony over and once again, put it on.

          Same result!

          Anthony concurred (not that at that point did I need a second opinion, but it’s nice to learn something new) so we did not re-attach the offending piece of malfunctioning hardware!

          And…. I took all of his brothers and sisters off of the rest of the tires until I can speak to the Company and get some satisfaction.

          I will now be checking the pressures manually once more.

          Thankfully we were finally able to extricate ourselves from the clutches of Walmart of Fort Stockton and finish the trip down to Big Bend National Park.

          Phewf!!!

           Now we were on roads that were brand new to us! Which, if you are travelers, makes for a somewhat exciting journey. I said that these road(s) were new to us which was true. But don’t think for minute that they are new to anyone else around here. Especially if you are Comanche or Apache. These roads had their genesis as the old trails that were used so long ago.

          By now, (if you are a regular reader of this blog) you have seen countless photos shot through the usually bug-strewn front windshield. These photos are of long, straight, and virtually uninhabited roads that seem to go on forever. Another premise that I have expounded on has to do with the vastness of out here, especially Texas.

          Well, here I go again!

          The road, US 385, leaves Fort Stockton and arrives in the Big Bend area about 150 miles later and is almost as straight as the proverbial (Comanche) arrow. For those of us from the Great State of Taylor Ham and Cheese (on a roll), this is like driving from Sussex County to Beach Haven on LBI, all on one two-lane road with nothing on either side of the road as far as the eyes (with sunglasses) can see!

          Nothing as in lots of nothing.

          Except if you are a desert critter, which then you are a something, but we didn’t even see any somethings the whole 3 hours on the road!     

          So, with our earlier dilemma-delayed exodus from Fort Stockton, we were actually only somewhat late getting into our site at the Rio Grande Village RV Park. We had assumed on arriving early, but you know what assume means….

          Correct!

           It makes a late person out of me,

          And an informed reader out of you!

          I could use many different  adjectives to describe the vastness of this Park, all of which would be for naught, so I will just tell you that it was 50 Miles from the Park Entrance down to our site in the RV Park.        

Need I say more?

          And “village” is a very generous name for this place. It has the Campground and the Store. This is where you check in, get some souvenirs, and more importantly (as it seems around here) also procure your essential’s, as in cold beer!

          It’s a good thing we stocked up on our milk supply before we entered No-Man’s Land down here because I’m not sure that I’d trust how fresh it may be!

          We are off the grid until we get back to Fort Stockton.

          Yes, that is correct. I will not be able to publish this until we return to some kind of civilization. There is no service down here and why should there be? With a lot of nothings around and the somethings not needing modern communication apparatus, it would be waste of resources to install a system.

          If we really needed to get a hold of someone, Mr. Drucker up at the General Store said that we could come in and he’d ring up Gladys and she’d patch a call into wherever we needed.

          It’s quiet down here.

Tomorrow we start a trip to Big Bend National Park which is way down by Mexico and derives it’s name from the big bend in the Rio Grande River that makes up its southern border (with Mexico). We have been here at the THB, (Texas Home Base) for exactly a month now. We did not intend to stay rooted for this long, especially in the Hot-as-Hell, Still Hanging Around, Texas Summer! But there were numerous doctor’s appointments that led to other appointments, that led to a few procedures, you know how it goes! Anyway, we used the time to improve our site here, pictures to follow, and to help out Danny with some campaigning and attend the County Fair. Here’s the rest of it!

Next post will be from somewhere in the Texas Desert. We’ve heard incredible things about Big Bend National Park and will report summarily.

Thanks, for reading!

Dateline: Rayville, Louisiana, (Walmart Parking Lot)

          A new long-distance record was shattered last Friday! While not necessarily attempting such a feat, the Dynamic Driving Duo of Paula and Don managed to jam 807 miles into their day. Departing an unknown Rest Area on Interstate 81 just south of Roanoke, Virginia, they forged their way through seven states and finally came to rest in the sprawling metropolis of Rayville, Louisiana (pop. 3695), just off of Interstate 20. This was a new route for the Duo, having finally had their fill of the infamous Interstate 10 and its Gator-Filled Wild Swamp Ride and the Six Flags-like Houston Destruction Zone Adventure. The previous record was 689 miles from Texas into Iowa. This accomplishment was attained by constantly driving and not even stopping for the usual necessities.         

          Being able to attend to these ‘necessities’ while not being utilized in the Pilot capacity is facilitated by the fact that, like a turtle, they carry their homes on their proverbial backs. So, one would partake of these activities while leisurely being the Co-Pilot. They did pull into rest areas just long enough to switch drivers and then zoom (?) back onto the Interstate leaving Bewildered Rest Area Onlookers gasping in amazement. Rumor has it that they are practicing an even faster DRM (Driver Replacement Maneuver), where Driver A sets the Cruise Control and stands up while Driver B slides in behind Driver A, sits down, and accepts control while Driver A exits to their right, which completes the DRM.

          So far this highly questionable maneuver has only been attempted in their dreams.

          The hasty exit from New Jersey was, unfortunately, not hasty enough. Many lessons were learned from the Great Texas Ice Storm of this past Winter. So, when (or as usual) a Meteorological Anomaly left them with no choice but to spend an extra day in Ortley Beach, they took it in stride and spent the day with Carol and Glenn, Paula’s cousins. A furious round of Mexican-Train Dominoes ensued. Curiously, Ortley Beach was Ground Zero for Superstorm Sandy back in 2012. But this time all that was encountered was a nice day and a few thunderstorms at night. The next day the Duo hastened to sneak out behind the departing Ida (as in Ida-Wanna-Be-Here) and had clear sailing all the way back to Texas.

          They arrived in Texas in time for Madison’s 5th Birthday and will probably exit as quickly as they arrived because the Texas Summer is still in full swing. With the feels-like temps hovering between 105 and 110 they will be seeking something a little bit cooler, say, someplace like Hell.

As that great group from Paterson , New Jersey, The Happenings, sang in 1966….

          “See you in September, see you… when the summers though….”

          Well, that’s what our friends and families to the left of the Mississippi are hearing as we get close to Embarkation Day, when we set sail for parts West.

           It’s been a great summer, and as usual, it went by far quicker than anyone realized. There are folks that we still wanted to get together with, but for whatever reason, that opportunity did not present itself.

          Our goal is to reach Texas by September 7^th, Maddie’s 5^th birthday. After that, we are not sure. We’ve made a few doctors’ appointments in September and depending on how long the hot, humid, yucky, Texas summer days hang around, we will be searching for cooler climes for a while.

          The usual suspects are all in the line-up of possibilities. Durango and Santa Fe the top destinations. Both can get warm, but at an average elevation of 7000’, the humidity is ultra-low, and the temps moderate quickly. We will be in Durango, Colorado later in the fall as the proprietors of Tomboy Farm are going on vacation to Eastern Europe and desire us to farm-sit for a spell.

          With three goats, two cats, and a myriad of chickens to tend to, I can assure you that there will be many a post with critters as the subject. All we can hope for is that we don’t have one about the dreaded Chicken Hemorrhoid!

          Our travels East commenced in mid-June and included stops in Tennessee, Maryland, Vermont, Maine, Virginia, and Massachusetts. Our “campsites “ in New jersey were all within a mile radius of the Chatterbox corner. Our summertime hosts were John and Diane in Lafayette, Steph and Ed in Wantage,  Ben and Jan at Ideal Farms and Tommy and his crew at Yetter’s Diner. We could not have asked for a better bunch of folks for us and our ‘house on wheels’ to descend on. Each one truly welcomed us and wanted us to stay as long as we wanted or needed to. It makes coming home a lot nicer when everyone is so welcoming!

          On one hand, it will be hard to leave our real home and everyone here. But on the other hand, I received a call from Willie, he needs someone to help him sing “On the road again, just can’t wait to get on the road again….” We all know that it won’t be me sharing the mic with him, but I can run his sound system, but anyway, The Further Adventures of Paula and Don,  (just like any other renewed series), awaits their highly anticipated second season.

          And while the regular cast-members are already signed up, our only problem is that Bonnie, our Fugitive Parsley Plant, is holding out for more Miracle-Gro in her contract negotiations.

          As we like to say in the biz…..

          “Stay tuned for further developments. Film at eleven.”

As we travel around the Country I am constantly amazed at how the journey has provided as much, if not more, satisfying surprises than the destination.

          Who would have guessed that we could have walked to the Buddy Holly crash site from our destination of Winnebago Headquarters in Iowa, or on our way south from Mount Rushmore, we were able to stop at Wounded Knee, the significant site of a terribly unfortunate incident in our ever-evolving history of living side-by-side with our Native American friends?

          Again, Journey vs. Destination.

          That brings me to today’s amalgamation of past journeys and destinations.

          Destination: Vermont

          Journey: New York State Thruway

          For the past 38 years or so I have traveled on this road on the way to Vermont. The destinations vary, Stratton Mountain, where all the kids learned to ski, courtesy of my friend Elaine, whose family has had a house since the early Eighties. Killington, where my friend Glenn and I would drive up just for the day to ski (and be the first people on the lift-line!)  Stowe, where Donny and Hilary started their careers and Augustus was born.  And Dover, the home of Paula’s sister and where her family had a house for years at Mount Snow.

          The journey was always the same, up the NYS Thruway and then through Albany, with it’s magnificent State Buildings that seem just a little more grandiose than most.

          Hey, it’s not called the Empire State for nothing!

          One of the things that I like about this particular roadway is its views of the Shawangunk Mountains (where if you know the precise place on the Thruway you can glimpse the Tower at Mohonk Mountain House in a fortuitous break in the trees along the highway) and of course the Catskills, home to Woodstock and the wonderfully nostalgic Borscht Belt resorts of the mid-twentieth century.

          It is also the setting for the aptly named mid-nineteenth century art movement, The Hudson River School. You may not know its name, but I’m sure that you’ve seen examples of it. I don’t know why, but I’ve always been drawn to this style of art and its paintings. Maybe it’s because of the detail on then canvas, or the way the artist used the sunlight, or maybe even because I was familiar with the environs and subject matter.

          Who knows?

          All I know is that I’ve always wanted to see as many examples of this style as I could.

          Enter the New York State Capital Region Visitors Center. This is a relatively new structure built on the northbound side of the Thruway, just south of Albany and adjacent to the New Baltimore Service Area. It is a convenient place to stop going north. It’s new, the restrooms nice, its not crowded and they do a good job of promoting the sights of the Region using displays and multi-media.

          Grinding to halt on my way to the restroom, I was mesmerized by one display showing the Albany Institute of History and Art. There, right before my eyes was the Holy Grail of the Hudson River School!

           A collection that rivaled by no other!

          A collection that fit because it was home!

          A collection that was nearby!

          But alas, it may as well have been a thousand mile away.

          Always traveling with the destination as the reason for driving from one place to another left little time for side-shows.

          Rule #1 – One pee-stop only!

          Rule #2 – Always try and break the Here-to-There Elapsed Time Record!

          No time for dilly-dallying!

          The traveling times would also need to coincide with the hours of the Museum and/or one would need to build in the time on the travel side so as not to interfere with the approved Destination Estimated Time of Arrival.

          Until yesterday.

          We left Dover mid-morning and had ample time to do whatever we wanted, for two reasons:

          #1 – We had nothing else on the schedule for the day

          #2 – We’re Retired!

          The Albany Institute for History and Art has been in existence since 1791, making it one of the oldest museums in the Country. Its names have somewhat  morphed through the years, but its purpose has not. It exists to display, catalog, and preserve the Art and History of that region of New York State. It seems do this nicely and at the same time offer a site for rotating exhibits that travel the Country. Starting next month there will be a sixty-piece exhibit on the art of the Wyeth’s. The Wyeth’s are considered the First family of American Art. More on this later.

          As we pulled off of the 787 loop and into the heart of Albany, all seemed a little too tranquil. Maybe because it was a Friday in August or maybe it was because their Governor just got the ax, but anyway, it was a pleasure driving the streets of this major city….. alone!

          The museum has its own parking lot, which surprisingly, was free. We walked in and there were only three other folks in front of us, a group of elderly ladies who seemed to be there for the same reason as we were. Admission was half-price because they were between exhibits, getting ready for the previously mentioned Wyeth Exhibit and one on period clothing of the nineteenth century. So, for the grand sum of eight dollars, (in total and Senior Discount included!) we entered and proceeded to the third floor where the Hudson River School had its permanent display.

          On the way we passed through an older part of the complex, one with those kinds of stairways that you seem to find only in museums.

And then through an exhibit on the New York Central Railroad. Seeing how travel was before the airplane took over made one yearn for those days. Dining Cars with elegant table settings, Sleeper Cars just as nicely appointed, and Lounge Cars designed with moveable deep-cushioned living room type chairs so they could be arranged for fun and conversation.

          Ahh… to be back then!

          And the advertising posters and ads! I don’t know about you, but there is something about that Art-Deco style that just give me goosebumps!

          Eventually we entered the gallery that was the home to The Hudson River School. It was very large and spacious which made it easy to be able to stand back and admire the work in the way it was intended to be viewed, but at the same time we were able to get within inches of it and scrutinize the techniques of these artists.

          The Hudson River School was started in the mid-nineteenth century by Thomas Cole. Fortunately, there were several of his paintings on display here at the museum.

           When it became obvious (back then, when Cole’s paintings started to sell rapidly out of a New York City gallery) that this was a style of  art that could be commercially successful, a handful of other artists started painting this way. In reality, this style is an off-shoot of the plein-air style which was gaining in popularity. All of the various new modes of transportation helped artists get out into country previously difficult to travel to. This was also one of the reasons for its popularity, it enabled folks to have beautiful scenic paintings of far-away place in their homes.

          One of the other things that the Institute is known for are  their Mummies. In the early 1900’s as travel abroad became somewhat easier, several artifacts of Egyptian Antiquity were acquired by the Institute. No grave robbing here! These artifacts were made available by the Egyptian authorities to bona-fide educational organizations. They have been, over the years, one of the top reasons for visiting here and one can see why. The displays are first-rate, with detailed explanations that don’t bore you to death!

          So now I’m back to the Journey vs. Destination quandary.

          I alluded to the Wyeth Exhibit coming next month.

          We won’t be here.

          I LOVE Andrew Wyeth’s work!

          Is a return trip in the offing?

          We shall see……

I watched as the guy driving the John Deere Gator came bouncing across the field towards me. I slowed my borrowed mower down and eventually turned it off as it was obvious that he was intent on talking to me. The guy stepped off the Gator with a bungee cord in his hand, came over to the mower, and lifted the safety chute up, bungeed it open and said to me, “It won’t clog up as fast now.”

          All I said was, “You must be Ben.” And as the saying goes, “The rest is history.”

          It was Saturday, April 19 of 2003 when I first met Ben Jorritsma of Ideal Farms in Augusta, New Jersey. I was mowing the aforementioned field next to Sonny’s Drive-In, which was, in two weeks, going to become The Chatterbox. Sonny had scheduled a car show for what was going to be our first weekend of business and I knew that if I waited until then to mow, that it would be a debacle trying to hack through what would have been essentially a hayfield by then.

          Hence the pre-emptive strike on all of those blades of grass.

          Little did I know that mowing that field would become one of my favorite pastimes in my entire life, but more on that later.

          Having Ben and Jan Jorritsma and their family-owned business, Ideal Farm Garden Center as our neighbor, was one of the highlights of our fifteen years in business at Ross’s Corner. We were right next to, and across the street from Ideal. In  fact, our common property lines were the boundaries between Lafayette and Frankford Township. To both of us, that boundary was non-existent.

          It is kind of strange how two business, so different from each other, can come to rely on, lean on, and totally depend on each other whenever we needed each other.

          Ours was a wonderful symbiotic relationship if there ever was one.

          How and why, you may ask?

          The answer was simple, but the bottom line is that we were both family-owned business that watched each other work like crazy to fulfil the niche that we had created for ourselves.

          To start, we both had card-blanche run of each other’s places of business. There were times when I needed a tool (or whatever), and all I needed to do was walk over to the big red machinist building, walk through the doors, and borrow said tool or even bring whatever needed repair over there to be worked on. In return, Ben and his crew could walk into the Chatterbox, coolers in hand, and fill up their needs from our beloved Ice Machine (which now sits proudly over at Ideal Farms continuing its legacy).

          Doing one’s own repairs is essential to both of our businesses. Not that we didn’t need the pros from time to time but calling them all the time would probably bankrupt us. One morning I was trying my best to work on our stalwart dishwasher and for the life of me (and the giant pipe wrenches in hand) I couldn’t get a fitting loose. In despair (because I didn’t like to bother Ben unnecessarily) I called him and asked if he could drop by for a minute. In a little while Ben marched through the back kitchen door, took one look at me and my dilemma, took the wrenches from me, put them down, then using his hands, grabbed the pipe and in about 6 seconds had my fitting apart. I received that patented Ben Jorritsma Smile, and another patented quote, “Call me if you need me!” and out the door he went.

          I don’t care how much you can bench press, there is nothing stronger than “Farmer Strong”!

          In return for all the practical favors, we would provide them with what we did best, food! We prepared all of their lunches, no charge, during the crazy Pumpkin Season and the just-slightly-less-crazy Christmas Tree Season. I would come up with a menu at the beginning of the season for the four weeks ahead, both Saturday and Sunday. At about 11:30 AM, just as we opened and before we became overrun with “Pickers” ourselves, we delivered roughly twenty sandwiches (or portions of whatever was on the menu that day), over to the main building where they were distributed to all of the workers. Those folks barely had time to breathe never mind stop for food!

          Pumpkin Season was particularly intense. The hayrides took customers past humorous ‘graveyards’  on the way to ‘Pumpkin Hollow’ to pick out their pumpkins and then tons of them came across the street to us for the rest of their tradition. Most were from “Down Below” as we affectionally called anywhere south of us. Throngs out of Bergen and Morris Counties made their annual pilgrimages ‘Up Country’ to our little corner, had a grand time, and wished us both well.

           A “See you next year!” was all the thanks we needed.

          A collective sigh could be heard from both sides of the road when the onslaught was finally over at the end of the season and our coffers were, hopefully,(depending on the weather!) full. This was what helped get us through the Dark Times……. The Dreaded Winter!

          During the summer, when the tomatoes were ready, I would make daily trips across the street to procure those red, ripe, softball sized examples of what all the world knows as the epitome of greatness, The Jersey Tomato! We even had special signs on our tables letting all know that these delectable slices of heaven came from across the street and Ideal Farm. Ben also supplied us with our GIANT pumpkin at the beginning of October for our Guess the Weight of the Pumpkin contest.

          You can’t believe what some of the guesses were!

          Leaving our friends at Ross’s Corner was one of the hardest parts when it came to selling the Chatterbox and leaving the area. I’m sure that its not quite the same for both of us.

          But the legend lives on at Ideal Farm and Garden Center because they purchased the Very Formidable Ice Machine and my most favorite lawn mower ever! I gave them instructions in Ice Machine Etiquette, which means I showed them how to bang on the side of it to loosen the ice stuck up in the top and other various ‘dos and don’ts’ of the ice-making world. They now don’t know how they survived before without one!

          As for my Lawnmower Extraordinaire, I have been able to use it as of late because we are parked, nestled behind the greenhouses and parked at Ideal Farm Garden Center and RV Resort!

          We have all the best of anything that we could want.

          Great produce,

          Fresh eggs,

          Tons of privacy,

          Goats, chickens, and ducks as our neighbors,

          And……  a wonderfully level grassy spot to park our own giant pumpkin, the motorhome!

          And we all know what level grassy spots need….

          Mowing!

          I get to mow our spot and as much of Ideal Farms property as I want!

          With my old mower!

          Eyeing my baby sitting in her special hanger, my pulse quickened. I slowly slid into the seat. Déjà vu took over and it was like I never got off of it.

           I sat in the cockpit, reached for the controls and…..  it all fell back into place. Little throttle, full choke, work the throttle, and then Vrooom!

          She roared into life!

          Carefully backing out of her hanger, I taxied into position and then, saluting the Catapult Officer as he shot me down the deck, I was on my way to Lawn-Mowing Nirvana again!

          Upon reaching cruising altitude, I throttled back a bit, engaged the PTO, the blades whirled to life as I inched the throttle back to full and set course for the Level Area.

          Being the mechanic that he is, Ben has my old baby running perfectly and I’m sure that he sharpens the blades more frequently than I did, so it makes beautiful passes back and forth like in Yankee Stadium!

          Life is good.

          Here we are experiencing a wonderful time in Beach Haven, New Jersey. A town on Long Beach Island which is, in reality, an eighteen-mile-long sand bar. Just ask anyone who survived Superstorm Sandy.

          Or, in regional Jersey parlance, we are at a grammatically incorrect locale simply called, “down the shore.”

          Not “down at the shore.”

          Not “at the beach.”

          Not “by the ocean.”

          Just “down the shore” and it fits just fine, thank-you.

          You need to be from New Jersey, specifically northern Jersey, to really get this, but we will forgive you if you are not from these parts.

          Just don’t mock our colloquial ways of speaking!

          New Jersey may be one of those places that you love to hate, can’t wait to leave, and at the same time, can’t get enough of. It is one of those proverbial places that are a “state-of-mind.”

          My daughter, Lorelyn (the one in Colorado and who will never move back) holds onto her Jerseyana-isms like they were precious heirlooms, which in her mind, they are. She has two tee-shirts that she wears out there. The first has ‘Welcome to New Jersey, now get out!’ emblazoned on it. The second says, ‘New Jersey, only the strong survive’. Someone once asked her about it and her reply was, “If I have to explain it, you can’t get it.”

          Going ‘down the shore’ has been a family ritual ever since my grandparents bought a house right on the bay in Beach Haven West. I spent as much time as possible there when I was a kid. A kid that was (and still is) enamored with life down here, especially if that life were to somehow have a boat entwined in it. Back then, there were no age restrictions for operating a small, private motor vessel, so here I was in Fifth Grade with my very own fourteen-foot boat with a three horsepower Johnson outboard firmly affixed to the transom.

           Talk about young-boy nirvana!

          I loved that motor so much that on the days that it wasn’t in use (rainy) I would spend as much time with it as I could wiping it down and polishing it with my special cloth.

          But that was 56 years ago.

          This is 2021 and…… nothing has changed.

          I was fortunate enough to go on a boat ride yesterday.

          Not just any boat ride. A boat ride in and around my old bay-side stomping grounds, or ‘waters’ if you prefer.

          Again…… nothing has changed.

          Thankfully!

          The face-full of spray from the bow plowing into the wake of a passing fellow boater, the wind giving you the much envied ‘boat hair’ look, and the familiarity of the channel markers and back-street lagoons made for a much-needed time-machine experience.

          We are down here for a week due to the generosity of my sister Kathy, and her husband Denny. They rent a house here every summer for a week and invite us to tag along.

          Not only us, but their three daughters and their respective families, and my daughter, Heather, and her family.

          All together we have seventeen peeps living under this roof, all very comfortably because the house is one of those old Victorian places from the turn of the century. Constructed of local oak, harvested from over in the Pine Barrens, it is as strong and permanent as it possibly can be.

          And large.

          Not just regular large, I mean big large!

          The kind of large that has a full third floor, (not a re-constructed attic) complete with bath up there. All in all, there are 151 bedrooms and 126 bathrooms (or something like that, I’ve lost count!) in this place.

          Anyway, you get the idea.

          We are very comfortable and having a great time.

          Especially for us. Travelling around in the motorhome does not lend itself to spending a lot of time with family. So, this kind of time is, in every sense of the word, priceless.

          I am pausing the writing process for a while because the kids came downstairs and are headed to the beach to watch the sunrise. It’s a tad cloudy out and it all depends on what is sitting on the horizon. When Heather came downstairs a little while ago she asked me (the meteorologist-soothsayer) if it was still a go. I gave her the thumbs-up because when I got up earlier I could see some stars, so I hope that it’s still good enough for viewing. Otherwise, there will be some cranky teenagers stalking the halls later!

          Sunrise Report upon return.

          (Pause for Sunrise Expedition)

          Success!

          Walking up to the beach my expectations were diminished substantially, but like I said before, it all depends on what is sitting on the horizon. Luckily, when the first arc of that nature-nourishing orb poked its head up and peeked over in our direction there were just a few clouds arranged there for dramatic effect.

          “Ta-Da”!!!

          Never underestimate the power of a well-placed cloud!

          Our activities down here tend to fall into a routine of sorts. That is, if something that is done annually can be classified as a routine!

          Each family unit is responsible for a dinner which makes that time of day either very relaxing or very hectic, depending on one’s status of the day. The days/meals run the gamut from grilled chicken and steak to tacos. Our contribution to this annual Festival of Feasts is BBQ’d baby-back ribs with a side of fresh scallops.

          I believe that a word on the scallops would be appropriate here.

          Luckily for us, the best scallops on the planet seem to live off of the Jersey coast and are harvested daily and landed at the fishing port of Barnegat Light. It is there that we procure these delectable morsels of delight, as fresh as can be, and just dying to be sacrificed to the Pan-Searing gods for our pleasure.

          Some of the other rituals that take place annually include boating, outings to the Mini-Golf course, a visit to Barnegat Lighthouse, a night at Fantasy Island Amusement Park, and of course the almost daily excursion to the sand. Sometimes (mostly) a brave member of our troupe volunteers to forge  ahead and stake out a claim of sorts, so that there is ample space for all of us to together in a compound, never to be invaded by the infidels.

          A week never seems to be enough time. By the time you settle in and then make sure that you cover all of the ‘Tradition’ activity bases, it’s time to start packing up again to go home.

          Until next year.

          When we get back here next summer, it will all be the same.

          Thankfully.

          Except we will all be a year older. The younger kids will have grown substantially, the teens will have matured a bit more, and us older folks will be trying our best not to let time slow us down too much.

          Hopefully we will be successful!

Ahh…. Maine in the Summer…..

          Warm days…

          Cool nights…

          Gorgeous lakes…

          Incredible shorelines….

          (Mosquitos!)…..

          And of course……

          Bah Haba and Lobsta!

          Or, if you are not from around these here parts where, “Ya can’t theah from heah”, you would pronounce it, ‘Bar Harbor’ and ‘Lobster’.    And to be fair, there are places in Maine (it would seem) that ‘you can’t get there from here’ because there is only one major road in Maine and that’s Interstate 95 and its cousins. After that, there are 14 billion side roads, none of which are straight.                                                               But that just adds to the adventure!

          Our campsite for this leg of the “Great Northeastern Road Expedition” was The Birches Campground on Cobbosseecontee Lake.

          Yes, that is correct. I’m not even going to tell you all the rest of the lakes and rivers names. By comparison, this one was easy to pronounce.

          Our site here was apparently something special, and in fact, was.

          My first hint should have been when I made the reservation several months ago. The lady on the other end of the line that helped me, said,

          “Oh my, R-20 appears to be available!”

          “Is that good?” I asked.

          “Yes it is! It is one of our most requested sites.”

          “Well, alrighty then! Let’s book it! Is it any more expensive than the other comparable sites?”

          “Nope, all the same.”

          The second hint came when we checked in at the Guardhouse when we arrived. We pulled up to the gate and the nice young lady opened her window and welcomed us. I gave her my name and when she looked at her check-in sheet and then back up at me, there was a chorus of angelic voices that came out of nowhere, accompanied by a heavenly beam of sunshine that fell upon her starry-faced countenance as she proclaimed, “You’re in R-20!!!”

          “Uhh, yea, so I’ve been told. Well thank-you,” I replied as she handed me the map of the Campgrounds with our site indicated on it.

          “Please proceed to the office in the store, they’ll complete your check-in.”

          Another nod of affirmation from me and we were on our way to the office.

          We pulled up in front and I went to the counter. The lady behind it said, “You must be Don Hall”. I said something that I thought was funny, like, “You must have a crystal ball” or something like that.

          She smiled and replied, “No sir, just this here radio!” as she held up her hand to reveal her two-way communication device used with the Guard House. Smiling again and checking her roster she said with a respectful whisper, “You’re in R-20.”

          By now my highly tuned instincts have deduced that there must be something special about site R-20. They were confirmed as ‘Lady Behind the Counter’ shouted to her fellow workers, “THESE GUYS HAVE R-20!”

          Desk Lady called out on her radio, “Escort needed at check -in.”

          “Someone will be right here to lead you to your site, sir.”  She proceeded to go over some basic rules and regulations as we waited for our escort.

          We were led nicely through this wonderfully kept campground. It was apparent that most of the sites were occupied by full-season renters, and many of those had obviously been here for years upon years because, you can’t make that many improvements to a site in just one season! There were rock walls, storage sheds, comfortable decks with screened-in sections, and a myriad of beautiful perennial flowers and shrubs to accent their particular sites.

          We were led all the way through the campground right to the front, right next to the unpronounceable lake.

          The only site on the lake!

          Our escort indicated our site with his arms and hands as if he were guiding a jet into a gate at the airport. He saluted and drove away.

          As soon as we settled into the site and proceeded to hook everything up, the lady next door, (an obvious “full-timer”) came out of her abode in a housedress and began explaining why we shouldn’t park our car where we had put it, and then went on to ask, “How’d you get R-20? Only a few folks get this one, it’s sold-out seasons in advance!”

          I just said, “Beginner’s luck I guess!” and went about the tasks of the final stages of making sure all was secure with the hook-ups.

          After finishing everything up, we had a chance to really appreciate where we were. Looking around we realized that we were the only site right on the lake and since our “Entertaining Side” (the side with the door and big awning) was on the lake side, we came to see how private this site was. No sharing of that side with anyone but the fishes and loons on the lake.

          We truly had happened upon a slice of Heaven in Maine!

          We were in Maine to visit Paula’s son, Brian, and his wife April, and her two kids, Jay and Stella. Brian and April live in a house that was built in the 1700’s and has been added on to, and modified, ever since. Brian is a Master Electrician so his ‘Tradesman Skills’ have come in handy as they are completely renovating their home along with caring for a gazillion chickens and other kinds of domesticated fowl that provide one and all with delicious eggs! They also have a prodigious garden whose surplus gets canned and stored for the long, cold, Maine winter!

          We were also going to do some sightseeing and determined that the best day for an excursion to the Coast and Acadia National Park would be on Thursday. So fore-armed with this information, Brain and April took that day off so they could accompany us. In preparing for the trip, it seems that the road to the top of Cadillac Mountain in Acadia is so popular that you need to reserve a time slot in order to go up there. Ours was from 9:30 to 10:00 AM. It provides a 360-degree panorama of the surrounding, bays and islands that is something to behold!

          Or so we were told.

Because when we arrived and started to drive to the 1500’ summit, we encountered clouds at 1400’ so that meant that we were ‘fogged in’ at the top.

          Oh well….

          We were able to get some nifty views from the pull-offs on the road on on our way back down. There is always next time!

          We worked our way around Mount Desert Island, which has most of the action when it comes to the Park, including the quaint little town of Bar Harbor. We decided that even though it was only 10:30 in the morning, that we would stop and get lunch before the crowds showed up. We had started our day on the early side because the drive to Acadia was about two and a half hours, so we commenced our sojourn around 6 AM (with no breakfast) and were getting a tad hungry.

          Apparently every other person in the Park, B&B, cruise ship, and hotel had the same idea. There was not even one slot to pull into in the entire town!

          I’m afraid to think what it looked like as the day progressed!

          So, back onto the Park Loop Road that circumnavigated the island. It is gorgeous and it is easy to see how and why this place is so popular, even back before the turn of the century, before it gained recognition as a local park and then was elevated to National Park status, the first National Park in the East!

          There were the usual ‘Industrial Tycoons’ that made these environs their summer homes and vacation destinations. Not the least of which was John D. Rockefeller Jr. who had the resources to “put his money where his mouth was” and decided that some nice carriage roads and bridges, worked deftly into the surrounding landscapes, would be a nice way to experience this area. Not only did he provide all the funds for the roads and bridges, but he also personally helped design and build these structures. He even took the time to learn the names of the workers that were constructing everything. One can still enjoy a fine carriage ride on these winding paths through the forests and seaside cliffs of Acadia National Park.

          Since we were not able to procure any vittles and libations in Bar Harbor we decided to delve into our Emergency Cheese Stick and Potato Chip Supply for a snack to hold us over until we got back on the mainland and down to Belfast. Belfast is one of Maine’s largest ports and has the requisite seafood restaurants to prove it. We dined at The Nautilus, (no… NOT the gym!) on the deck overlooking the harbor. The weather was perfect and so was our fare. Lobster Mac’n Cheese, Lobster Roll, Lobster Grilled Cheese, and Lobster Beer (only kidding, but you get my drift) were just a few items that we enjoyed that afternoon.

          Before we arrived in Belfast, we made a quick stop in Searsport so that I could run into BlueJacket Model Ships and pick up a few things. As you may imagine, this was a nirvana of sorts for me!

After lunch, April went to one of the cute stores that seem to proliferate along and in, these coastal towns, such as, Camden, Rockland, Boothbay Harbor, and of course, Bar Harbor (if you can get there!). April needed some kind of special wool for a project she was working on. Her cable-knit sweaters are works of art and get only the best wool in them!

          Back at Brian and April’s house we bid all farewell, as this was our last full day in Maine. The next morning, we left for Vermont and visit to Paula’s sister, Barbara, for a few days before returning to New Jersey, the Northeastern Home Port.

My goal when venturing into a region that I have previously not been exposed to is to try and get as much information as possible and to do that I try and find a source that has the most credibility.

          In Gloucester, Massachusetts, home of the oldest fishing fleet in North America, my goal was far surpassed when I chanced upon Harold Burnham and his schooner Ardelle.

          When it came to taking the fam on a cruise in Gloucester Harbor well, it didn’t get any better than Harold and his boat. While I am sure that there are other very nice enterprises out there that can provide one with a memorable experience, I am equally sure that very few, (none!) that has the heritage and knowledge of Harold Burnham, Master Shipwright, and multi-generational wooden ship builder.

          Harold built the Ardelle along with other classic Gloucester fishing schooners in the next town over, Essex. Essex has been the site of a plethora of shipyards since the 1600’s so that line runs deep and true when it comes to the building of traditional (read seaworthy!) Gloucester sailing vessels.

          Upon our arrival at the docks of  Maritime Gloucester, we were heartily greeted by Harold and K.D. his “First Mate” of sorts. K.D. holds a Master’s License for up to 50 GWT (Gross Weight Tons) ships and needs a few more “days” of sailing to get her Sailing (wind-powered) Endorsement on her license. Harold is her “instructor” and can sign off on her logbook of experience. When she has the required number of days, she will be eligible for the Coast Guard exam. From the looks of things, she will have no problems passing with the proverbial ”Flying Colors”, a term which coincidentally, has a nautical genesis to it. Back in the day, when ships went to sea for battle, they would return to port with their flags flying to indicate a successful voyage and lowered if they had been defeated. Hence the term ‘Flying Colors“ has been used to describe something that has been completed very successfully!

          K.D. took charge of the embarkation and skillfully backed us out of the berth and into the harbor with one long blast on the horn indicating “getting underway”, followed by three short blasts (backing up). A small pleasure power boat apparently did not understand the meaning of the signals and while there was no danger, probably should have “gave way” and let us proceed first.

          No worries, all part of the learning process.

          Once we had cleared the dock area K.D. turned the helm over to Harold and enlisted the help of the “crew”, namely Augustus, Adelaide, and Eleanor in hoisting the jib and sails. The kids are starting sailing lessons at the Manchester-by-the-Sea Yacht Club in a few days, and I told Harold to “put them to work”! Donny and Hilary also joined in and soon the sails were catching the steady breeze out in the harbor.

          While K.D. and the “Maties” were engaged in the hoisting of the sails, Harold greeted and shouted salutations to practically every boat that we passed. It seems that Harold is about as well known around here as anyone can be. In fact, he built (or owned) any number of the vessels that we passed, each with a story unto itself.

          Our voyage was steady and relatively calm, much to the satisfaction of those on board that suffer from a possible case of motion distress. On our way out, K.D. engaged her ‘crew’ with a lesson in knots and had each one successfully tie a “Daisey Chain” which keeps a long line neat and tidy while allowing you to un-do it with just one pull on the bitter end, kind of a disappearing knot as it were.

          We had watched the weather forecasts all week long hoping for promising conditions for this outing. The Weather Idiots had the day not looking good at all and we kind of inched our way through the week, checking the forecast as we went along. Luckily, the Maritime Gods, namely King Neptune and his Court, smiled favorably on us and we had perfect weather for sailing. The lesson here is to not pay any attention to the Prognosticators of Doom and just go about your plans!

          The weather was so good that we passed the end of the harbor jetty and out into the open ocean until we rounded the Queen Ann’s Cow buoy, (a local term) named because the sound that it gives off is not unlike the mooing of a cow. This is accomplished by a bellows arrangement inside the buoy that rise and falls with the action of the waves.

           It sounded very content. 😊

          On our return to the harbor proper, a seagull alighted upon the shoulder of K.D.

          This was “Mooch” a friend of theirs that has an affinity for Cheese Doodles which K.D. was more than happy to provide. Seagulls are very opportunistic eaters, which was very well illustrated by his presence on the Ardelle. When some of their friends and acquaintances suggested that they may want to feed Mooch some thing a little more nutritious, Mooch promptly rebelled.

          So, Cheese Doodles it is!

          As we got close to port, we passed Ten-Pound Light which was familiar to me from the movie “The Perfect Storm”. Ten Pound Island was the home of Winslow Homer, as a lighthouse-keeper, and you can see the replication of the rocks and environs in some of his art.

          K.D skillfully guided us back to our berth with Harold giving helpful suggestions along the way, such as, the best way to utilize a spring line in bringing the boat in and snugging it up to the dock.

          Fond farewells were exchanged and Harold and K.D. mentioned that they don’t remember ever having a better-behaved group of kids on their boat, a nice compliment indeed.

          So, when you come to Cape Ann, look no further than the Ardelle and Harold, et al, to provide you with a wonderful nautical experience on the waters of historic Gloucester, Massachusetts.

          And say Hi! to Mooch for us!

I remember it well.

          Halloween, 1991, the date of the Perfect Storm.

          My Grandmother had a house on the bay in Beach Haven West on the Jersey Shore, and to me, the weather at the shore was more important than the weather at home.

          Cleaning up after a “Big One” was always a challenge. And besides, my boat, Daydream Believer, (I love The Monkees!) was  innocently wintering on the side of the house, hopefully high enough to prevent her from floating down the street!

          All ended ok, just the usual post-storm clean and fix-up needed.

          Fast forward nine years to June of 2000.

          Sebastian Junger’s best-selling book, The Perfect Storm, was made into a movie and released.

          I was there on Opening Day and even got the movie poster from the lobby! I guess that there was something about both the story and my connection to storms along the East Coast that drew me in. I was not disappointed and promptly fell in love with Gloucester, Massachusetts, which was the home port of the Andrea Gail, the sword fishing boat that was the main storyline in the book.

          I really wanted to visit there and see for myself the place where her trip began.

          Fast-forward another twenty-one years and here we are, just a stone’s throw away from the port of Gloucester, the oldest fishing port in the United States. The fishing industry started here in the 1600’s and has been a mainstay of the area ever since. I can still taste the Gorton’s of Gloucester Fish Sticks that my mom made us every Friday when we were kids!

          We are here at the Cape Ann Campsites for about a week visiting with my son Donny and his family. Donny, Hilary, Augustus, Adelaide and Eleanor, along with Mali the dog, and eight new baby chickens have been living here for about two weeks now, having just purchased their first home in Manchester-by-the Sea, one of the three main towns on Cape Ann. The other two are the aforementioned Gloucester, and the other is Rockport, which is situated out on the easternmost tip of Cape Ann.

          The connection to the sea in these environs is so strong that you can taste it! Which we did on our first night here. Donny brought us to Woodman’s, a water-side seafood eatery that has been run by the same family for over a hundred years and is still thriving.  USA Today has named it the “Best Seafood Shack in America”. A taste of their fare is all that is needed to see why. From the ubiquitous lobster rolls to the incredible battered and fried sea scallops, we were not disappointed and are eagerly awaiting a return voyage to them, but this time we may order smaller portions because there was no way to finish all of it!

          The shipbuilding industry, while not as thriving as it once was back in the day, is still present here on Cape Ann. Tomorrow, weather permitting, we will be sailing on the Ardelle,  a schooner built here on the Cape by her owner and Captain, Harold Burnham. Harold is a Master Shipwright, and his family has been building classic Cape Ann ships for generations. It will be only us on the boat. Augustus, Adelaide, and Eleanor are starting three weeks of sailing lessons on Monday and my plan is to give them an exciting introduction to this sport.

          We shall see!