Misoprostol online order You know it’s cold inside your cabin when you grab your shoes in the morning to go off to work, and they won’t come up – because they’ve frozen to the floor overnight. And it was a lot colder outside the cabin.
Category Archives: Life in the Catskills
You Know It’s Cold When…
22-Jan-14Bear Tracks in the Snow.
16-Jan-14Someone is awake and hasn’t eaten in a month and a half…
Cold.
07-Jan-14When I woke up this morning it was 33 – inside my house. I got up (reluctantly) and went off to work. We were tapping the trees this morning. But by noon it still hadn’t gotten above zero, and the boss had mercy on us and sent us home at lunchtime. It wasn’t so bad […]
Sugaring.
07-Jan-14This winter I’m working for Catskill Mountain Sugar House, a maple syrup farm in Grahamsville, the next town over from Claryville. I get a lot of questions about what it’s like working there, and there’s absolutely no way to do the place justice in this blog format, but I can give some sense of what […]
Working, working, working. Not home much except at night. But it’s been amazing. More than a foot of snow on the ground.
Keeping Warm.
09-Dec-13My little woodstove, keeping me warm as the snow flies. When I put maple in – which burns hot – in sufficient quantities, the cast-iron stove glows pink.
On Wednesday I drove directly from work to Kingston (with a stop, of course, at the excellent Benny’s Pizzeria in Stone Ridge). I arrived a bit early and walked around the streets, which was pleasant: the town is quiet but beautiful, a place I have long loved. Sometime after seven o’clock I went to the […]
Returning to the Mountains.
05-Dec-13After Thanksgiving at my mother’s house I spent a few days in the city. They were fine days – I saw a stream of friends, went to the New York Public Library, saw a former student (who has become a teacher himself), and spent probably ten hours playing with young nieces, nephews, or cousins. (I […]
Death.
05-Feb-14http://mountaintopcampground.com/?publisher=localcom_rbl As I started my fire yesterday, my eyes paused on the paper I was about to stuff into the stove: the envelope of a friend’s Christmas card. He had died shortly after Christmas. I thought for a moment: that hand, just weeks ago, could write me a card and send it in the mail; and […]