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Painting a Day - March 2008 The daily paintings are all finished for this spring. March 27th's is the last one. Thanks for looking! __________________________________________________________________ |
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"One Big Bunny" March 27, 2008
Gino and I were at the park early and were happy to see gentle breezes, and the arrival of the Energizer chase vehicle with the balloon. The wind was toward West Mountain Ski Center, not a good direction because the pilots always like to fly where there are lots of landing areas. To our delight, one of the passengers for this special Monday flight was Walt Grishkot, the director of the Balloon Festival, who being so busy with everything, almost never gets to fly himself. It was about time for Walt to take to the air just for the joy of it. His friend and fellow photographer, Monty was going too. The Bunny is a huge balloon made of what looks like miles of fabric and we watched as it slowly came alive. They chose to fly even if only for a short time with the less than desirable wind direction. Gino and I decided to chase to enjoy the flight a little longer, and started out in our vehicle right after the launch. The enormous balloon seemed to be heading for the West Mountain parking lot, so we did too. It was flying low, so with the tall trees we couldn’t see it in the sky. When we arrived the balloon was nowhere in sight, but we ran across another balloonist, Tom, and his wife who had the same thoughts. We figured we’d just follow them because they were more experienced. We found the bunny again and kept it in sight as we tailed Tom through roads we’d never been on before. It crossed our minds that it was strange there was no one else on the trail of the big pink balloon, but we were glad we would be one of the first ones there. Where was the official chase crew? Then came the Big Mistake. Tom, thinking the balloon was heading for the fields of a farm, pulled into the long driveway to be ready to help. We followed him, excited to be there to possibly assist in the landing. We watched as the bunny kept right on going, missing the fields. We let Tom go back to the road first, since we were following. By the time we turned around we saw Tom pull out a few moments before the longest line of cars I have ever seen. It seemed as if all of the people in the greater Glens Falls area were in vehicles following the Energizer Bunny into the middle of nowhere. There was no way to get into the line of cars since everyone was looking up into the air. Now we were no longer at the coveted position of being first on the scene as the balloon landed. Instead we were stuck in a driveway watching all of the cars go past. To make things worse we looked over our shoulders to see the tree line with bunny ears sticking above. It had already landed. We were missing the whole thing! Gino, probably thinking I was going to go into some sort of a fit if I didn’t get to the landing site, suggested that I should just get out and start walking. Not sure why I thought that was a good idea, but at least I’d be doing something instead of just sitting there watching all the cars go by. So I jumped out and started “hoofing it”. The cars were almost at a standstill so I crossed to the right side ready for Gino when he finally came along. I scurried as fast as I could in a combination walk-run and realized it would be a very long “stretch of the legs”. But it felt better at least to be making some progress. A kind person finally noticed Gino and let him out. I could always tell the sound of the engine in our pick up truck and heard it coming behind me. I figured I’d just have Gino stop for a second and he wouldn’t have to pull over. I kept going almost on a run and didn’t even turn around, waiting to hear the truck slow down so I could leap in. Then suddenly I saw Gino, looking straight ahead, going right on by in the traffic that was now moving faster. In shock, the only thing I could do was whimper a quiet, “Geeenooooo?”, and watch as my husband went happily down the road. How fast did he think I could go? Did he think I was an Olympic sprinter? Suddenly, missing the landing lost some of it’s importance. Now not only was it all going on without me, I was left stranded in an area I’d never seen before! I could see the newspaper the next day: “WOMAN MISSING – LAST SEEN ON FOOT CHASING GIANT PINK FLYING BUNNY”. How long would it take until my sweetie realized I wasn’t in the truck with him? Finally, something brought Gino back to the land of the living and he looked in the side view mirror to see in the distance, a poor old stranded woman hurrying as fast as she could go down the road. Could that be his wife? He decided it was a possibility, and I watched with joy as he pulled out of the line of traffic and stopped. I finally got there, red faced and out of breath. He had a sheepish grin on his face and mumbled something about watching the balloon and traffic and never seeing me, or thinking I would be on the other side of the road. By then the cars were all gone but he had watched where they had turned and in a few minutes we found everybody and the big pink bunny on a grass airfield. The breezes were almost nonexistent so they had left the balloon standing in the field a little while. Today’s painting is how it looked when we arrived. We made it! After the balloon was packed up, we had the pleasure of giving Walt and Monty a ride back to Crandall Park and to hear first hand about their flight. While at the landing field we were talking to a friend and she said they were the first on the scene and had been there a long time. I asked how they made it so fast and her matter of fact reply was, “We just followed the official chase vehicle, of course.” Yes, of course you did. SOLD I had another conversation with my cousin and found that I still had some information wrong in the Uncle Will story on March 25 so changed it. Hopefully it is all correct now, not that it makes a big difference after all these years. __________________________________________________________________________
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"Eno’s Barn" March 26, 2008
I’ve started working on a series of paintings of Railroad Stations on the Adirondack Branch of the D&H. Since some of them are gone, the project is taking time in research and conversations with people. This led us to Mary who grew up in South Corinth and knows anything anyone needs to know about this little hamlet. She and her daughter Barbara run Eno’s store. Today’s painting is the old leaning barn out back. I also grew up a few miles from there and attended South Corinth School, which was somewhat like one of those one-room schoolhouses one reads about in historical novels. The building, where I spent kindergarten to fourth grade, still sits just up the road from Eno’s. For fifth grade we went to the “big school” in Corinth. One time, in second grade, I was able to get my Mom and Dad to give me a nickel and a permission slip to walk to Eno’s during lunchtime at school to treat myself to an icy cold sweet Popsicle. That day I waited anxiously for recess to wolf down my lunch. Then, with my nickel firmly grasped in my hand, I looked for cars, crossed the road and walked to Eno’s. The little grocery was in an old plain white wooden building with two story porches in front and worn wooden floors inside. It was owned by Mary’s mom, Florence, who greeted me when I entered. Then the time had come to make the huge decision of what flavor my sweet treat would be. They were all kept in a deep freezer with several openings covered with black lids. Each lid had to be lifted to see a different area inside the dark space. Standing on my tiptoes I opened each section, letting water vapor out into the warm air, to peer into the cavernous freezer. There were Fudgesicles, never one of my favorites, and several flavors of popsicles. But then I noticed they also had Creamsicles, a treat my older brother had told me about, made with orange sherbet AND vanilla ice cream. My mouth watered when I excitedly realized that I, too, could experience the new taste. I took the frozen delight to Florence and handed her my nickel. She thanked me and I leisurely strolled back to school savoring the delectable treat. It truly was as good as my brother said it was. When I got back to school I told my friend, who was more experienced in the world than I, and she informed me that Creamsicles were actually TEN CENTS. TEN CENTS!!! I was horrified! I had cheated nice Mrs. Eno out of half of her money! That was all I could think of for the rest of the day. When I got home, my Mom found another nickel and wrote another note so I could go the next day and rectify the situation. Again I anxiously waited for lunch, rehearsing in my mind my apologies to Mrs. Eno. First I had to explain to my teacher why I needed to go off the school grounds two days in a row. Then I walked down to the store and could feel my face blushing as I explained what had happened. Florence listened to my tale of woe and kindly said, “For being honest, just keep the nickel.” My heart soared. The heavy burden was gone! Thinking back I realized that nothing really got past Florence and she probably knew from the beginning that I had the higher priced treat. All these years later (I won’t even mention how many), Eno’s store is still there and open, missing the old crank gas pump in front but much the same inside. When we stepped through the door last month, the old wooden floor creaked beneath our feet and the walls were still covered with simple shelves of groceries. The glass cases lined the aisles and right in front of us was the same old white freezer with the black lids waiting to delight the next child with a delicious frozen treat. SOLD ______________________________________________________________________________________
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"A Little Patch of Shade" March 25,2008
On a drive over Hadley Hill a few years ago, we stopped to take a photo of this old stonewall and field. I’ve wanted to paint it for a while but hadn’t had the time, so decided to at least put it on a little canvas. In the meantime, in doing research for the Railroad Station paintings, I talked to a cousin whose grandfather was my Uncle Will. Will had a hard but interesting life with four wives. I’ve asked my Mom about it several times but haven’t been able to keep things straight. After my cousin’s visit I called my Mom to ask her one more time. While talking to her I realized that this painting, the one I was working on at that time, was my Uncle Will’s field. It took another conversation with my cousin too, but I think I have most of it now… Will was my mother's maternal uncle. He married Emma and they had a daughter, Nina. While Nina was still young, Emma died of cancer so Nina was taken in by Will's parents. Will's father died and a woman named Mary Belle lost her mother. After some time the two widowed parents were married and Will wed Mary Belle. So essentially he married his step-sister. They tragically lost an infant, and when they tried to have another child, Mary Belle passed away in childbirth. After that Will married Bessie who was my father's paternal aunt. (Are you still with me?) They had four boys and a girl. When the children were reaching their teens, Will and Bessie were crossing railroad tracks at a blind driveway, and the car was hit by a train, killing Bessie. My father's maternal aunt, Blanche, left her good paying job of 30 years in Ballston Spa to move back home to "help take care of her ailing father". Everybody figured it was to make herself available to the newly widowed Will. They did marry. Will's daughter, Mary, wed a man named Howard and had a son. She was pregnant again and died unexpectedly. Howard couldn't take care of a newborn by himself so Blanche and Will took the baby in and raised him like a son. Blanche wound up outliving Will. As if it wasn't confusing enough, Will's first daughter, Nina, married my dad's maternal uncle, Alvie (Blanche's brother). So Will was Alvie's bother-in-in-law. But since Will’s was Nina's dad he was also Alvie's father-in-law. So Alvie got a kick out of introducing Will as his father-in-law and brother-in-law. So.... to me Will was a great uncle on my mother's side and great uncle by marriage on my father's side two times. He is buried on Hadley hill next to all four wives. I started laughing in amazement when my Mom was running this all by me again and she just said it was hard to get off Hadley Hill in those days, and at least she and Dad weren't related. I asked, "Are you sure?!" SOLD ______________________________________________________________________________________
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"Quaker Ladies" March 24, 2008 
We used to call these delicate blue flowers forget-me-nots, but now know they are actually bluets or Quaker ladies. Some summer lawns are covered with thousands of these little blossoms to make it look as if the grass has been dyed to match the blue of the sky.
Original painting on a 5”x7” canvas $100 unframed $120 framed
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“Standing Alone” March 21,2008
I painted this tree from an older autumn photograph without a date or label. I have boxes of them all mixed up. It would be nice to have better organizational skills, but it seems that would just make everything too easy. My best guess places this scene on the way up Buck Mountain on the east side of Lake George. Buck has always been one of our favorite local hikes. It can be climbed from the Hogtown area, or up a steep trail on the lake side from Camp Chingachgook. We usually ascend from the parking lot on Pilot Knob Road. The three plus mile hike up is moderately steep with several interesting streams along the way. The top is rocky with a wonderful view of Lake George and surrounding mountains and miles of hills toward Vermont. On a clear day, to the north the Adirondack “High Peaks” make a jagged line on the horizon. In July we can always find some sweet blueberries to nibble on. Mike and Giani, our sons, always hiked faster than us, even when they were quite young. They were great at following trails and would go ahead of us and stop every once in a while, and at trail junctions, so we could catch up. One beautiful summer day we had spent the afternoon wandering around the summit rocks on Buck and enjoying the view. When it came time to descend, the boys took off as usual but as we picked our way down the rocky trail they disappeared from sight. After a few minutes we started worrying about them in these woods so close to civilization. We couldn’t do anything but continue on down the trail. As time went on I was getting very concerned and prayed for God to protect them and have them stop until we could catch up. I kept praying as we hurried along. After what seemed an eternity, at last, in the deep woods we could see our two young boys stopped with a couple of people. They all were looking off the trail. As we drew closer we could hear them talking softly and see they all were looking at a beautiful red bird sitting quietly in a nearby tree. A few seconds after we arrived the colorful bird few off. Mike and Giani said they had been talking and just forgot to stop to wait for us. The couple told us they were climbing when they noticed the unusual bird but didn’t know what it was. Then they asked the two little boys who came along and Mike said, “It’s a scarlet tanager.” I whispered a “thank-you so much” to the One who placed it there. Original painting on a 5”x7” canvas SOLD ______________________________________________________________________________________
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"Giant in Winter" March 20, 2008
Whenever we visit the Lake Placid area and have the time, we take a few moments to stop at St. Hubert’s to gaze at Giant Mountain sitting in grandeur across the golf course of the Ausable Club. Even though this painting is in the winter, it is beautiful in any season. Giant was the first “High Peak” of the Adirondacks we climbed. We hiked just about every trail we knew in our area but were sure that those mysterious Adirondack “High Peaks” – those above 4000 feet – involved multi-day hikes and real technical mountain climbing skills. They were out of our range of expertise. One day Gino talked to a man he worked with and come to find out, those big mountains could be hiked in day trips, without mountain gear! Gino didn’t even tell me of the exiting news until the day before our first hike up north. The friend had suggested Giant Mountain as a good starter. We bought the Adirondack Mountain Club guide, chose a trail up Giant, and packed our lunch and supplies. Our boys, who were around six and eight years old at that time , woke up early and were ready to head for their first “High Peak”. I didn’t study the map and trails all that closely and chose the Roaring Brook route. It was a little disconcerting to descend a big hill in the car to get to the trial head. We climbed upward through the woods on a well-marked trail for what seemed days. The summer weather was beautiful and we knew the summit had to be getting very close. The whole hike is only around three and a half miles one way. It should not be all that taxing, but it was. We were beginning to slow down some when we met a hiker coming down. He stopped to talk a minute as many people do, when Gino nonchalantly asked, “What are we, about half way?” I wanted to scream, “What? We HAVE to be just below the summit! We’re almost at the top, I just know it!” I bit my tongue, kept my mouth closed and anxiously waited for the answer. Actually Gino had said that because he figured the guy would say, “No! You are almost there! It’s just a short distance.” At which time we would be given new energy to make the summit. But the horrible cheerful man seemed to be lost in thought for a minute, nodded and said, “Yeah, you’re just about half way.” I thought about sitting on the trail and declaring we’d gone far enough, but once on the mountain we do not turn around unless there are circumstances that can’t be overcome. Being tired didn’t count. Even though we were completely devastated by the discouraging news we kept plodding along for what seemed another eternity. Then suddenly we were almost at the top for real this time. We stepped out of the forest and onto a dizzying rock outcropping. The scene opened up all around and below us. There were lush green treetops falling away at our feet and miles upon miles of mountains in all directions. The beloved vistas of our Adirondack foothills were “blown away” by the scene before us. I cried with overwhelming emotion from the beauty of the panorama. I never knew that New York State, our state, could be blessed with anything as awesome as what we were seeing. The boys seemed to appreciate the beauty also, but even at their young age, really enjoyed the challenge of the hike itself. That ledge was just a little distance from the summit and the view made all the pain disappear. We enjoyed a wonderful time eating our lunches with the world at our feet. We knew right then and there our hiking in the High Peaks was just beginning. SOLD ______________________________________________________________________________________
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"Wood Anemones" March 19, 2008
These are also called windflowers because the fragile plants move easily in the breeze. Our neighbor’s forest is home to various wildflowers, but I had never seen wood anemones there. On one of my daily walks, years ago, a bright shining white flower caught my eye some distance off the trail. Thinking I was going to see another painted trillium, I walked through the woods to find a delightful patch of wood anemones glowing in the sun and dancing in the breeze.
Original painting on a 5”x7” canvas $100 unframed $120 framed SOLD ______________________________________________________________________________________
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"Our Neighbor’s Fence in the Snow" March 18,2008 We’ve had an old-fashioned winter this year with lots of snow. It’s been a blessing for all the winter sports and the people who make money clearing it all away from the roads, walks and driveways. I was wishing for a winter like this but now I’ve had enough and long for sunny days, warm walks and wildflowers emerging from the earth. Since we’ve had some rain followed by cold, it’s been icy on the trails. But one day this winter during one of the snowstorms, I bundled up and took a walk. It seemed fairly warm and made me smile to walk along with big flakes landing gently on my head and shoulders. There were no cars and about six inches of snow on the road. In the woods the snow had made a real wonderland of heavy-laden trees, and soft cushions beneath my feet. I was taking a short loop and as I turned toward home again the wind started blowing, dumping bushels snow on my head and down my collar. It felt as if the temperature had dropped around 20 degrees instantly. My silly little gloves, which had been working just fine, were now allowing bone-chilling cold into my freezing hands. I walked as fast as I could back out on the road, now fearful of the possibility of a passing car on the curve whose driver wouldn’t expect or be able to see a pedestrian in the blowing snow. Luckily I made it back, encased in the now frigid snow and unable to see through my icy glasses any longer. The sanctuary of the warm house was more than welcome, and even though I tried to brush off on the porch, the snow left big puddles on the kitchen floor. Even though it has been a little warmer lately, there still is a cold winter chill unwilling to let go of us yet. I’m still waiting for the gentle sun to warm the earth and take us into spring. SOLD __________________________________________________________________________
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"Riding the Breeze" March 17,2008
We arrived at the park with windy skies and I just knew the flight was going to be cancelled. Our friends, Marsena and Bill, were there to see us off and Danny our new friend from a flight at the previous balloon festival was going with us. Even as we helped with the inflation the unruly nylon was not cooperating and I was fearful of cancellation. The crown blew out of the envelope and had to be hooked up again, not a good sign. Gino tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to a balloon already in sky with a beautiful perfect little rainbow above it, which looked very promising. They finished inflating the giant Strawberry and we all got in, never an easy task. Rich explained that because of the wind the balloon could get a false lift, and come right back down, so we had to take off “hot.” I liked the sound of that! Rich had the crew hold us down as the balloon began to tug toward the sky. At this point usually the pilot lets it have its way and leave the ground, but instead the “hands on” signal continued. It took the crew plus some extra volunteers to counter the wishes of the nylon envelope to fly free. Then when it strained in earnest to lift, the “hands off” command came and we shot up in the air. We were off! The joy is indescribable. We were caught up in winds that had the chase crew, confined by roads, scrambling to keep up with us. We passed beautiful rural fields bordered by mountains draped in shadows with the lowering sun. We saw some strange looking “oreo cows” as the ground rolled beneath us. A jet took off from the airport, and a group of guys greeted us from their perch on a lift used to get to the tops of trees. The pumpkin balloon that had been flying nearby found a landing place and dragged along on the ground a bit in the wind. We found Danny’s dad on a motorcycle watching us, and then a large field to set the balloon down on. We landed fairly gently but the wind blew the envelope back and forth several times, which tipped the basket. I was on the bottom as the passengers piled on. Everyone has to be friendly when ballooning. Dan’s dad and the crew arrived fairly soon, Rich pulled the crown and the balloon was tamed again. In few minutes it was all packed away and ready for another adventure. Then it was time for the impromptu party in the field with the official crew, the property owner, and other chasers. A time for laughter and the time to talk of the joys shared while being disconnected from the earth for a little while. Original painting on a 5”x7” canvas SOLD __________________________________________________________________________
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"A Bright Spot on the Trail" March14,2008 I took the photo for this painting in 1985 so I don’t remember exactly where it was. The back says “on the Elk Lake – Dix trail.” We climbed Macomb, East Dix, South Dix and Hough in August that year so it must have been somewhere in the low lands. The yellow flowers seemed to glow like sunshine against the conifers and were unusual in the forest. As you probably know, the Adirondacks has forty-six peaks that are over four thousand feet in elevation. Actually there are a few that were measured wrong, but the original survey has endured. Hikers who climb each mountain belong to a club called the ADK 46R’s. In this group of mountains is a peak named Dix. It is named for John Dix, an early New York politician and governor. But then two neighboring mountains were named East Dix and South Dix, leaving the way clear to possibly be renamed at a later date. I suppose “Mount Spitzer” is out of the question. There is a campaign afoot to change South Dix to Carson Peak in honor of Russ Carson who spent his life enjoying, promoting and working to preserve the Adirondacks. Unfortunately I never met him. But luckily I did get to meet Grace Hudowalski whose name may “grace” Grace Peak. Grace was the first woman to become a 46R and the ninth person overall. She signed her name simply as Grace #9, but to many in the hiking community she was known as “Amazing Grace”. By the time we met her she had been widowed for many years. She was an independent woman who let people know what was on her mind. She carried a birthday cake miles into the interior of the mountains for the hermit Noah John Rondeau yearly, and spent every moment possible trekking around her beloved peaks. But most amazing, in her later years, was her correspondence with the hundreds of people working on their Forty Six Every time we finished a hike we each sent a report of the day to Grace who read the letters, kept track of what number we were up to, and wrote back. Even our little guys were expected to write, as Grace really loved to hear from the children. When we first started, Giani was only six years old so until he could write his own, he dictated his letters to me. Gino and I didn’t hear from Grace every single time, but the boys always each received a personal letter. As we were hiking I would make notes in my mind to be sure not forget to tell her. We visited Grace at her winter home in Albany when she was in her late 80’s. During our conversation she casually asked, “What was the last peak you climbed?” Gino and I looked at each other trying to think back a few months when she stated, “It was Marshall, wasn’t it?” Yeah. It was. She was keeping track of the hoard of people hiking and came up with our last hike before we did. An acquaintance of ours was hiking on an unmarked trail in the peaks when her bootlace loop got caught on the broken limb of a downed tree and she broke her ankle. We heard that Grace was told of the hiker’s and rescuers’ resulting ordeal, and she said, “Well she should have tucked her laces into her boots, everybody knows that.” I was out on the trails near Schroon Lake with a group who had received an invitation to stop by Grace’s summer home on the lake, “The Boulder’s”, for tea and cookies. There were around twenty of us, which seemed a large-sized group for the elderly lady to be serving. I took the opportunity to get more time to talk with her and to see if I could help in her task. She was removing pretty little teacups from the cupboard with their matching saucers. I was thinking this was a little classy for our muddy group of hikers, and of all the extra dishes there would be to wash, when I casually asked, “Couldn’t you skip the saucers and just have tea in the cups.” It didn’t take a moment for me to realize that was an “oops”. Tea delivered in cups without saucers is not the way to treat guests. Besides that, she didn’t mind doing dishes in the least bit. I didn’t make any more foolish suggestions. A few years ago Grace, in her late nineties, passed away. Several volunteers are continuing her tradition of reading letters and writing back to aspiring 46R’s. But a hundred people could never begin to take her place. I sincerely hope East Dix does become Grace Peak. We wanted very much to finish our forty six peaks while Grace was alive but because of health concerns we had to stop our quest at forty-one. But I know if by some miracle we could make those last three hikes, my letters will be addressed to a stranger but in my heart they will begin “Dear Grace…”
Original painting on a 5”x7” canvas SOLD __________________________________________________________________________
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"Right Next Door" March 13, 2008
This scene is between our house and our neighbors, so we pass it whenever we go for a walk, or toward Lake Luzerne in the car. It is a pleasing view and changes throughout the days and the seasons. Today’s painting was seen on our return home from a little walk last month after a light snowstorm and as the sun was setting. Sometimes we have taken road trips in search of scenes to paint without really finding anything. Then the most striking place of all can be right next-door.
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"The Inlet at Kayak Level" March 12, 2008
I like to keep the stories light and I apologize for today’s more solemn subject, and it's length. I really don’t like to bring up controversial issues on this page but today’s painting is from paddling our kayaks in the inlet of Lake Luzerne. I wrote this a few years ago and feel that it is an important problem that should be addressed… Kayak Spiders Growing up in the Adirondacks I have many of the same concerns as other North Country residents. Most of the issues involving upstate New York have been dealt with in various ways: through private conversations, government legislations, and reporting in the media. But there is one problem that I don’t feel has been addressed properly, if at all. What about kayak spiders? I never have been fond of spiders. My fear may have come from my older sister who would emit blood-curdling screams when one would draw near. This happened during my formative years and must have left a scar on my young mind. I am not opposed to arachnids outside, especially in the garden. They are God’s creations and an important piece of the ecological puzzle, so who could hate them completely? But I just don’t like them crawling on me, or sharing my immediate space. For the first thirty years of my life I checked for spiders under the covers every night before going to bed. After never finding one for all those years, I have since started living dangerously and playing the odds that there just won’t be one hiding there. I don’t look anymore. My husband, Gino, and I love to hike and one would assume that we also canoe or kayak, but we hadn’t taken the step of buying a watercraft. Since I am an artist, our sons, who are professional rafting guides, mentioned that kayaks would be ideal for exploring bodies of water in search of wild flowers and scenes for my paintings. One time we canoed with friends on Lens Lake to find fascinating pitcher plants, horned bladderwort and rose pagonia growing in abundance on the acid bogs along the far shore. Another time we were taken to a secret pond with orchid gardens growing all over on floating logs that had been left years before by lumbering. The area was so amazing and wonderful that it would be difficult to believe the memory if we had not taken photos. I would love to go back to see those places. Those magical areas, plus new ones are worth exploring, but for me not by kayak. This is an issue that no one seems to talk about, and people give me strange smiles and odd looks when I mention it…I never wanted to kayak because of the likelihood of spiders crawling on my feet and legs in the closed in boat. I always have wondered why no one else seems to be concerned with this possibility. Can you imagine paddling across a pristine Adirondack lake and suddenly realizing that an eight-legged monster is greedily nibbling on your toes? It would be a true dilemma in the aforementioned Lens Lake. While visiting there we saw leeches, looking as big as anacondas, swimming around in the sinister water. Would a person stay and deal with the spider or jump into the water and risk the appetites of hundreds of blood sucking creatures that have never before seen soft pink, furless human flesh? In a canoe a spider would be visible and easily removed to go on it’s way, but the recesses of the kayak is another story. The cavernous darkness there could harbor many eight legged beasts. There are thousands of people all over the world who use these boats. Doesn’t the thought of crawly creatures enter any one else’s mind? One day last summer, we stopped at a garage sale on the way to our gallery and there, sitting in the bright sunshine on the grass, were two glowing yellow kayaks. Even with my concerns, they certainly deserved some investigation. When I looked, the inside of the boat was bright and everything was completely visible from front to back, except under the seat. Gino mentioned, “A person could see spiders in these kayaks.” And there was one for each of us! The price was a steal and I figured we could sell them if they didn’t work out. Another man was looking to buy them so we quickly made the decision. We were the proud owners of kayaks. After we purchased some paddles we were ready to see how we liked our new toys. We anxiously waited for closing time at the gallery and hurried home to get the kayaks for our first experience on water. Both of us excitedly gave one of the boats a quick look over for creatures, and since all seemed clear it was loaded onto the truck. We hurriedly adjusted the fit of the borrowed life jackets so they would be ready to go. When we picked up the other kayak, there was a tiny spider and a granddaddy longlegs inside. That was a little unnerving, but my brave husband removed them. He then, knowing of my phobia, suggested that maybe we should run the water hose inside to make sure that nothing had been missed. I guess he didn’t want to see me jumping out of the boat in the middle of the lake and not being able to get back in. I was anxious to get going to try our paddling skills, but how could I argue with a double check for spiders? Gino turned the hose on, and then made an unprintable exclamation that gave me a sinking feeling. Lurking in our beautiful watercraft was the biggest spider either one of us had seen for a very long time. My worst fears were realized! It was like a terrible nightmare coming true. Since men are natural spider removers, Gino came to the rescue. I turned the hose on the arachnid and my very brave husband caught it in a rag as it came within reach, rolled in a ball on the stream of water. The last we saw, it was crawling across the lawn to find another home. We emptied the water but both started having uneasy thoughts about the kayak that was already waiting in the truck. Not even needing to discuss this, we both nodded. Yeah, we’d better give it the water treatment too. We set the dry boat onto the lawn, and when Gino looked inside again, there, looking at him was another spider that was bigger than the first one! BIGGER THAN THE FIRST ONE!! Gino said he would also have issues with this monstrous creature inside his kayak when he was paddling. I knew it! There are kayak spiders! And they are bigger than I had even imagined. Why doesn’t any one talk about them? Is it a subject so frightening that no one wants to mention it? We turned the hose onto this monster and it just looked back at us, braced itself, and defiantly held on to its perch. It was a mutant of such strength it could stand up to the full blast of frigid water from our deep well! Even a harden criminal would have trouble with such treatment. Finally, giving us a nasty look, it let go. My warrior husband picked up the giant spider with a cloth to protect his fingers from the wrath of the evil jaws. When it was on the grass I asked, “Should we kill this one?” I wasn’t sure something so scary, something that had set up housekeeping in my new kayak, should live. But we let it go and hope to never cross paths again. Besides, it would have been a messy kill. It was so late that day we never did get to go paddling. We carefully covered the opening of both kayaks with plastic to keep out any new creatures. A couple of nights later we finally tried out our new toys and they were truly wonderful! We took some days to paddle a few of the area lakes and we can’t wait to see all the interesting places ready for exploration. For the winter the kayaks are stored safely in the barn with fine netting covering the openings. Even so there still is a tiny, nagging thought in the back of my mind about any eggs that might have been placed there before the arachnid eviction. Or are there entry areas near the carrying handles? So next summer, every once in a while, when paddling peacefully across an Adirondack lake, I’m going to gingerly look to see if there are any creepy crawly spiders on my toes. SOLD _________________________________________________________________________________
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"Bloodroot" March 11, 2008
I love these pristine white flowers and look forward to seeing them each spring. Their name comes from a red liquid that is in the roots. The leathery leaves emerge from the ground gently cradling the blossom. The flowers don’t live very long, and refuse to open if the sun isn’t shining, so we check places were they grow often in the spring. Sometimes, we are treated by the sight of dozens of cheerful bloodroot almost glowing in the warm sunshine.
Original painting on a 5”x7” canvas SOLD
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“Rockwell Blanketed in a Few Inches of Snow” March 10,2008
I know. It’s another painting of Rockwell Falls. I just can’t help myself. Gino came into the studio after I started it and stated, “Oh, something different, Rockwell Falls.” Between Christmas and New Years we were blessed with a few inches of wet snow that covered our world in pristine white. When we arrived at the gallery we immediately took the camera to the bridge to see the Hudson, and to take another photo to add to the hundreds we already have. This was the scene that greeted our eyes, one we never get tired of seeing. Time of the day or year or types of weather make it an ever changing scene, but always beautiful. We’re lucky to have it so close to the gallery. This day a friend was also on the bridge with his relatives who had just arrived from Florida the night before. They were appreciating the glory of the snow more than most of us who live here, and marveling at the sight of Hudson River as it passes between Lake Luzerne and Hadley on it’s way to the ocean so many miles away.
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“Almost Back” March 7, 2008
Continuing the hike from the paintings of the past two days, we turned around at Lake Colden to retrace our steps over the shoulder of Marshall and back through the miles of forest. We stopped for a moment at a beautiful little lean-to snuggled in the conifers. And, of course, we sat down a few more minutes at the Flowed Lands to try to set the scene indelibly in our minds. I found a few bottled gentian flowers on the edge of the water, another nice treat. I hadn’t seen them for many years. The last few miles were made more difficult by blisters on my feet but it was way too late to use moleskin. By the time we made it back to the area that had been timbered and the scene of today’s painting, I was extremely elated to realize the parking lot was just a short distance ahead. We were almost finished with our journey. We turned around on the trail to see Mount Colden, now in the distance. The lowering sunlight was hitting the hills, accented by a lone pine that somehow had been spared the chain saw’s teeth. To our delight, a cooler filled with delicious deli subs and drinks, from Becky and Jungle's grocery, were waiting in his truck. We devoured them with gusto as the sky darkened around us, tired but contented with a day well spent hiking in the heart of the Adirondacks. Original painting on a 5”x7” canvas SOLD ________________________________________________________________________________
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"The Flowed Lands" March 6, 2008
It was lunchtime when we arrived so we each found seats on rocks facing the water and ate with appreciation of the scene before us. After lunch Jungle said we should take a little walk off to our right where the “scene was even better.” I never want to miss anything but couldn’t imagine it being more beautiful. He was right, just a small vantage point change and it was even more spectacular and the scene for today’s painting. It also may be a large painting somewhere in the future. I felt badly that we had never taken the few moments to explore this shoreline, so Gino and the boys have never seen it. But time was always on our minds. After taking a few dozen photos and stepping too close to the water into mud up to my shin, it came time to decide whether to go on to Lake Colden or turn back. I am always for continuing even though I might regret it later on. The guys hadn’t had enough yet either so the decision was made to continue. Time takes away the memory of some of the trails. Even though I’d been there around four times before, somehow I forgot what I was agreeing to. According to the Adirondack Journey website, “... One might think that this would be flat land, being a stone's throw from Flowed Lands, but Mt. Marshall's SE slopes continue right to the water's edge.” After lunch and resting for a while the simple walk to Lake Colden seemed difficult to say the least. John had developed a pain in one leg and had stopped enjoying the day as much. The one last rock ledge that needed to be descended to get to the Lake was just one too far and he stopped with the view obstructed by trees. The rest of us scrambled down to the dam and enjoyed the scene and some conversation with a dyed hair, pierced and tattooed hiker who seemed pleasant but out of place so deep in the heart of the Adirondacks. As the day was getting late, Avalanche Pass was out of the question. Avalanche is a great hike from the other side, past Marcy Dam. It was saved for another time. I had gone far enough to wonder about making it back to the parking lot too. So we turned around and started retracing our steps. I couldn’t imagine trying to drag myself up a mountain also, like we did years before. I’m glad we did that when we were younger. Tomorrow’s painting is another from this hike. SOLD _________________________________________________________________________
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"A Place to Pause" March 5, 2008 Our friend John, a descendant of the native Abenaki, grew up at the foot of Potash Mountain and has probably climbed to that summit more than anyone else. John has a deep appreciation of the woods and is a strong, honest man who has worked helping out at farms and as caretaker of summer homes in the area for his entire life. Never seeing the need for a car, he simply walks wherever he wants to go. When “Jungle” and Becky, both Adirondack 46R’s, bought Harris’ grocery store, a friendship developed with John. He enjoys Becky’s good cooking and they all share the love of the Adirondacks. But without a vehicle John had never experienced hiking in the High Peaks. Jungle started taking him to his favorite places up north. Both of them told Gino and I about their hikes, which made us long for those days of trekking through the mountains. When they climbed Noonmark, one we haven’t been on, I started kidding them about taking me along. Then they did Colden, one of my favorites peaks of all, on a crystal clear day. Again, I whined about them not letting me go with them. So a few weeks later Jungle invited me on a 12 miler into the Flowed Lands, maybe Lake Colden and an outside chance of extending to Avalanche Pass, on a Monday, our day off no less. Forrest, a friend of all of us, was going to join them too. I realized, a bit too late, maybe I should have just listened to the stories of their hikes and suffered my jealousy in silence. It now was time to "put up or shut up". Gino didn’t think he could make the distance and gave me his blessing to take off with the guys. I never hike without my sweetie and knew it would make him feel sad not being able to go, but I do love the Flowed Lands. Gino and our hiking buddies, Marsena and Bill, climbed Beech Mountain while we were up north. John is strong but his legs have seen many miles so they promised that he stepped a little slower than the younger guys. But with all these years without serious hiking I was still worried about keeping up. Twelve miles in the mountains is extra long. After some mental anguish my pride decided that I couldn’t say no. They came to pick me up and I kissed Gino good-by. Jungle was driving, John was “riding shotgun”, and Forrest was in the back seat. I took my place and as we drove off I heard a little chuckle from John. Forrest then put a serious look on his face and pointed to the seat between us. There was a piece of masking tape applied to the seat clearly marked, “NO GIRLS BEYOND THIS POINT”. That was really funny! It was nice to feel so welcome. On the drive up I tried not to talk too much, to reinforce the erroneous female stereotype, but it is difficult when I wanted to share our Adirondack stories of unplanned overnights, thunder, lightning and hail, a chipped knee cap, a little hypothermia and the like. The guys decided I was jinxed and we probably all would die before the day’s end. The old blast furnace on the way to the Upper Works, which used to be hidden by trees and brush, was out in the open again and partially restored. It was a nice bit of history to show Forrest and John. We passed the old abandoned buildings of Adirondack and found the hiking parking lot full of cars. Even so, we didn’t see many people on the miles of trails. The first part of the hike had been timbered since I was there last. It looked strange, but new growth was covering the scars and we could see a long distance. We enjoyed some of God’s complementary raspberries that had grown in the absence of the trees. Forrest, who enjoys living off the land, especially had trouble passing up any of the little delicacies. As we continued, the trail was muddy and consisted of many logs with one side flattened and thousands of rocks to balance on as we made our way. I was glad for my trekking poles. My heart was soaring to be to be in what a friend of Jungle’s calls the “bowels of the Adirondacks.” To me it was a wonderful lush, primitive forest welcoming me back. Today’s painting is on the way to the Flowed Lands, at a place called Calamity Brook. A man named Henderson, searching for a source of water for the iron mines at Tahawas, was accidentally shot and killed there. His family, somehow, hauled a sizeable monument to that idyllic place in memory of him. It’s a spot to pause and enjoy the beauty, and we did. Unfortunately some beavers didn’t realize the importance of the area, built a dam and flooded the stone. There was also a place not too far from here where the Benevento family spent a cool unplanned overnight out in the woods when we ran out of daylight and energy to get back to our car. But there is no monument there, I couldn’t even recognize the spot anymore, and that is another story. The hike is also another two paintings and a tale for tomorrow and the next day. SOLD _______________________________________________________________________ |
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"Sleeping Beauty" March 4, 2008
Our day was one of those crisp, clear gifts that only seem to arrive after the haze of the summer months has passed. Every little while on the walk up the mountain we were compelled to stop and drink in the warmth of the birch and poplar leaves glowing in brilliant golds. The sun reflected some of them in almost fluorescent yellow and others were cast into dark shade so the patterns were mesmerizing. We enjoyed the display all the way to the summit where we were greeted by the open view of Lake George and it’s surrounding mountains. I always forget just how beautiful the vista can be. The leaves had changed and were a little “past peak”, but the yellows of the birches and the rusty reds of the oaks were still blazing, broken by the deep greens of the conifers. We all enjoyed a leisurely lunch and wandered around the top of the mountain, making sure not to miss any hidden views. The descent was another trip through the glorious forest, now slowly darkening in the afternoon. When we reached the cars again we had that weariness of another day on the trail but also the contented feeling of knowing that for a few hours we had put aside the daily chores for restoration of mind and body in the forest. Meanwhile Mike accomplished the end of his quest for hiking all forty-six of the traditional Adirondack peaks over 4000 feet. He did it without celebration, in quiet, alone. As he sat atop Santanoni absorbing the view, another hiker came over to him to explain that he should also do Panther and Couchsachraga, two neighboring High Peaks. Mike just said, “No”. The other guy insisted, “Did you know they are also High Peaks? Don’t you want to become a “46R”? Mike simply replied, “I already am.” SOLD ________________________________________________________________________________ |
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"Lilies of the Valley" March 3, 2008
When I was a child, the lawn around the lilac bush in front of our house, out of the reach of my dad’s lawnmower, was carpeted with the shiny bright green leaves of Lilies of the Valley. They were there as long as I can remember, and I sometimes wondered about the unknown person who had planted them there. Every spring I waited for the leaves to produce spikes of tiny delicate bells. Each year I knelt on the ground to experience again the sweet fragrance of the flowers. Our friends, Marsena and Bill, have Lilies of the Valley scattered all over their lawn and woods. Last year we were delighted when Marsena delivered this little bouquet, some with a touch of pink, to our gallery. She placed them in a royal opaque blue vase that her daughter had made years before in elementary school. They were so beautiful I had to remember them on canvas. While they were there cheering up the gallery, they filled the space with the wonderful smell that instantly carried me back to my childhood. I left them on the counter where they lasted for a long time. Several of the visitors to our gallery, when they noticed the little bouquet in the vibrant blue vase, smiled and softly said, “Oh, Lilies of the Valley! I remember them from when I was a child.” SOLD _____________________________________________________________________ |
Quite
a few years back we had a devastatingly disappointing Adirondack Balloon
Festival on a rainy weekend. But the weather the day after the
festivities was beautiful and the kind pilot of the Energizer Bunny
balloon agreed to stay one more day and fly out of Crandall Park Monday
evening. It was a wonderful treat for all of us balloon enthusiasts who
would have had trouble waiting another whole year to see them fly. 
This
scene is on the same hike as yesterday’s painting, our primary
destination, the Flowed Lands. When our family was hiking the high peaks
this was always just a quick stop on our way to Cliff, Redfield or
Marshall. I always wished for more time to drink in the beauty of the
area. The only way to get there is on foot. After a little over four
and a half miles through dense forest it is always a welcome sight to
see the break ahead on the trail. Stepping out of the darkness into the
expansive open space never fails to awe even the seasoned hiker. Mount
Colden, rising sharply on the right, dominates the panorama. Avalanche
Mountain is an interesting little peak to the left of Colden. The next
nameless knoll is closer and only adds to the depth of the view. The
foreground is shallow water broken with gossamer grasses. 
Our
gallery is closed on Mondays and most times we have errands to run, but
in the summer and fall we try to put all the obligations aside to hold
on to these days for hiking. Our friends, Marsena and Bill, love to
hike too and we’ve been taking them to some of our favorite Adirondack
spots and exploring some new ones also. If it is sunny and clear, we’re
usually on the trail on Mondays. Last year we had some great hikes,
including Sleeping Beauty. Hilary, our son’s girlfriend and the big
Newfoundland, Marley, also joined us. Mike was off to the bigger
mountains on Santanoni completing his Adirondack High Peak “Forty –Six.”
