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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From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
Time to bring you up to date on Fly Creek’s happy clambering into Spring. First, the eatery scene. “Is Jerry’s open yet?” The answer is, “Oh, yes!” The porches are freshly stained; the lawns a uniform green, and the hop vines are already climbing the posts on the covered side deck. Blue and I went up there to lunch earlier this week, and I celebrated spring with my traditional bacon, onion and Swiss cheese hamburger. We two sat on the deck, enjoying the broad view and some spectacular clouds marching across, up toward Schuyler Lake.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: More from 1986 ...
This week we continue with the discussion of telephone service from the pre-dial days. On March 12 we noted that: “No one has yet produced a telephone directory from pre-dial days, but Doug Preston of New Hartford recalls that some business (which one?) in the village had the phone number 7.”
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Celebrations abound at the Thanksgiving Home
April was a month of celebrations and much to appreciate. We had a 90th birthday celebration for Wanda Noyes on April 4 including her family and friends. Personal care staff Dee Bouck worked with residents to hand paint Easter eggs for the tree in the activity room.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1986 continues ...
This week we continue our journey through the columns of 1986 with the answer to the question “for whom, according to tradition, was Hannah’s Hill named?”
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Baseball book features local contributors
Baseball is part of the nation’s fabric. Most kids have a memory of the game either from playing Little League, attending a major league contest or meeting a favorite player. In Cooperstown that feeling is magnified since we are the official home of baseball. We get to see firsthand what has made the sport the national pastime.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Ya really wanna know?
SETTING: Fly Creek General Store. CAST: Assorted seated geezers, drinking coffee. [Door opens, enter heavy-set geezer; walking slowly with wide stance, maybe prostatitis.]
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Returning to 1986 ...
For the past several years now we have undertaken sharing some of the area’s oral history we have collected over the years that we have written this column. Therefore, this year, we would like to go back to 1986 to share that rather unusual year. Those who were here then no doubt remember that it was that year that the village celebrated the bicentennial of its founding.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: For reasons unknowable
[Jim’s reached back to 2002 to share one of his favorite columns.] My father was born as the last century began into a river village in tidewater Maryland. He told me once of a man there in his boyhood who, like so many, made a thin living tonging for oysters in the cold months and, in the hot and humid ones, crabbing and raising vegetables.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: CCS balancing act ... side two
Last week we shared a number of activities in which students at CCS can participate. We thought it was an impressive, if not overwhelming, list. And we are indeed pleased that the young people of our area have these opportunities. However, we think it is also important to keep in mind that these undertakings do have a cost associated with them. They are not free. In fact there are, no doubt, those who would say they do not come cheap.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: A graceful crowd
Make of this what you will, friends. I feel I’m really meant to share it with you. Despite good medication for my Parkinsonism, every four or five weeks I can sensethe symptoms building up on me, giving me more than ordinary trouble. Lately it’s been falls, and last week brought a typical one. I’d gone out to get the paper, moving along with penguin steps on the snowcoved ice patches, and usingmy spike-tipped cane the waya climber uses an ice axe. But circumstances overcame me. Parkinson’s wipes out the possibility of multi-tasking.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: This and that and the other side ...
We note that the CCS Class of 2012 is presenting its senior class play, “Snow White” by Tim Kelly, this week with performances 7:30 p.m Thursday and Friday, March 29 and 30, and at 11 a.m. and 7:30 p.m. Saturday, March 31. All performances will be at the Nicolas J. Sterling Auditorium at the Middle/High School.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: That green thing ...
Of late we have noticed that our email inbox has been much busier than usual. In fact, we find ourselves hard pressed to keep up with all the various messages we receive. As a result we suspect we have not answered some in as timely a fashion as might be thought appropriate.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: What you need to know
In their last Sunday’s bulletins, all 84 churches of Otsego County were to have carried announcements of an important meeting; most of them did. But because the announcement is so important, and not just to the churched, here it is again.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Living the magic of ‘Hoosier’
A lot of people consider “Hoosiers” the best sports film of all time. The 1986 classic follows the exploits of a fictional small town Indiana high school basketball team in 1952 as it attempts to achieve the impossible dream of a state championship. The story is inspired by the true life achievement of the 1954 Milan team, who with an enrollment of only 161 students shocked big city power Muncie Central on a last second shot to win the state title. It’s the kind of sports story that represents something that is hard to grasp unless you live in a small town.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: The most perfect village... home to heavy industry?
We suspect we would get a whole lot more accomplished if we spent less time thinking, pondering and musing about things. In fact, there is a good possibility we might actually have completed our goal of cleaning the basement if we only focused on the task at hand, instead of trying to figure out the world around us. It almost makes us wonder if it is possible to think too much about things. We certainly hope not because should that be the case, we are in deep trouble.
Continued ... -
Up On Hawthorn Hill: The past in the present
Clichés abound about the value of photographs. Most are probably true at least to a certain extent. What I do know about an image is that it represents something of the past that is not the pastitself. But that is the power of any image. It represents something that once was. The beauty of an image, revisited, is that it functions as a catalystfor reliving in the present a past experience. My own view, one that I thank the Spanish writer Jorge Luis Borges for, is that all we ever can experience is the present.
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Workshops held for Thanksgiving Home residents
We welcomed Linda Keller, Ph.D. of the Bassett Research Institute and Ida Baker of NYCAMH who presented a six-week workshop for residents and staff.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Late-winter hamlet news
Well, at least I’m “guessing” it’s late winter now — in the winter that wasn’t. But, if not snow, I can provide a flurry of Fly Creek news to share with you, scooping Associated Press, Reuter’s, and United Press International, not to mention all local news services except our General Store.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Waiting for spring to have sprung ...
Difficult as it to believe, both January and February seem to have flown by and we find ourselves turning the calendar over to the month of March, which we have long thought is one of the more dreary months of the year. Of course, as in the pastthere are signs of spring as reflected by the tapping of the maple trees. For many years, the trees sprouted buckets to capture their all important sap. However, we now know to look for the sap collection lines that are strung from tree to tree.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Kennedy: a unique individual
It’s been almost 50 years since the Kennedy assassination shocked the nation. Since then much has been written about President John F. Kennedy and whether he would have achieved his destiny (whatever that may have been) if he had lived. It is said he inspired young people in a way that has never been equaled. And there is the notion of Camelot, espoused by his widow Jackie, that there will never be a time of hope and promise like that again.
Continued ...
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From Fly Creek: Revving up for spring
