The very first hot air balloon inflated in Warren County was John Marsden’s “Punchinello”. At that time there were just a small number of pilots in the entire country. I had the pleasure of meeting him some years ago. While we were chatting he mentioned how he couldn’t decide what to do with his beloved balloon since it was no longer air worthy. To discard an old friend, a colorful envelope that had safely taken him into the air so many times, didn’t seem a fitting end. He used a few pieces of the fabric to make beanbags for some balloon races but it bothered him to cut it. Having the fabric stomped into the ground as a “walkabout” also didn’t seem suitable. Our conversation prompted me to start thinking about balloons we have seen through the years, wonderful mixes of colors and shapes joyfully drifting above the earth, but now gone. Luckily many pilots get new balloons and continue the yearly tradition of returning to Glens Falls, but for some, once the envelope fails inspection they stop flying altogether and move on to other things.

Giclee edition of 500 signed and numbered reproductions

image size 9 3/8" x 16 1/2"

$50 unframed $165 framed

______________________________________________________________________________________

Summer Reflections

This is a point just around the corner from Nick’s beach on beautiful Lake Luzerne as we saw it during a relaxing evening with friends. They have a double swimming dock with an electric motor to tour the lake, complete with a table, chairs and a strand of mini lights. We thoroughly enjoy quietly traveling around on the water and watching the ever-changing scenes until sun gently dips out of sight.

Giclee edition of 500 signed and numbered reproductions

image size 10 1/8" x 16 1/8"

$50 unframed $165 framed

__________________________________________________________________________

Dad's Cardinal Flowers I have always loved wild flowers and enjoyed walking in the woods of my childhood home each spring to look for the treasured blossoms. We had many different woodland flowers, and I was able to find many more throughout the Adirondacks as I grew up. But with all my searching, there were a few flowers I hadn’t seen. One of them was the cardinal flower. Friends had told me where to look, but I never seemed to be at the right place and time to find them. One August day, we were visiting my Mom and Dad when my father mentioned that he had found some flowers I really should see. They were strikingly bright red, and I hoped they were the elusive cardinals. Dad took us to a wet area in the woods where the rich red flowers were thriving, cardinal flowers everywhere. They were all I had imagined and were growing in our woods! We went back a few times through the years but they never have been as plentiful as the first year, and the last time they had almost disappeared. I have found cardinal flowers in other places but only a few at a time, and never as great as Dad’s.

Giclee edition of 500 signed and numbered reproductions

image size 8" x 10"

$40 unframed $130 framed ___________________________________________________________________________

Gathering Storm

A couple of years ago Gino and I and our friends, Marsena and Bill, had a great late summer and fall. We hiked most Mondays, our day off from the gallery. Every week was someplace different, mostly of my choosing. Gino always likes me to plan the hikes, in case they don’t turn out right. Then it’s my fault. We took our friends to many of our favorite mountains. It was great to repeat them and to show the views to new eyes. We also visited a couple places we had never gone before. The weather was very cooperative and we enjoyed leisurely days and were rewarded with wonderful views.

Then I decided to hike Crane Mountain.

When we arose that morning the air was heavy under cloudy skies, but it wasn’t raining. The weatherman on the television said there was a chance of thunderstorms. Did that mean Crane might be spared? My fellow hikers all left the decision up to me, and I was having trouble calling off the day outside when it wasn’t actively raining. One hiking day allowed to pass is one we could never get back. I still was uneasy and ran into our friend Mike, the UPS man. I asked him what he thought and he cheerfully said, “Go! It’s a great day for hiking.” Why I took the word of the UPS man, I’m not sure, but he said what I wanted to hear. It was a go.

We were a long way up the trail that passes the pond when we were met by a group of people fleeing the mountain at high speed. They had seen storms on the horizon. That should have been our cue to turn around and join in the descent but letting a summit go when we had hiked so far was too difficult. We continued and thoroughly enjoyed the wonderful walk around the shoreline of the pond, taking the irresistible quantity of photos. On previous hikes at this point we had always picked up the short trail to go to the top, but our friend Linda told us we had been missing her favorite spot in the world, the ledge overlooking Crane Mountain Pond. I couldn’t believe we’d never seen it and decided to remedy the situation. On the way up the trail the ominous sound of thunder started getting closer, but we were so near our goal, we couldn’t retreat. This painting is the scene that greeted us at the overlook. It was an exciting and wonderful view. We continued to the summit and arrived at the same time as the clouds and were completely deprived of the view. I had chosen poorly. Even though we were ready to eat the lunches we had packed and carried, we knew the mountaintop was not the place to ride out the storm. I thought maybe we could find an overhanging rock to give us shelter for the short time that should be needed for the bad weather to pass. We donned the garbage bags we had thrown in the packs “just in case” and about two steps from the summit the downpour started. We immediately were walking in about three inches of water. There was no way to go around the growing puddles so we just walked through them. During it all, Marsena and Bill just kept plodding along, and never uttered a single word of complaint to add to my ever-increasing feelings of guilt.

I started thinking about the added electricity conduction of the water covering our feet. How I was going to explain to Marsena and Bill’s family after their mom and dad were struck by lightning, why we were even out on such a day. But then I found comfort realizing we’d be gone too.

Even though the garbage bags held some warmth, they were not efficient rain gear. The torrential downpour didn’t help us in descending the ladders but we slowly managed to inch our way down the steep “short trail”. I noticed Gino had stopped ahead and was just standing there peering downward with a puzzled look on his face. When we were closer, he shouted over the din of the storm, “Is this the trail?”

Suddenly we saw the source of his puzzlement. We were standing at the top of a waterfall with no bottom in sight. The cloudburst had transformed the trail into a cascade down through the trees that appeared hopelessly impossible. I spotted a marker below us so we knew we were on the trail. Luckily it actually was passable, so we inched our way along, boulder to boulder. Everything was slippery and each step had to be studied with care. The rain, thunder and lightning were unrelenting for the entire time we were on the mountain, so there was no relief from our misery. I don’t know if it was one storm followed by another or a monster storm just for Crane Mountain, but we persevered and finally made it to our extremely welcomed vehicle. We all voraciously gobbled up our lunches and reveled in the fact that we had survived without falling or getting fried by lightning.

It’s funny, when we talk with Marsena and Bill or other friends about that fun summer and fall, it’s not the hike on Black with visible rays of the sun reaching from the clouds to the surface of the lake, the vibrant fall colors from Potash, or the days spent climbing the other beautiful mountains that first comes to mind. It’s always the day spent on Crane that floods our memories and brings a smile to our lips. But we won't be asking Mike, the UPS man, about the weather again.

Giclee edition of 500 signed and numbered reproductions

image size 9 1/4' x 13"

unframed $45 framed $155

___________________________________________________________________________

Waiting for the Kids

As far back as I can remember, this swing was hanging from the old apple tree in front of Mom and Dad's barn, and was enjoyed by my siblings and friends. It always called to me and I spent hours traveling back and forth lost in daydreams. One of my early school teachers read us a wonderful poem, The Swing by Robert Lewis Stevenson:

How do you like to go up in a swing, Up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it's the pleasantest thing Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall, Till I can see so wide, rivers and Rivers and trees and cattle and all Over the countryside.

Till I look down on the garden green, Down on the roof so brown- Up in the air I go flying again, Up in the air and back down.

I memorized the poem and recited it silently as I traveled higher and higher. A few years ago the old apple tree branch became tired and the swing had to be moved to a neighboring tree where it is being enjoyed by the next generation of children. When I see it I'm reminded of a time of innocence long ago and gentle poetry by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Giclee edition of 500 signed and numbered reproductions

image size 8' x 10"

unframed $40 framed $130

_________________________________________________________________________