Anne and I decided we
wanted to get away for
Christmas — travel to
somewhere fresh and exotic,
full of adventure. We
chose Milford Center. Only
twenty miles away, I
know, but far from Fly
Creek’s breakneck pace.
Our friend David, who
lives in the Milford Center
hills, had asked if we could
watch his place while he
flew to Kansas for Christmas.
(He made it, thank
God, ahead of a blizzard
out there.) Of course we
said yes, and got ready to
take over David’s roomy
farmhouse and supervision
of his dogs, cats, and
chickens. Wait, you say!
That sounds like your life
in Fly Creek! Well, yes, in
a way; but with more dogs,
cats, hens and roosters—
plus the genteel ambiance
of Milford Center. It’s the
perfect stay-cation.
We left Fly Creek on
the eve of Christmas Eve,
and I’m writing this the
very next morning. A lot
has happened.
Because one of us had
to stay north to forward
our phone south, Anne
and I traveled in two units.
I left first, driving through
blowing snow with Simon
in his crate and a cargo of
non-essentials I could be
trusted with. I hauled, of
instance, the ice-cream
maker, a mutual Christmas
gift due for a maiden
trial down in the sunnier
south.
Anne, after dealing
with Verizon, waited just
long enough to make sure
the transfer had taken
place, then set out with an
excited Blue, most of our
refrigerator’s contents,
and the suitcases.
Though Milford Center
must be south of home by
at least some degree of
latitude, it turned out to
be just as cold and snowy.
Simon and I arrived in
blowing flakes, but we got
a warm welcome at the
door. Bouncing up and
down in greeting were
Toby and Oscar the dogs;
and, standing at a dignified
remove, Lazlo and
Madeleine the cats. I built
a fire in the wood stove
and waited for the second
unit to arrive.
Toby, you should know,
is roughly half German
shepherd and half greyhound;
he could easily be a
saddle animal for a fouryear-
old. Oscar is shorter
and broader. He’s seventy
pounds, with a Brillo coat
and an irresistible, raffish
grin. Both have tails that,
happily wagging, can easily
clear a coffee table.
Blue knows these dogs,
and his arrival set off paroxysms
of joy, with lots of
cavorting and ritual sniffing
and the like. Then, because
Anne and I were too
knackered to cook, we sat
by the fire with pizza from
Sonny’s, down by Price
Chopper.
It was idyllic: crackling
fire, happy couple, sprawling
dogs and hunkereddown
cats stretching from
our feet, it seemed, to the
horizon.
When we headed up the
narrow stairs with Blue
and Simon, the rest of the
menagerie stayed by the
dying fire. Because of my
restlessness these days,
Anne and I sleep in separate
rooms; and so David
had made up his room for
Anne and a guest room for
me. Anne took Blue and
his bed to her room, and
Simon and I settled down
in ours.
Hours later I woke to
hear a lot of traffic in the
hallway. The big two dogs,
with eight paws and seemingly
hundreds of toenails
were galloping up the
stairs, rattling across to
my door, nosing hard
against it.
I remembered. David
had told me that Toby and
Oscar mostly slept in my
room. But I couldn’t let
them in. I didn’t want to
upset Simon, who was adjusting
to life in a different
house. And I didn’t want
Oscar, and especially
Toby, flopping onto the
bed with me. Toby, not
quite pony-sized, could
still roll over and squash
my ribcage.
They gave up after fifteen
minutes of snuffles
and trooped downstairs.
Then two hours later they
were back again, and two
hour after that. All that
snuffling, all those clattering
toenails! Simon, to his
credit, raised a head each
time, gave a disdainful
look at the door, and went
back to sleep. And I did,
too. Each of the times.
I gave up at six-thirty
when whines outside the
door took on a panicked
tone. Oh, of course. David,
an avid runner, is up at
five each morning, and
normally the beasties
would have long since
been outside to relieve
themselves. The dogs
greeted me with wild joy
and fell over themselves
back down the steps.
But we’d hardly reached
the bottom when I heard
more toenails behind me.
Blue, not to be left out,
had escaped Anne’s room
and was rushing to join
the melee. I opened the
back door and all three
dove outside to leap, cavort,
and finally take care
of essentials. In ski pajamas,
I stayed inside, forehead
against the cold
glass.
Ten minutes later I
called them in and realized
at once they were
staring expectantly at
their food bowls. What to
do now? First I hauled
Blue back upstairs and
pushed him in Anne’s
room. Then I came down
to find that the door to the
back pantry was stuck,
blocking me from dog food.
Muttering un-Christmassy
things, I added to my
pajamas a coat, pair of
boots, and my Elmer Fudd
cap. Then came wading
through the snow to the
back porch and through it
to the outside of the pantry
door. I managed to
yank it open. Dogs fed, I
again climbed the wooden
hill, as the Brits say. This
one has a good fifteen narrow
steps to the top. But
just as I reached the bedroom
door, another wild
clatter of toenails. Those
dogs weren’t going to be
blocked out of their room
again. I gave up.
Simon didn’t seem to
mind. He slept between
my ankles and the two
doggies flopped next to the
bed for another two hours,
snoring and belching and
worse. Over the last fifty
years, I’ve often slept in
dormitories; but never, I
think, in a kennel.
There’ll be more to tell
you, I know. This is only
our second day.
Jim Atwell lives in Fly
Creek.
Columns
Jim Atwell: Our excellent 'stay-cation’
- Columns
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In These Otsego Hills: The losses are adding up ...
It is with sadness that we note the passing of long time friend, and distantrelative, Jane Patrick. Over the years we have worked with Jane in a number of organizations including Women’s Club and the Community Advisory Committee at Bassett. And, of course, in later years we joined her, along with the other Dinner Belles, for any number of delicious meals. But we do think that our favorite memory that we shared with Jane was when we discovered, having both married Cooperstown natives, that we shared Cooperstown Christmas plans.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: Bird Feeder?
Bird feeder is a relative term. At least that is the case around here. A few mornings ago we spotted the first rabbit to visit the feeders. Normally, all we see during the winter are rabbit tracks crisscrossing the gardens.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Cheers for the Blue Rabbit!
My handwriting’s always been an embarrassment. Way back in elementary school, while most of the others were developing a clear, sometimes graceful hand (especially the girls), my penmanship showed no improvement.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: This and that ...
We have found the weather so far this year to be on the unusual side. And while we have no problem with the fact that we have received very little snow, we are of the opinion that what we have had instead is not particularly to our liking either. In fact, we are very hesitant to venture out much as we live in fear that the rain will turn to mixed precipitation which will freeze into a sheet of ice. And we are definitely opposed to encountering a sheet of ice underfoot. In fact, we are so hesitant that we now have taken to canceling our participation in events based on what just might be a dubious forecast.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Feinstein’s latest is sheer enjoyment
Most people who follow sports have probably heard of John Feinstein. As a nationally known author, sportswriter, pundit and broadcaster, he has brought a unique angle to sports journalism. His groundbreaking book on Bobby Knight’s 1986-87 Indiana University basketball team, “A Season on the Brink,” still resonates today as an all-time classic.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: No Trekkie should miss Shatner’s books
It would be hard to find a television phenomenon as popular as “Star Trek.” Even though it was only on television for three seasons and 79 episodes (1966-69) it attracted viewers and devotees that still follow it passionately 45 years later. The fanatical supportspawned several movies and television spinoffs. Star Trek conventions continue to this day. There has never been anything like it.
Continued ... -
Up on Hawthorn Hill: Making sense of things
A book I have been reading investigates the various ways over time that we have made sense of the world. It carries the reader through to the present via several seminal classical texts and ultimately aims to suggest a strategy for “ finding meaning in a secular age.”
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In These Otsego Hills: ‘Property must be secured or liberty cannot exist.’ − John Adams
Last week we were asked if we would be interested in previewing a documentary, “The Empire State Divide,”produced by the Foundation for Land & Liberty. And we were more than happy to do so as we understood the documentary dealt with the problems that continue to face family farms.
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From Fly Creek: Now wait a minute!
On the ninth day of Christmas, driving down Cooperstown’s Eagle Street, I saw something astounding! No, not “nineladies dancing, eight maids a-milking, seven swans” etc. I saw one jogger jogging. And puffing on a cigarette.
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In These Otsego Hills: Goals of the past and goals of the future
We have long subscribed to the concept that we are always more successful if we, number one, set a goal and then, number two, meet it. And this was our thinking when we decided before Christmas to watch at least part of every college football bowl game. It was perhaps an odd, if not completely nonsensical, goal.
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In These Otsego Hills: Not to our liking ...
It is with sadness that we note the recent death of Steve Nagel. The son-inlaw of our late husband’s cousins, Alice and Harvey Eckler of Fly Creek, Steve was married to the Ecklers’ oldest daughter, Gail. We had the pleasure of spending Christmas Eve with the Nagels and the Ecklers in Fly Creek, greatly enjoying the delicious food and delightful conversation.
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Up on Hawthorn Hill: Of birds and faith
I watch birds quite a bit. Every five days or so I send in a report to Cornell as partof its annual Project Feeder Watch program. The data, collected from volunteers from all over the country, enables scientists to track population trends. I would spend quite a bit of time checking out the visitors to our feeders anyway. Participating in the feeder program makes a personal pleasure that much more meaningful. It is rare that aesthetical and scientific endeavors work in tandem.
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Book Notes: Biography captures the real Stephen Colbert
It would be hard to find a comedian as unique as Stephen Colbert. As the host of “The Colbert Report” on Comedy Central he hasmanaged to leave his mark on the nation’s consciousness in both a serious and humorous sort of way. His unusual wit has allowed him to become American icon. It would be difficult to find another entertainer quite like him.
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From Fly Creek: Christmas and varied blessings
I’m still astounded! The last farmers’ market before Christmas, I was sitting up front, directly under the ceiling heater, shmoozing with the hoi-polloi. (That’s an awkward linguistic mix,but let’s let it go.) As I sipped my hot coffee, a gloved hand came to rest on my shoulder and a warm voice said, “Merry Christmas, Jim.” I looked to my left—it was Santa Claus!
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In These Otsego Hills: Always a learning experience ...
We must admit that we thoroughly enjoyed our 2011 Christmas celebration. We partook of Christmas Eve dinner at the home of Alice and Harvey Eckler of Fly Creek and Christmas Day dinner at the home of Sandy and Al Bullard of Milford. We had our usual Christmas Day brunch at home on Pioneer Street, although we must admit it was a tad bit later than usual as, what we enjoyed most about Christmas, namely our granddaughter Abby, took a great deal of time opening her Christmas presents.
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In These Otsego Hills: Coming up ... 2012
Difficult as it seems, 2011 is fast coming to an end. And it is always our hope that as a year draws to a close, the issues which have been in the forefront during the year will be resolved. Unfortunately, we suspect that will not be the case this year. Instead, we are fairly certain that many of the issues that plagued this year, will continue to plague next year. Thus we will find ourselves still musing about the same issues we have spent time with already. And while we have not come toany conclusions about many of the issues, we do think they would all likely benefit from both sides thinking critically about perspective, risk assessment and possible solutions.
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Up on Hawthorn Hill: Circularity
When she was a puppy my dog Gabby would run in what I described then as “circles of joy.” She celebrated her15th birthday a few weeks ago and despite the inevitable frailties that old age imposes upon all of us, she is doing pretty well.
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Book Notes: Grisham doesn’t disappoint
John Grisham is one of this country’s most popular authors. Every time he publishes a book it’s an instant best-seller. He appeared on the scene about 20 years ago with his tense legal thrillers, “A Time to Kill” and “The Firm,”and hasn’t stopped producing top-notch novels since.
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From Fly Creek: Still singing, beyond our hearing
This column from Christmas 2001 still speaks deeply to me, and perhaps will to you, too. Take it, please, as my Christmas gift.
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In These Otsego Hills: The 2011 Cooperstown Carol
Since 1984, with the exception of one year, 1999, we have looked forward at the end of the year to going through all the issues of the paper in order to glean those news items which have been worthy of note throughout the year and which should make their way into our annual Cooperstown Carol.
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In These Otsego Hills: The losses are adding up ...
