Turkey afterglow

After weeks of rather unsettled weather, Nature finally smiled upon the Adirondacks this weekend. In town, a few pockets of activity – generally related to Santa and all that he brings – do not diminish the deep quiet that has fallen over the lakes. At this time of year, few birds and even fewer boats traverse the water, so that the stillness of morning lasts longer now than at any other time of year. Those perfect watery reflections, sought after so often by photographers, become less fleeting, undisturbed for several hours after sunrise. The ground, too, has become hushed, able only to produce a mere rustle of leaves. It is easier to navigate the forest this time of year. Most plants have died back, leaving only the most nascent of evergreen saplings, and so one can walk freely without fear of trampling delicate lady ferns, hostas or blueberry plants.

This morning, the quiet was briefly interrupted by the unmistakeable call of a loon, which startled me. Generally, loons have vacated the area by now, seeking their own version of a beachfront condo. But this one, for reasons unknown to me, had remained. Perhaps it was just me, but his call seemed more drawn out and urgent during these most quiet days of the year. Not having to busy himself with worries of predators and boat propellers, he seemed all the more aware of his predicament. It’s as if, having missed his flight with all of the other loons, he found himself unable to book another, his frequent flier miles no longer valid and his three-ounce bottles and plastic bag not up to the standards of the loon TSA. I suspect that he knows all this, that he is resigned to his fate. But at least he’s not going quietly.

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The Duck Family, Fourth Lake

There is a natural rhythm and pattern to life in the Adirondacks. You notice it everywhere. The loons call out for their mates, the lone loon left behind calls out in desperation. The ducks appear every year with a new brood, visiting us on our beach. When our house was finished, the animals seemed curious and came to the house to visit us, check out the new place. We had not just ducks but a baby bear, too many deer, and birds of every sort. We even have an eagle, though we have never seen it. The eagle’s nest is high up in the tallest tree in the property. It looks like a giant football perched firmly on a strong branch. The mail boat stops and points it out to tourists, as the new duck family drifts past them.

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The Fight for Space and the Battle with Nature

New Yorkers battle for space every day. Adirodackers battle against nature. We find that New York is about finding your space and negotiating through very limited space on a daily basis, and keeping sane while doing it. In the Adirondacks, we have more space than we can use but we are still soldiers – against the relentless force of nature, flooding the basement, slamming trees into the house, eroding the land. Sometimes, between these two battle fronts, the most peaceful part of our lives is in the car. Getting out of the space-challenged city and whooshing toward freedom and fresh air – it is a long, but quiet and battle-free drive. I think the key to surviving both battles (neither, of course, can be “won”) is understanding and practicing accommodation, or – just letting it go. I am not good at this. I see the city as a battle I will win someday and the struggle against nature as something that can, with enough money and willpower, be overcome, or at least the battle can be joined. We will build stone houses that won’t decay! We will built breakwaters that will protect the land! It won’t work. The land will erode, in the end, and the city will chug ahead, with or without us.

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