Art Inspiration in Washington County

When I was growing up, my mother drew very fine pen and ink pictures.  Her detailed black-and-white lines were her trademark. She would say, "I don't do color.  I've never been good at it."  Then, in 2000, at the age of 75, she changed her mind and began painting with color pastels.  The first thing I learned when my mother took up pastel painting was that pictures drawn using pastels are called paintings.

Last year, in July 2012, my mother and I had the opportunity for a half-day drive through nearby Washington County on a search for rural scenes that she could use as subjects for her art work. With my Washington County road map in hand, I picked out all one-lane paved or dirt roads for our day, leaving from my parents' home in Saratoga and going almost to Bennington and back.

We stopped often. I liked this view of placid water and tiger lilies, but also took pictures of a church across the road.  With her artist's eye, my mother told me where to stand to photograph it, as she tried to visualize the picture as a pastel painting.

This barn, below, on another road, really interested her.  I took six pictures of it from the road, and from the driveway with the accompanying house and shed next to it, and again from the opposite side with its flower garden.  Although I took many pictures, she might find that none of them really worked for her when she got home.

While my mother considered different angles for the barn photos, I walked to an opening in the trees and took this picture of a farmer cutting hay.  The aromas of cut hay and meadow flowers were sumptuous.

We stayed a little while in this area, finding more quaint scenes just up the road, such as this red schoolhouse, now a home.  With its stone wall and tiger lilies, I thought she might take artistic license and create something unique from this property.

In front of the schoolhouse, I was taken with this tiny shed next to the pond under a draping willow, so I took a picture of it too.  But I am not the painter, and my mother, although willing to consider the possibilities, was less enamoured of the scene as a subject for a painting.

It was a treat to drive on back roads through the farm country of Washington County.  Billed as one of the most beautiful counties in the State of New York, this area offers pastoral scenery much like Vermont which borders its east side. We continued over hills and around bends, admiring houses and gardens, farms and fields.  Even if they weren't painting-worthy, they still deserved our admiration.

Then we came upon this gem.  Hidden behind some trees was a weathered farm house.  It appeared abandoned, or at least not currently occupied, so we pulled off the road in front of it knowing we'd need to take our time getting views of this barn.

My mother stood, imagining how she would place the barn in a picture, stepping ahead, back, or sideways, envisioning it in just slightly different ways.  Then she would say, "Come over here, and take a picture from this side," and "step back now and get it from over here."

The picture below differs only slightly from the one above in that it shows the road continuing around the curve and up the hill.

To the right of the barn was also a fence, so I photographed that too, with the road, a tree, and part of the barn following my mother's instructions,"what do you think if we stood here" or here or there...all to give the artist more ideas and inspiration.

I knew my mother wouldn't want to draw cows, so I took this one just for me. I liked the dirt lane winding up towards the small barn on the hill. 

Despite all my map notations about what roads to take, it wasn't surprising that we might still get off-course.  We took a turn into a small village when we should have gone straight.  Realizing my mistake, I continued down the road looking for a good place to turn around.  And then, as if the day hadn't been rewarding enough, we saw this property with two sheds immersed in perennial gardens. 

Someone worked hard maintaining these gardens and we were an appreciative audience.  My mother was nearly overcome with the artistic possibilities here.

I stepped back to get both sheds in one photo, and then closer to feature a trellis, another included bird houses, a little Yorkshire terrier who had joined us, and a bird bath.  Meanwhile we oohed and aahed at the prolific garden display.

We drove a little farther, eventually coming upon a dirt road that offered this opening in the trees.  In the distance we could make out the Bennington Monument.  I had brought a picnic for us and we decided that this was the place to have it.  I pulled the car over and we ate our lunch in the shade with the view in front of us.

We had looked closely at every view around every curve of the roads we had taken. I had driven only 40 miles in two hours!  Sometimes we had stopped and never gotten out of the car, knowing after a second look that this barn or farm would not do as a subject for a pastel painting.  And sometimes we backed up or turned around because we thought we had missed something that needed a second look, and then there were the places that required serious consideration.  And despite our artistic focus, we had still found plenty of time for other general conversation about our day-to-day lives. 

Here is my mother after our picnic lunch.

I printed the entire day's worth of pictures for my mother.  It took her a while to decide which she might try first, and many of my photos she rejected entirely, now seeing them with the demands of her easel nearby. 

Still, during the course of this year, she has painted two pictures from that day.  In the one at right, she took the barn scene and made it her own with a fence and a dirt lane.



My favorite is this one of the shed with the trellised roses.  I like the way she gave the scene a soft focus at the edges.

Both pictures remind me of the day we spent together, she finding art in the country, and me following her directions with my camera.

Treadway on Tuesday

(Virginia, cool and clean, at the campsite)

If it happens three times, it's a tradition!  My original Adirondack Mountain Club Women's Camping Overnight has become an annual event that has moved beyond the ADK and morphed into a gathering of friends with shared gifts and responsibilities.

(Deb Wein prepares a salad for our evening feast)

This year there were just four of us. Although we had camped at Lake Durant State Campground in 2011 and 2012, this time I chose Putnam Pond because I wanted to paddle across the pond and hike Treadway Mountain, a mountain I had not hiked in 15 years. I sent out an email in May to nine women who had voiced interest, stating my thoughts on where we would go and what we would do. In the end, many people had schedule conflicts, inevitable in the summer or any time of year. Four of us agreed on a date and began an email exchange filled with exclamation points.

Donna (Punkie) Frederick, prepares the fire for marshmallows.

On Monday, we set up camp, went swimming, and paddled around the entire pond with its island and coves.  We took advantage of a vacant water campsite, reachable only by boat, to swim off rocks in a secluded location.  We feasted on a shared dinner in the evening, and toasted marshmallows for s'mores.

(Karen Lydon steps into the stream to dip her bandanna in the cool water)

But it was hot.  When weather.com forecasted 92 degrees for Ticonderoga, the nearest town to the campground, we knew the marshmallows wouldn't be the only thing roasting.

While swimming and kayaking felt great, Treadway Mountain beckoned.  Unfortunately, Punkie had had recent knee surgery and was not ready yet for a hike. On Tuesday, she and Deb chose to spend a relaxing afternoon in the water, while Karen and I headed across the pond to the trailhead.

(a pretty marsh along the trail)

Not only is it fun to kayak to the trailhead, but arriving by boat makes the hike up the mountain only five miles round trip instead of eight if you walk in from a car parking area. After a nice paddle on calm morning water, Karen and I stowed our boats in the woods at the edge of the pond, and began the hike.

(it wouldn't  be the Adirondacks without some gooey black mud)

The humidity was already high and mosquitoes came out in force. We knew this day would be a scorcher. The trail had a classic Adirondack beginning through hemlock forest, but we took little time to admire it as we tried to outpace the bugs. 

(all the dampness creates a lush field of moss)

Now and then, Karen commented on the rich aroma of balsams.  And we appreciated the soft needled earth underfoot--all the better to keep moving!  So often Adirondack trails are like walking in a stream bed...sometimes, the trail literally is a streambed.

(a trail like this is a treat, despite the mosquitoes)

After a mile or so, the path opened into drier terrain.  We left the bugs behind as we clambered over rocks and walked on bedrock.  Over the years, rock cairns had been built at frequent intervals.  Often we would have had trouble discerning the right turns without them.  Although the change in landscape was beautiful with its  piney scent brought out by the heat and humidity and its interesting quartz rocks, we were now exposed to the sun.

(rock cairns are a welcome guide in the higher open ecosystem)

A pay-off was the proliferation of blueberries.  A number of times as I hiked along, watching for direction from the rock cairns, I would lose track of Karen behind me.  One time I was concerned that perhaps she had missed a cairn and might be heading the wrong way.  When I called to her, she said, "I just stopped to pick berries.  They are so sweet."

(my face may be beet-red from the heat, but I'm sure not going to pass up these blueberries)

Another time when I missed her, she had found a sheltered stream to dip her bandanna.  Then she wrapped her wet bandanna around her neck for cool momentary relief.  I wore my blu-bandoo.  A blu-bandoo is a bandanna filled with dry gel beads.  When soaked in water the beads swell up and stay cool for hours.  I dipped my bandoo in the occasional stream too. 

Karen and I are very compatible hikers, and have hiked together many times on ADK outings.  Stopping for delectable wild berries is one of the gifts of a mountain hike in July, and would that there were more cool streams for splashing the face with water on a hot humid day.

(these blueberries won't last long in my dirty sweaty palm)

The last three-quarters of a mile to the summit of Treadway Mountain is along a ridgeline.  At an elevation gain of 800 feet, the entire ascent is so gradual that we could keep up a running conversation most of the time.

(long stretches of rose quartz rise along the ridge)

And then there are the summit rewards. Views of the Pharoah Lake Wilderness Area are gorgeous with Pharoah Lake front and center.  Despite the haze, we could see rows and rows of mountains in the distance.

(Pharoah Lake Wilderness Area)

The rocks were hot, but a large cloud gave us enough shade for our hiker's lunch.  Peanut butter never tastes so good as at the top of a mountain!

(I admire the summit view of Pharoah Lake from a rocky promontory)

We poked through the trees to rocks on every side.  Open areas offer views in three directions.  Some of the trees had grown since I had been here with my father years ago, but they only added a more dramatic color contrast to the scene.  Karen said that a friend of hers claims Treadway as his favorite hike in the Adirondacks--a very strong affirmation for this outing.

(views abound, including this one toward Wallface and Algonquin)

When the sun came out again in earnest, Karen and I began our descent.  This time we rarely stopped for berries, and the bugs did not seem so bad on the lower part of the trail.  Was this because they are less vicious later in the day or were we hiking faster and really did get ahead of them?  Whatever the reason, our new goal was Putnam Pond. 

(I can see water through the trees!)

We had left our bathing suits with our boats at the trailhead.  We expected to re-join Punk and Deb for a swim after our return to the other side of the pond, but, first, we planned to jump in as soon as possible.  It took only seconds for us to peel off our sweaty clothes and get into our suits.

Even better than peanut butter at the summit, is a swim at the base!  Heat and fatigue melted away as we submerged ourselves.  Up and under, over and over, we felt like dolphins.  Eventually, we climbed into our kayaks for the paddle back to the campground.

When we met up again with our friends, they described a thoroughly enjoyable wilderness day paddling to a remote campsite and swimming off the rocks with loons nearby.  Then the talk turned to next year--would we return here? what might we do differently or the same?    There was never any question that we would want to camp together again. 

(Karen heads out in her Hornbeck back across Putnam Pond)

As we loaded our boats onto our cars, we all wished we could stay longer.  As hot as it was here, it would be hotter in Albany.  We reminded ourselves that this is what a getaway is--a moment in time, spent with wonderful people in a beautiful location.  Here's to another Women's Camping Overnight in 2014!

(Note: Pharoah as in Pharoah Lake is the Adirondack spelling of the word pharaoh.)

In the Catskills with Mr. Map-man

Some of my regular readers will remember my post "Catskill Ramblings," from June 2011,when Bill and I attempted to hike the paths of the Hudson River School painters, places we had been to decades before.  That day the fog had been so thick that we could barely see the edge of the rock.  A couple of weeks ago, we decided to make a return trip.

Parking at the trailhead on Schutt Road, near North Lake in Haines Falls, we had a perfect, clear, mid-Spring day. As we signed in at the kiosk, we were confronted by a nice couple who were vacationing in the Catskills for a few days.  They were confused about where they were and where they wanted to be, pulling out directions that they had printed off their computer before they left their Pennsylvania home. Map in hand, Bill did the best he could to point them in the right direction for the hike they hoped to do.

(Bill checks the map in front of the Layman monument)

Even though we had been to this area before, and Bill grew up very near here, he had researched every road and trail before we came and had his map collection with him.  Studying the maps is part of the fun.

We were headed for the famous Escarpment Trail and some of its most picturesque locations.  Our first stop was the Layman monument, built to honor Frank Layman who died in 1900 fighting a forest fire here. Frank could have been one of Bill's family members, Layman was his grandmother's maiden name. When I first met Bill, it seemed like everyone, alive or dead, was related to us in some way.

(one of many views along the Escarpment above Palenville Pass)

Rock cliffs abound along the Escarpment and offer 180 degree views.  No wonder many wealthy resorts were built here such as the Laurel House, Kaaterskill House, and the huge Catskill Mountain House.  Most of them succumbed to fire long ago, but evidence that people enjoyed this area at that time is still here.

We could still read some of the names etched into the rock.  C.W. Morris did a good job of giving his name a permanent place when he came in 1916, and then again in 1917 and 1923.  Was C.W. a young man, who, between 1917 and 1923, went off to France during World War I?  Perhaps, in 1923,  he returned to this overlook with his sweetheart.

(C.W. Morris, 1916-17-23)

As we hiked along the narrow path, passing wild blueberry bushes in bloom, I suddenly smelled spices, and heard a sizzling sound.  In minutes, we arrived at the point where the narrow path opened to the wide ledge of Inspiration Point.  So close to the path that we literally had to step around them, about a dozen Chinese people were crouched on the rock cooking a full course meal!

One man stirred a wok over a flame, quickly tossing meat, the source of the sizzling sound and the smell.  A woman took noodles out of a large container.  Each participant sat on a short collapsible stool with containers of food, plates, glasses, and utensils laid out on a large blanket.  This was one luxurious, albeit highly illegal, picnic. We continued walking along the rock as they delved into their feast.

(A multi-generational family having a feast on the ridge)

Farther along, Bill and I found a spot to sit and eat our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and apples.  Inspiration Point is large enough for all of us.

(Bill on Inspiration Point)

As we continued on, I couldn't help but compare this area to the Adirondacks. Whereas northern trails consist of black dirt from decayed hemlock and balsam needles, and the rocky paths seem not much different from stream beds, the Catskills have red earth with flat shale rock. Walking on this trail of naturally crushed stone between hardwood trees just coming into leaf, I could imagine Thomas Cole, the founder of the Hudson River School of painting, hiking here with his flute and his sketch pad.

(parts of the Escarpment trail are very inviting)

I got ahead of Bill for a while, as we became mixed in with two couples and three dogs.  One man stepped back to ask Bill, "Do you have a map? We're hoping we can find a trail to the parking area without having to walk all the way to North Lake."  Bill pulled out his map and they discussed options. I heard one of the women ahead of me, say, "Oh yeah, Pete doesn't know where we are, Mr. I-know-everything-about-the-Catskills!  It's good he found that man with the map."  Apparently, Pete's guidance had worn a little thin.

(Eventually, we reached views to the Hudson Valley in the East)

I kept hiking, dodging the dogs, ages 15, 11, and 5.  The 15-year-old kept his head down but trudged on.  At the intersection, posted with a nice array of DEC trail signs, we stopped to wait for Bill and Pete.  "I hope Pete is learning something from Mr. Map-man," the woman said.

When Pete and "Mr. Map-man" arrived, the signs gave them new fodder for map study.  Bill told the others which trail they should take, and then he and I continued on our way.  This group was from New Jersey, and they did not even have internet directions like the Pennsylvania couple we had met earlier in the day.  I was surprised that so many people would hike without maps.

(Mr. Map-man saves the day)

Our final destination before heading back was Boulder Rock, left by long ago glaciers.  Once again the ridge offered views across the valley.  We returned on a different trail making a nice loop of about 6.5 miles total.

(Boulder Rock)

As we neared the parking lot, we saw the Chinese family just ahead, jovial and chatty after their feast. The men carried full-sized backpacks with their kitchen gear and whatever food was left, as well as all of the individual stools they had sat on.  The women carried nothing.  Both men and women appeared to be experienced hikers, equipped with proper clothes, boots, and trekking poles.  At the parking lot, they climbed into a 15-person van and drove off.

Before completely leaving the area, we decided to walk to the top of Kaaterskill Falls.  Kaaterskill Falls is generally seen from its base, a half-mile walk in from Route 23A in Palenville Pass. Here at the top, a short trail leads to its rocky ledge where water drops 260 feet. This is not for the faint of heart; in the course of a summer, it is not unusual to read about someone falling to their death on one of the trail-less areas alongside this cataract.

( Water tumbles over Kaaterskill Falls, with tiny people on the path below)

A group of Asian students offered me a spot on the rock where they were sitting. Bill, a bit leery of heights, stayed back. Not only was it fascinating to watch the water cascade over the rocks, but I loved seeing people far below who were hiking into the base from the road. After I took a couple of pictures, Bill and I walked upstream along the creek and past the foundation of the Laurel House, within sight of the top of the falls.

We ended our afternoon, with a stop at the nearby camp store for a Perry's ice cream cone. At home, Bill perused his maps, comparing them to the book description.  Then Mr. Map-man put the book and maps away.  We probably wouldn't hike in the Catskills again until later in the year, when the tourists left and chilly weather returned.

Spring Comes to Dyken Pond

(a kiosk has trail maps and information on the area)

In the early days of Spring when the temperature rises to 60 degrees with a brilliant blue sky, Bill and I like to head for one of our nearby parks.  "I want to go near water," I say one Sunday morning.  We choose to visit Dyken Pond Environmental Education Center in Rensselaer County.

Dyken Pond has six miles of comfortable trails through a variety of habitats and reforested farmland--the perfect place to walk when other hiking locations are muddy. With no leaves yet on the trees, the woods are filled with warmth from a strong sun as we begin the short distance to the pond.                                                                                                                                                              

            

Although today only a few geese swim on the pond, this is not undeveloped state land.  Much of the shoreline is privately owned with visible camps and houses. In a couple of months, small power boats will bring fishermen onto the water in the mornings and waterskiers in the afternoons.  Today, though, not even a kayak has emerged from winter storage to skim this pond.

It's refreshing to see a stretch of open water after winter's ice, but we won't stay here long now.  We'll be back after we check out some of the trails, and when we're ready for the snack we've brought with us.

After a quick walk along the water's edge, we head into the woods, walking on the appropriately named Witchhobble Wander, where blooming witchhobble is abundant and just a hint of green appears. After about a quarter of a mile, we branch off to the Long Trail, up a short hill and into a beech forest.

One of the first points of interest listed on the trail map is the Grandfather Rock.  It stands alone as if dropped from a glacier just yesterday.  Bill peaks from one side, offering perspective on the rock's size.

While he takes a closer look, I discover a few trout lilies reaching for the sun next to a decaying log.  In a few weeks, a canopy of foliage will shade this forest floor, but, for now, these flowers open their petals wide as the day warms.  In the distance I hear a woodpecker tapping.  Despite the absence of leaves, I still don't see him.

Continuing on, we notice a foundation from a long ago homestead, reminding us that at one time this land was cleared and farmed.  Two old trees once sheltered a home here where families raised children and worked hard.  The trails that we walk on were once lanes traveled by horses and wagons to nearby fields and distant villages.

Educational opportunities abound in places like this that show the passage of time, and Dyken Pond offers many programs and field trips for schoolchildren.  Below, a stonewall now fences in trees, but, at one time, sheep may have grazed here.  The log displays cuts to signify how a tree becomes boards.  From this log, we can see cuts for two 4x4's and two 2x8's, along with slab wood on four sides that would not have gone to waste.

Below is a tree finder.  Although the dial is worn, we can discern how it points by color to trees marked  correspondingly to identify hemlock, maple, oak, and more. Visitors learn about both human and natural history here.

Returning deeper into the woods, we wind between the Sentinel Rocks.  These large rocks are reminiscent of the Druid gardens we saw in Ireland that offer mystery and enchantment.  A hemlock forest dims the strong sun making a cool shade that could harbor wood nymphs and other friendly spirits. Here, we feel a sense of timelessness that seems in opposition to the overgrown farmstead we just passed through.

From the Sentinels, we descend into The Bog.  With nearly 600 acres, Dyken Pond offers a large variety of ecosystems.  Thanks to this weathered boardwalk, we don't step on the spongy damp ground and damage sensitive plants. The same glaciers, that deposited the rocks, left this damp mossy depression.  I smell the rich aroma of muddy plant life.  Our walk has been a sensory journey.

We've been outdoors in the woods for a while and our thoughts turn to the rustic bread, locally made cheddar cheese, and crispy apples that I have in a backpack.  We meander back to the pond in search of a good place to sit with our picnic and enjoy the view.

I am distracted by this shed filled with canoes. Even though the warm sun makes me think of paddling, the water is freezing cold and unappealing for water sports.  Still, it won't be long before people want to be on the water.  The public is welcome to use these boats for 90 minutes at $10, or 3 hours for $20. Or you may launch your own kayak or canoe from here.

A few cabins line this side of the pond and are used by the Environmental Center for programs and summer camps.  We find a grassy spot in front of one and bask in the sunshine, the perfect place for a drink and a snack.

In our afternoon at Dyken Pond, we have only seen a couple of people and a few birds.  We think about the different seasons and when we might come again.  In the end, we decide that early Spring is best, before many other people venture out.

(Virginia enjoys the Spring outing)