in the valley

Day of First Nights

2012-01-01T18:53:00.001-05:00

Some Video from a family-friendly afternoon at Holyoke's First Night, Jr. festivities at Heritage Park:

A feature of the park is the classic, transplanted old Mountain Park Merry Go Round; now safely housed in it's own big round building and still delighting big and small kids alike.

Nearby, we let the little one expend some energy at the Childrens Museum before heading back outside to the park grounds for the drop of the New Years Ball; a jubilant crowd and outgoing and incoming mayors in attendance.

When all of this afternoon fare was done there was still time for a run to Northampton, where their own First Night celebrations have begun to garner some serious popularity among the valley folk. It was shoulder to shoulder on every sidewalk, shop and venue. The view from Thornes entrance:

We made it up in time for a look at the early evening fireworks; positioning ourselves among a burgeoning throng of spectators in front of the Faces block. But the initial fireworks turned out to be partially obstructed by the Thornes building across the street. A mass exodus to the rear of that block and closer to the launch area ensued.

We decided a half display was good enough for us, and maintained our position on the sidewalk with a few other contented folk. Luckily enough, the rockets gained a little altitude as the show went on:

Arcadia Solsticity

2011-12-22T10:51:00.001-05:00

A beautifully warm and foggy night at Arcadia Wildlife sanctuary; to welcome a hopefully warm and foggy Winter.

Hurricane Highwater

2011-08-29T23:52:00.000-04:00

Some pics from Leverett, Greenfield and Shelburne Falls after Hurricane Irene blew through western Mass.

Turtle Rescue!

2011-07-27T18:32:00.002-04:00

The bittersweet travails of turtle rescue.

After The Storm

2011-06-01T22:16:00.003-04:00

Some pics and a short compilation video of the scene just a few hours after a tornado tore through Springfield's south end.

Trains Of Thought

2011-05-31T23:15:00.010-04:00

Reading the news breaking about 3pm that a train had derailed in nearby Amherst, the baby and I resolved to have a closer look at the unusual situation. The plan was to bike in along the Norwottuck rail trail which runs alongside the section of track where the calamity had occurred.

But getting to the trail entrance closest to us, we found the fuzz had already taken steps to quash the satisfaction of curiosity that we were seeking.

We waited for the officer to leave, and persuaded ourselves that the yellow tape was really for holding less intrepid investigators at bay. We mounted up, ducked the tape, and rode.

About a mile in we could see through the trees the beginnings of the stricken train. It was already about 3 hours or so since the wreck happened and the engine was gone. But several cars in, each successive car began to look like it was sitting on the tracks a little more askew.

Just further on, we got to where both the trail and the tracks crossed Station Road in Amherst and sure enough, there it was.

As advertised. The officer standing nearby greeted us with "There's something you don't see every day!"

No, indeed. No we don't. About 4 or five cars right near the road were really blotto-ed, and dug pretty good to the street where tons of moving steel had plowed into the relatively soft asphalt; probably made all the more pliant by the mini heat wave of the past couple days.

Crews were on the scene, but apparently waiting for the inspectors and crash investigators to do their work.

We watched across the bog as a handful of hard-hatted, clipboard toting officials were combing over the train and track; from the first car to several hundred yards behind the last car.

We saw them take a particular interest in a couple sections of track,

...and we wondered what they found.

Well, I wondered what they found. About an hour or so had gone by and my sidekick had just about lost interest in giant tottering trains, road blocks and investigations, and was becoming more and more persuasive about heading back home for some dinner.

Time to go. We'll have to read about this in the papers...

Rain. Rain. Rain. Rainbow.

2011-05-20T21:35:00.014-04:00

My nifty porch-mounted rain gauge registered that a well over 4 inches of rain had fallen this past week. With our area's rain average running about 50 inches a year, (or roughly 1 inch a week), we got hammered this week, indeed. And it wasn't even the rain that was so weary; it was the nearly complete lack of sunlight all week setting misery meters high.

But that finally broke Friday, if just barely.

On a drive to Atkin's Farm for green stuff, we spotted some portentous thunderheads looming in the distance.

Lightning and thunder could be seen/heard when we emerged from the store; so we decided to do the opposite of the common sense thing, and seek higher ground to have a look around. Mt. Pollux was conveniently on the return route, and it had the advantage of a lofty parking area with great views, so we could stay in the relative safety of the auto if the lightning got to intense. We're not completely crazy, after all.

We squeezed into a tight parking spot between a couple hipster types in their beat up station wagon, and a collegy-professory type in his ride. To our right, the sun was just sinking in for the night...

...while to the left, the torrent approached. The sun managed a few breaks through the cover, and turned the dark mass of water approaching into an orangy mist.

The lightning began to crackle and flash more often and closer, and then to our amazement, the collegy-proffessory guy got out of his car, metal framed umbrella in hand, and started on foot up to the bare summit of Mt. Pollux! Dead man walking, we mused to ourselves. Then a few minutes later, just as the first fat raindrops began to strike our windshield, another car came up the hill and parked quickly, and out ran a laughing young couple who also trotted up the trail and towards the top. Dead couple walking, we mused to ourselves. Isn't it lightning 101 not to seek higher ground during a lightning storm? The hipsters stared blankly from their station wagon.

Just before the downpour was finally upon us, the sun found a complete break in the cloud, and set the terrain alight in color and flame.

Then close on it's colorful heels came the rain, or deluge to be more precise, with lightning cracking right above. We had gotten our pictures, so we waved adieu to the hipsters, who stared back blankly, and we were out of there.

On the way home, in the midst of the pounding storm, an ambulance went screaming by heading in the direction we just came from. Kelly and I looked at each other. Nah. I'm sure they knew what they were doing...

Getting home, my nifty porch-mounted rain gauge showed that another 3/8 of an inch had fallen, just from that passing storm. How much more is in store.

Gay People

2011-05-08T01:42:00.024-04:00

We checked out the 2011 installment -and 30th anniversary- of Northampton's annual Gay Pride Parade. Or simply Northampton Pride, as it's come to be called.

The attendance seemed just a scoche off compared to last year, but there was a healthy showing among the LGBT community, the supporters, and the gawkers.

Perfectly late as usual we still managed to find a good viewing perch above the fray along the railroad bridge spanning the route, and in time to view the majority of the proceedings.

Kelly and I count ourselves among the multitudes of supporter-gawkers, as my camera subject choices and some gay acquaintances and a Pride Survey will attest.

We're not fervent, but hey, we're there.

I suspect it's detached side liners like us that make up the bulk of attendance at an event like this.

And it's probably the casual spectators like us that have helped slowly transform, for better or worse, this once risk-filled march for equality into the easy going celebratory parade it is now...

...replete with vendors, hawkers, and corporate sponsorship.

As I've read recently, some of the old time warriors and original marchers have lamented that the cause has lost it's way, that too many groups seem to have a dog in the fight now.

Still, what may be seen as a decay of the fighting spirit exhibited 30 years ago...

...could just as well be considered unintended consequences of accomplishment. Coat tail riders and fair weather friends inevitably come part and parcel with success. While there's more to do and more to achieve; with the front lines of the battle having come such a considerable way...

...maybe there's cause to celebrate a little.

High And Dry

2011-04-22T22:48:00.012-04:00

We skipped through an extravagangiing Amherst center...

...hung a right and headed down and out of town for the beautiful, peaceful wood and water of Amethyst Brook.

The brook was roaring on this day. Possibly the highest levels and flows we've ever seen here, at least in our handful of visits.

This presented a problem on our usual circular route when we found the fording section of the brook completely unfordable; except for a precarious balancing act across a teetering board.

A couple years ago Kelly and I would have chanced it. But not in these baby and doggy bound days.

Better to take the long way back...

...it's a nice day for a walk anyway.

Rough And Tumble

2011-04-10T17:07:00.013-04:00

A Sunday drive with the baby-scrums took us near UMass, where there was a rugby-scrum afoot.

We pulled up along a field-side gravel road, and were able to watch the game right from the comforts of the vehicle. I took pics of the game while the baby changed radio settings, emptied compartments of their contents and relocated the rear view mirror to the rear seat.

That stuff can wait. The game had captured my attention.

Admittedly, there isn't too much I know about the game of Rugby other than what I've read about on Wikipedia or seen a handful of times by chance. What I do know is it's one rough and tumble sport to play, and just about if not as exciting as American style football to watch.

This is definitely a game yet unpadded by the litigious set, or otherwise hampered by anything resembling modern health and safety scruples.

Couple that with the preeminence of our vaunted NFL, and you know there won't be a 'Monday Night Rugby' on ABC any time soon. This game is still relegated to the more curious and exotic tiers of world sports that haven't quite hit it here but are a blast to play; taking it's station somewhere between soccer and lacrosse.

Still, kudos to these hearty souls who brave this game's inherent risks, in order to make the victory or defeat that much more ...real.

For them, and for us.

New Neighbors

2011-04-04T22:25:00.001-04:00

Sunday afternoon warmed up into the fifties and Kelly, who was just getting back from walking the dog, poked her head in the door. "Hey, do you hear that?"

I turned down the tv. "Hear what?"

"Listen, it sounds like wild turkeys fighting or something."

Getting up and stepping out back, I did hear it. It sounded like, well, two turkeys fighting each other. Strange, loud warbling and cackling.

Hmm. Wild turkeys mating or fighting = good pictures, I shrewdly gauged. In less than a minute camera was in hand. Checking battery level and settings while hustling by Kelly, baby and doggy; daddy plunged into the woods a' huntin'.

Pacing along the still-wet leaf clutter gently pushing aside prickly branches and side-stepping potentially snapping fallen twigs, all effort was made to advance as silently as possible. Course was adjusted with the occasional renewed warbling, which was now becoming more and more intermittent. At last, the sounds stopped altogether. I continued on more or less towards the last heard chatter.

The house was long out of sight now, I wasn't completely sure where I was and no more sounds had been heard for several minutes. A new direction was about to be taken when through the brush there was a gigantic old tree. It was easily the tallest around and it's upper half was leaning, almost precariously. And at it's base was an equally gigantic, dark opening.

The old tree trunk looked hollowed out. The opening was big enough to shelter a human, or two if needed. Or a few turkeys.

...or any other animal, for that matter.

Stepping forward even more cautiously, carefully placing feet upon mossy stones and fallen logs, stopping and proceeding, edging closer.

Then to the right of the tree there was a sudden movement. Something large and furry rustled off, taking it's time, into the brush. It didn't look scared, it was simply moving off.

I froze. My first thought was that it was fairly big. Big enough to be a bear cub.

My second thought: where's it's mommy.

Looking around in every direction, I started to backpeddle, ready to crash back through the woods if need be; gripping the camera strap and ready to swing it like a mace, if need be. Hoping Kelly had enough detergent to clean my shorts later, if need be.

Then, one last glance back at the tree before swinging around revealed a member of my potential adversary; peeking out from around the back, a cold fury in it's eyes.

A sigh of relief doesn't cover it.

A minute later the apparent matriarch also emerged and very, very slowly scaled up the tree-side for a better look at their visitor.

Not too knowledgeable in the ways of the raccoon; whether they were the mysterious warblers I don't know. But by the groggy way they seemed to be moving about, I suspect they were just waking up from hibernation. I backed off and left them to their business.

Heading back, it occurred that we'd better make sure the trash cans are secured; there'll be a reciprocating visit from them in the coming months, no doubt.

April. Where Have You Been.

2011-04-01T21:24:00.013-04:00

Remember that scene at the end of 'The Wrath of Khan' were Ricardo Montalban says something to the effect of "With my last breath, I grapple with thee.."? That phrase was running through my brain this morning as I gazed dumbfounded at this Interminable Winter's final cast.

Crossing that rare snowy line into April just to ensure we don't soon forget the long bitter slog it put us through this year.

...that thought followed closely by "sure is pretty, tho'."

As alarming as the late season white was, it didn't come close to the forecasters' dire predictions of a foot or so of the heavy variety. By noontime in fact it was pretty much all gone in the valley. By three o'clock, I was strolling a wet but snowless Arcadia wildlife sanctuary on this day of turning, wistfully contemplating future and past.

It was still a little chilly, but unlike the cold afternoons of autumn, there was the warming hope of gentler days on the way, taking the edge off the breeze. Soon and definitely, all will be green and full of life again.

Problems will begin to feel just that much lighter, energy will seem that much stronger; the long gray winter will shrink and fade to small distant shadow.

The colors will come back, the leaves will rustle, the animals will move;

...and reasons for it all will seem reasonable, once again.

Spring In Your Step

2011-03-19T22:47:00.010-04:00

Some pics from our fourth viewing of the humongous Holyoke St. Paddy's Day Road Race.

Entertaining as ever, with some 5600 runners participating this year.

...including the usual sprinkling of characters.

The serious front runners completed the grueling 10k distance in under 30 minutes; which works out to something under 5 minutes per mile.

But of course the prevailing masses of humanity were out for more modest personal victories and did the run at a more humanly pace.

That being said; modesty can take many forms.

In a race of these proportions, there's more than just the epic story of united masses fleeting by. There are also the smaller, raucous stories of pep and personality...

...and subtler stories of dedication and perseverance.

SuperMoon

2011-03-18T23:54:00.000-04:00

Transition

2011-02-25T07:57:00.003-05:00

Something In The Water

2011-02-06T09:23:00.001-05:00

We went up to catch sight of some winter madness in the form of the 7th annual Westfield Penguin Plunge.

We had witnessed the 5th version of this event a couple years ago at the Westfield rotary, and were memorably aghast and delighted enough to head up and give it another look this year.

This time it was held at it's more typical location of Hampton Ponds off route 202. There was a good crowd on hand when we arrived. Along with a radio station truck, a local news crew, tons of spectators and 78 or so completely insane individuals bent on their own extreme discomfort, there were also fire and safety personnel on hand both in and out of the near freezing water.

Really near freezing. 32.8 degrees.

Square-feet-thick blocks of ice were cut out to make room for a brisk January dip...

...or spin.

This is the kind of event you might catch briefly on tv as a nightly-news filler clip from some faraway wooded burg in some particularly loony sector of the nation.

But no. These are our own valley neighbors fearlessly leaping into 32.8 degree water, for the sake of charity.

People you know...

...people you respect...

...people you might blandly chat with at the office coffee pot on Monday morning.

All of them taken this day with a temporary delirium, a uniting madness and need to do something remarkable for a good cause. A need to take the plunge.

This year's charity proceeds went to the Amelia Park Children's Museum, as worthy a hypothermic risk as any, and netted some $10,000. That ain't peanuts.

But noble as they may be, the stunned look on some participant's faces told a goose-pimply story of regret and a shock back to reality.

Yet oddly, others seemed to suffer no such compunctions.

Some found bravery with mutual support, running in by group of friends, family or team.

One gave new meaning to the phrase "taking the plunge".

Possibly the frigid world of politics are some preparation for this kind of action.

And in that regard Representative Humason showed his merit, as he does every year.

It was another good time and winter spectacle. We recognized several faces from the last plunge we saw back in 09', revealing a determination to the cause that spans years of good charity...

...and ice cold karma.

Around A Cold Quabbin

2011-01-29T22:59:00.016-05:00

Magic On The Wing

2011-01-26T22:15:00.002-05:00

Last Saturday we traded the sub zeros of a frustratingly snow-heaped winter wonderland for another visit to the encapsulated jungle-like environment of Magic Wings butterfly conservatory, in Deerfield.

We checked our burly coats in the coat room... stepped through a pressurized hot air isolation room... now just a few minutes for the cold camera to de-fog...

...and voila'. We realized we were in our tee-shirts and sweltering in the tropics. Arriving faster than any jet could take us.

It's been almost two years to the day since we last visited this place. And under similarly brutal New England conditions, if memory serves.

But in this glass enclosed world the marches of time distance and weather seem to hold still...

...even as it's residents race about like it's just another balmy mid-summer morning.

The shock of a winter-acclimated body to soaking, extravagant levels of thick humid air is trounced by heaping eyefuls of color and design, courtesy of a nature at full swell.

It's a place to bring your camera and cheat winter. To look ahead to the summer.

Even while it looks back at you.

It's always a long slog getting through this darker half of the year, and the fight can at times seem bitter and unending.

A break from the battle can be healthy to body and mind. And especially during this particularly 'challenging' January...

...butterflies are a bit of a treat.

Run For It

2010-12-05T20:53:00.004-05:00

Sunday we were en route to Belchertown on some ongoing 'business' that's been taking up a lot of our attention lately (details on that hopefully to come...) But we had some extra time so we routed ourselves via Northampton, to get another look at their Hot Chocolate Run for Safe Passage going on that morning.

It's an annual 5k run/walk for charity, with proceeds going towards helping victims of domestic violence escape their predicaments. Our own first look at the event was back in 2008, with record numbers of participants that year. And this year...

...it looked to be as big if not bigger.

Like a good parade, these runs are always fun to watch and/or photograph. As much for the spectacle of so many as the spectacle of a few.

Some colorful standouts are always sprinkled in with the masses of charity-driven participants.

For the spectator, it's a good reason to get out on a cold, crisp December morning. Maybe listen to some drums.

For the participant, it's one of the healthier means of just getting out there and doing a good thing. Something satisfying for the heart and mind; especially on such a crisp December morning.

...a satisfaction by the way, not reserved for humans.

The run is as popular as ever and as I'm writing this, a tweet just came in over the wire: this year's event netted some $135,000 for Safe Passage.

That's a lot of folks helping a lot of folks, while helping themselves.

...pretty sure that's what they call a 'Win-Win'.

Puppets And Giants

2010-11-26T23:50:00.003-05:00

We went down to see Springfield's annual post-Thanksgiving Big Balloon Parade. And in typical fashion we made it there a half hour late. We had missed the Cat In The Hat; but caught the Big Wreathe.

Didn't see the giant Toy Soldier, but did witness Nicholas the Penguin.

Went without the famous Garfield the Cat. But instead got Raggedy Ann.

Good enough.

Dwarfed under the floating giants and barely acknowledged by the spectator, were humans scurrying about, tugging at ropes and strings, guiding and animating the otherwise inanimate.

Or alternately filling the spaces between, with marching and dance.

Despite the soggy weather it was festive and fun, a great event for the holiday weekend. Just over too soon, but that was our bad. After a waving Santa led the last of the paraders around the far corner, the crowds broke up and everyone went back to their holiday business.

We headed back to the car and steeled our nerves for some Black Friday traffic and shopping, when the bloggerette suddenly decided she hadn't had enough of the big city and made an issue of it to that affect. So we decided to extend our downtown visit a little and turned around to rejoin the other visitors, a good chunk of which had disappeared into nearby Tower Square...

...where the festivities continued.

There was a long line to get into the annual Festival of Trees raffle, so we opted instead for a good old fashioned -very old fashioned- marionette show going on nearby. Kelly and the baby found a place to set in the crowd and watch the age old tale of Cinderella, which was already mid-show.

Hmm. What form of entertainment was this?? No electricity. No lights or special effects. No high score, no explosions, no guns., no calvary. Yet all the kids were rapt with attention.

There was no intertubes, no streaming gigabits, no lasers, no choreography. Just a couple folks tugging at strings behind the scenes. Animating the inanimate.

With all the audio-visual-instant-gratification now flashing daily before our eyes, how can some bouncing puppets on strings still be entertaining?

Where's the fun? where's the challenge?

...it must be in the imagining.

November 20

2010-11-20T06:54:00.000-05:00

We miss you and Love you, Mae.

High In The Morning

2010-11-15T21:55:00.005-05:00

The new weekend routine grumbles on with another pre-dawn-wake-up and dark-chilly-drive to the kid's workplace. Then a steamy drive-thru coffee, a half hearted rumination on a good spot for some morning photography, and finally a blinking bewildered gaze at a truck stop sunrise.

Saturday morning was rough; still a little punch drunk from a particularly lengthy work week I just couldn't get it going and get fully awake. So it was a compromise venture just a little further up the highway, then a few quick pics at the next exit, and a U-turn for home base...getting back in before I was even missed by the bloggerette and K-Girl.

Sunday however found a relatively refreshed noggin, more up to the task and simmering with an ambitious greet for this new rival, the Sun.

Aye, today I'd even meet it closer to it's own turf.

...about 1000 feet closer.

The woods are just about completely in winter form, with just a few die hard oak trees jealously giving up the last of their leaves. Meanwhile the forest floor is absolutely slippery with the rest of the trees' leaf litter, making for some heart stopping slip-ups on the steeper sections. But the relatively short hike though brutal for the unprepared, gives up quick rewards for the diligent.

While the sun lit up the eastern side of the mountain in a yellow blaze, it filled the valley on the western side more slowly and with gentler light.

I strolled around the summit a little bit, looking for different perspectives and examining graffiti old and new on the ancient lava rock...

...all the while Easthampton slowly emerged from the shroud cast by the mountainside.

Wake up, little people.

Just then it dawned on me that the air at these heights and at that early hour was so extraordinarily cool and fresh. It just felt...clean. Like pure oxygen. Momentarily high on life, I toyed with the idea of following the ridge for a bit and maybe making it over to the wind turbine and old Mt. Tom ski area antenna.

But reason, time, and calorie constraints kicked in to harsh my mellow. I was satisfied with the morning's modest stab at carpe diem; it had been enough exercise. It's one of those experiences that really are there for the taking at any time; yet regrettably taken too rarely.

The entire morning had been just me the fresh air and the mountain heights, not another creature in sight. Only heading back down did I finally encounter another hearty soul making his way up. But not breaking the peacefulness of the morning, neither of us said a word in passing.

But it turned out it this guy was none other than the Husky Hiker himself. Blogger and Mountain Man. I only realized this afterwards, reading his Mt Tom summit tweets when I got back to my car. A kindred soul on some level, methinks; I wish I had stopped for a few words. Maybe next time.

Daylight Savings

2010-11-07T10:55:00.004-05:00

The Kid has managed to find a part time job and in these tough times, this is good. But the job requires that dad drop him off at 6-o'-freakin'-clock in the morning, on the weekend, which in November and subsequent months especially, is not so good.

What to do but brew up a batch of lemonade and take the opportunity to get some morning photography done. I've been wanting to do this for some time anyway. Saturday I tried the Quabbin...

Once you're up and out there, crisp air in the lungs, steaming cup of coffee in hand, camera on stand-by and glasses fogged up, you can begin to appreciate the nuances of a world slowly waking up.

I'm a big fan of the sunset, but they say as far as picture taking goes dawn light is just as good if not better than dusk light. More yellowy-pinky, less orangey-reddy.

Dawn generally just gets less camera play as it requires a suspension of instinct to wake up in the dark and cold. (my instinct, anyway.) But we pulled it off and Sunday I went for round two at my favorite of favorite places to loaf in the woods, Arcadia. This time much closer to the critical hour and much more hurried, thanks to Daylight Savings.

It was just about as cold as Saturday and even though it was cloudy both mornings and the sun took it's time both days, when it finally did break through...

...Blammo.

Everybody up. Fauna...

...and Flora, all surviving and struggling in the sudden lock-up of nature without warmth...

...and humans too, maybe struggling a bit less with the help of their crazy automations.

One thing I noticed photography-wise in these two mornings is that there seems to be a little less less time to get about and look for things to shoot as opposed to sunset. Once that sun is up it seems to go very quickly from that fresh yellowy glow to the standard harsh bright white of the day.

But maybe I'm just groggy.

Victory In The Making

2010-10-30T22:27:00.001-04:00

What happened to downtown Holyoke.

Long ago, the streets used to bustle. The people used to move. The businesses used to prosper. It was a booming industrial city in a booming industrial country, during a booming industrial era.

For over a hundred years Holyoke created and manufactured on a global basis. Now... not so much. For decades now it has been a city on the ropes, it's former economic and industrial base almost vanished, poverty rates at state highs, and for too long relying on outside aid to stay afloat.

But in the city's present atmosphere of uncertainty and despair are glimmers of hope. Grasping at the city's bare old bones are small but lively groups of activists, advocates and long time residents. Urgent minds and hands trying furiously to cultivate rebirth and prosperity for the future of the city they love.

Successes by these advocates are mounting. Open Square, one of the earliest manufacturing plants, was once wrecked and empty. It's now brought back to life and housing coffee shops, art space and retail business.

Here and there in fits and starts, once crumbling red brick warehouses and defunct factories are being cleaned up and retreaded.

Pathways, parks and spruced up canal-sides. Rumors of giant high tech industries finding a home here in a stripped down but fully functional infrastructure that sustained a bygone manufacturing era.

Small groups and activists cannot attack the whole problem of Holyoke, it's too big. They have to pick apart the problems and repair, cause by cause; grabbing hold of whatever is within reach. Rejuvenating, restoring, setting it loose and then moving on to the next project.

One of those projects is the Victory Theater.

For several years now there has been an effort by the Holyoke advocates to restore this lost classic. Effort by people like this guy, who got himself involved.

The theater doors were open for public viewing and picture taking last weekend. After seeing many stories and photos on the net and news I was eager to get a look for myself.

As blown out and deteriorating the closed theater was when it was originally considered for restoration, it actually looked much better before the restoration work started. What now looks like utter destruction are just the beginning phases of the long slog ahead.

Much of the surviving finer details like the giant silk tapestries that lined the walls have already been removed for restoration or replication.

Loose paint has begun to be scraped away. Unsalvageable beams, trusses and girders are being ripped down to be replaced. Walls and floorboards are gutted. There's a lot of work to do.

A. lot. of. work.

But standing down in front of the stage and orchestra pit, ( and just the fact that there is an orchestra pit is awesome),

...or high above in the third level seating, you can get a sense of the grandness and attention to detail that was integral to structure and designs back in the day.

It's a lost art that should be restored. This is what needs to be brought back to life.

Poking around the dark lobbies, back halls and side rooms of the theater, I didn't see any bugs or mice, but the place was crawling with photogs.

Amateurs, hobbyists and pros were everywhere, sporting everything from point and shoots to top of the line 'L' series lenses perched on heavy Manfrotto tripods. It seems almost dangerous to bring such expensive equipment to such a dusty equipment unfriendly place. Measurable depths of particulate and debris was coating or being kicked up from every square inch of the place.

A photo equipment unfriendly environment indeed.

So you might appreciate my abject horror when my own modest but most expensive lens suddenly pops out of my pocket, and with a dull thump lands in a half inch of the finest demolition dust. Then it rolls a bit before going plunk, plunk, roll, plunk down some rotting god forsaken steps and into a pitch-black hole down under the stage. Now imagine yours truly steeling his nerve and crunching down, gingerly stepping into the black pit in pursuit. Repeatedly pressing the shutter button and using his camera flash to light the way in bursts of gruesome.

Amazing. Almost every nook and cranny of the place needs to be done over. It's almost bewildering how much work will be needed to get a show going on that stage again. Success will be a monumental achievement.

But there are people working on it. They've drawn up plans, they're getting people and resources together...

...they're keeping the hope alive.

Rice With Larry

2010-10-23T20:55:00.005-04:00

A while back, Arizona-transplanted former valley resident Larry R. suggested we take a hike up the nearby Rice Farm Nature Preserve in Wilbraham. He was sure it would knock our socks off. Procrastinator Tony M. did a quick google search, thought it looked cool, but then allowed the advice to slip to the the back burner on his list of valley things to check out.

Then the old farm and its protected preserve regained my attention again when some purchases concerning the old farmland and it's nearby iconic stand was recently in the news. I recalled Larry's email, deemed this to be an ideal hike for leaf peeping, and immediately made plans forthwith.

Turns out Tony M. was a idiot, as this turned out to be one of the most enjoyable hikes of our year.

Rice Farm Nature Preserve was close by, the sun was beaming bright that afternoon, the weather was crisp and cool, the wind gusting and the foliage, well, let's say the whole shebang was conducive to a good hike.

The trail head is found at the end of Highmoor street in Wilbraham. It starts with a low, level walk over some extensive roots and freshly carpeted leaf clutter.

Then it's an easy march along well marked trails under a canopy of color.

The trail steadily gains altitude winding up a low hillside, but at no point getting to what we'd call too steep or difficult. Although it's late in the year, the woods are still very much alive.

Time flew and it didn't seem to take too long before we were near the upper reaches of the hillside. The plan was to head for a 'Sunrise Peak' that was marked off on our trail map; where there are some ledges we thought would give us good views of Monson to the east and beyond.

But then our handy GPS was showing that there was an apple orchard right nearby and we decided to fit it into the route. A short walk later and the wooded trail suddenly opened up into a broad open apple orchard, stretching back down the hillside.

And above the low-slung apple trees was the aforementioned sock-knocking view Larry had advised, lo' these many months ago.

The lower valley stretches out before us and is curbed in the distance by Mt. Tom and the Holyoke range, all the way to Long Mountain.

All the while, fast moving clouds splotched calico shadows on the whole orange peppered scene.

It was downright magical.

We stopped here and took a break on the grassy trail, relaxing and soaking up the view. While the bloggerette explored the area grasses and milkweed, I was on the look-out for landlocked and/or air bound wildlife.

It wasn't long before she was rewarded with a coat full of tag-alongs,

...and I was rewarded with a low fly-by from a red tail Hawk.

The raptor was riding the wind billowing up the hillside, and using it to hover in place while it scanned for lunch; occasionally dive bombing the tall grasses for some unseen, unlucky creature.

After a good healthy dose of this mountain living, we cleared the bloggerette's coat, made her put her shoes back on, and moved on up the grassy hill. Nearby and right above the apple orchard was a wide clearing devoid of trees, and providing an even wider view of the stunning scenery.

I was half expecting Julie Andrews to come dancing out of the woods at this point.

But instead, some low dark clouds were emerging from above the trees and were moving in fast. The bloggerette's nose was a little red and sniffly from all the action, the sun was confoundedly sinking to the west, and it was time to think about heading back down.

Sunrise Peak and it's ledges will have to wait for a return visit.

...which, there certainly will be.

Sun Spotting

2010-10-19T11:16:00.001-04:00

It was an excellent couple of days for leaf peeping. We had manged to get in a couple of good hikes for a healthy dose of color and exercise. But Kelly had to work Sunday night, which left the bloggerette and I to wind out the weekend ourselves. We discussed our options and decided a ride up to Mt. Pollux was in order, for a good sunset viewing.

Since days like these will soon be in short supply, it seemed best not to waste a minute indoors.

There was a smattering of people on the hilltop, just hanging out, quietly contemplating and soaking in the last rays of the day.

Then there was this one guy, who was enjoying the scene a little more intently than the others.

He had brought up his telescope and had it aimed at the sun. Everyone within earshot was invited to have a look.

His name is Tom, a member of the Amherst Area Amateur Astronomers Association. He can be found here from April to October, on Saturday afternoons and Sundays at sunset, ever eager to share the treasures of the sky with whoever is willing to listen, or watch.

I took a turn at the telescope and in the eye piece, sure enough, was a large, beautifully rendered view of our mighty yellow Sol. Replete with sunspots and atmospheric shimmer.

Tom offered up plenty of info on the sun and other heavenly objects as each of us peered through the glass, and several minutes later generously invited everyone for another round as the sun slowly melted into the horizon, now compressing into a more oval shape due to refraction of the atmosphere, and the distant tree tops in the eyepiece swayed in silhouette against a vanishing orange disk.

Then in a flash, it was gone.

Most everyone remaining was now making their way back down the hill. The bloggerette and I hung out for a few more minutes with Tom and another straggler. Tom had one more thing to show us. After all, what does an astronomer do when the sun is all gone?

Points his scope at the moon, of course.

Keystone 1-2

2010-10-15T23:52:00.004-04:00

We went out deeper into hill country, out to Chester to check out the Keystone Arches. The arches are a series of three towering old railroad bridges spanning the western branch of the Westfield river. Throwbacks to the mid 19th century railroad boom days, the tallest of the three is over 70 feet high, and none of them built with any mortar. They were the first 'keystone' arches built in America, part of the longest and highest railway of it's day.

It was worth an autumn hike.

The trail-head is on Middlefield road, near the Chester/ Middlefield line.

The trail is about 2.5 miles each way, and it's actually a rocky double tracked vehicle-accessible fire road for the first section. But walking was the order of the day. It's easier to take in a waterfall that way.

It's not too far to the first bridge. A double arched construction settled in with the forest. Not ridiculously tall, but impressive for it's strength and age. No mortar or cement, remember.

A couple passing hikers informed us that the next arch was about 25 hiking minutes away, and with the sun getting low, we'd probably not make it there and back before dark. So with this initial section of the trail scouted out and the rest looking pretty inviting, we decided to return the next day; earlier, more prepared, and equipped with our bikes.

The next morning found us back again as planned, now carefully rambling over the rocky path on our two wheelers past the first bridge, and on.

Winding along with the Westfield river, pulling away into the woods here and coming back to it's banks there.

Following the river it's not easy to get lost, but if you don't pay attention to where the trail veers off you can suddenly find yourself along some lonely stretch of active track, with no trail to be seen.

A little back-tracking and these blue markers will put you back on course.

Then some steady and more vigorous ascending. We'd occasionally have to get off and walk the bikes or let the bloggerette snack and stretch her legs, but kept making progress.

...until the double track ends abruptly at the edge of a steep descent. The trail here gets very narrow and runs along a steep descending hillside. We had gone about a mile, but there was no way we'd get both the bikes and the baby safely down this tricky section of trail.

Still, the next bridge felt so tantalizingly close. I had come to get a picture of it and after two trips in one weekend the likelyhood of getting out here again this year probably slim. Since there were plenty of other friendly hikers around, it was deemed safe for the ladies to stay behind and guard the bikes while I set off by myself to see if the next keystone arch was just around the next bend in the trail.

One bend turned into another and soon I was crossing trestle foot bridges and weaving through narrow leaf cluttered trails, scrambling over rocks and descending all along, getting nearer and nearer to the river at the bottom.

But the farther from the girls, the more urgent the passing time seemed to get and soon I was trotting along at the fastest pace possible. Finally down at river level, the single track met up again with a double track fire road, and at first, still no bridge in sight.

I couldn't turn around now and plowed forward just a little more. Thennnn, a little more. At last, with huffing breath I could see through sweat soaked eyes that there was something in the distance.

Something dark cutting tall and horizontal across the brilliant tangle of the autumn branches and leaves.

Something commandingly tall in the lonely forest, geometrically precise in the chaos of the wild, something slender in proportion but weighty and solid in form. Something decidedly... man made.

With bridge #2 under my belt and on my memory card, I made all haste back down the double track and then up the hill; wildly clambering and pulling and pushing the wheezing envelope of my endurance to it's limit. This actually felt pretty good, being so long since I've really pushed myself. Must. Do. More of this.

Getting closer to the girls I stopped to call out across the remaining span of woods with what little air I could muster, then bated my heaving breath to listen intently for a reply...

It came echoing through the wood in the form of a highly irritated "Yeaaah? Whaaat!?"

All I needed to hear and could slow down to catch some breath before finally reaching them. Coming around the last turn, my lightheaded grin of accomplishment was met with two less than plussed gazes of impatience.

Ahh my two favorite girls. Home sweet home.

Bridge #3 will have to wait.

Ashuwillticook, Pronounced Ashuwillticook

2010-10-09T22:25:00.004-04:00

Finding time to sit down and blog is getting tougher these days. Making time to get out and maybe photograph bloggable stuff is another matter. We went up and over the Berkshires recently and took a bicycle spin on the ol' Ashuwillticook trail in Pittsfield, hoping for an advance screening of autumn color.

Unfortunately the colors weren't any more enthusiastic out there than they are right here in the valley. So there's nothing to do but wait. And attend harvest festivals, like the one we stumbled upon alongside the trail. A pumpkin festival to be more precise.

For a small farm-stand area that they were using, they packed in a lot of fest. Pony rides for the kids, games and hayrides for kids and adults, slides, corn mazes, haunted ships...

...food, music and of course...

Pumpkins.

Lots and lots of pumpkins. I mean a lot of pumpkins.

What's more October? Except running eerily alongside all the festivity was a darker theme...a certain, sinister, Halloweeniness....

...ehhh, maybe not so sinister.

We hung out for a bit and got our fill of Pittsfield pumpkin fun before heading back to the bikes. But now short on time, sunlight, and baby patience, we didn't get the whole trail-length in this time around.

We went a little further on before it was back to the car under lengthening shadows. Though this visit was short and a little early for brilliant foliage, there was still plenty of nature to gaze at on the trail. The Berkshires are rarely a wasted trip.

Wooden Ships

2010-09-21T23:44:00.005-04:00

We had read about it in the Gazette, as had many others, apparently.

UMass grad student and local artist Steve Snell had hit upon an artistic concept unlike most: build a wooden boat around an old junk couch, and paddle it down the river. Post-Pop-Art, as it was described in the article. This was something that had to be seen to be believed. (Which I think is what they said MAKES it post-pop.)

He was scheduled to come by the Norrwottuck rail trail bridge about 3 o'clockish. We arrived about 3:30, and there was no sign of the bold artiste yet.

The usual boat traffic came and went underneath us and 3:30 turned to 4 o'clock.

What, did he sink? Some people could be heard murmuring sly jokes to each other, like, "Well, he's an artist, not a navigator. Sooo, I'll see you tomorrow."

But few spectators left.

The event was to be well documented. I saw a couple local blogger types and one local news camera, TV22, amongst us.

Then there was this guy smartly getting the live angle shots.

Finally, with a few squints and some pointing; a soft rise in voices signalled that the dubious had become real.

It was a guy... indeed paddling down river... indeed, on a couch.

Just when you think you've seen it all...

The crowd began to hoot and holler as he glided under the bridge. His Post-Pop-Art vessel seemingly as stable as any.

The artist-turned-sailor looked a little exhausted from his trek, which had begun up in Hatfield several miles away. Still he mustered up enough energy to play up the crowd with some exuberant paddle waving and hoots of his own.

He seemed relieved to have reached the end of the trip and called out to the camera boat following along that he'd take out at nearby Sportsman's Marina.

The couch while evidently seaworthy probably wasn't the sleekest hull on the river that day. But then, I supposed that's one good thing about floating a couch..

...when you get tired; wellll...

More Flying Things

2010-09-18T23:14:00.003-04:00

We swung into the meadows near Northampton late Saturday as the sun was dropping low. We'll swing in here whenever we're in the area at the right time; just because it's a good place to get some good looks at the Holyoke range,

...the late summer grasses in the setting sun,

...and sometimes the rising moon.

And on this particular afternoon, also the many small planes taking off and landing right nearby at Northampton Airport.

We often catch one or two coming or going when we're here.

But the small field was particularly busy at this hour, on this day.

No sooner had one revved up and lifted off,

...when another was coming in.

We counted five or six in the space of a half hour.

The busiest we had ever seen it. Must be the perfect weather bringing out all the pilots and their magnificent flying machines.

A speedier mode of travel...

...can hardly be imagined.

Uplifter

2010-09-12T00:14:00.000-04:00

We headed up to Look Park Friday night for a look at their 4th annual Balloon Festival, commencing with a dusk light-up, timed to music.

It was such an 'uplifting' sight, we made a return visit the next day, for a view of mass lift-off.

Beautiful stuff. And a beautiful day for it.

2010-09-11T19:24:00.001-04:00

Blandford In Motion

2010-09-09T14:36:00.001-04:00

C.R.U.S.H. On Holyoke

2010-09-05T23:18:00.001-04:00

We checked in at Veterans Park in Holyoke for a look at the Block Party being thrown by the members of C.R.U.S.H.

We were heading up for a quick bike ride before Kelly had to work, but stopped in just long enough for bloggerette to 'pluck a duck' from the Providence Ministries for the Needy...

...and for me to find out I'm basically a grenade with the pin pulled.

This was definitely a Holyoke-centric event, geared towards bringing the community together for the benefit of revitalizing a city they're proud to call home.

We did a quick round of the park, checking out the music, games, arts and crafts...

But the underlying theme to this block party was that it was a gathering for public and political issues as well.

The block party looked like a success for the Citizens for the Revitalization and Urban Success of Holyoke. A group of people who have a serious C.R.U.S.H. on Holyoke...

Hilltown Country Flair

2010-09-04T22:35:00.003-04:00

We missed it last year; so we made a now biannual trip to the lofty heights of Blandford for another dose of their classic country hilltown fair; and were happy to see little had changed. It was a virtual replay of our last visit.

Not tremendously crowded, but busy.

Not flashy, but authentic.

Not a carnival, but a fair.

One thing that wasn't going on while we were here last time was a simply awesome fiddle competition. It was going on all afternoon. Young and old competed with incredible talent, and the audience reaped the rewards of their battle.

The fiddlers were ubiquitou; playing in front of the audience or spread out all around the fair grounds playing solo. Some stood in front of their cars or with their family members at the picnic tables; all practicing for their turn on stage. The result was the sounds of fiddle music everywhere.

The youngsters were especially remarkable, playing with a virtuosityseemingly way beyond their years.

At some points, many of them got on stage together for a hilltown symphony that was ...simply music to our ears.

Mesmerizing stuff for our our first listen. To think, some have enjoyed this for decades.

Country flair was all around. Potato sack and three-legged races were being held right behind us as we listened to the fiddlers.

A short walk away, and the thumping gallop of horses grows louder as we approach the riding show.

A stop at the petting zoo...

...and we wrapped it up with a 'Feats Of Strength': a classic horse pull competition among the local farmers.

We've seen a lot of these pulls with oxen, but a horse pull was a rarer sight. Either way, these pulls are definitely one of the more popular attractions at these fairs. The bleachers were full and some had apparently come from a long way off for the show.

Late afternoon, and the cool clear skies had been slowly clouding over.

A sprinkle or two and we decided we'd seen enough for the day. Time to head back.

But as we rolled away to begin our long descent back into the valley, the clouds broke and sunlight came splashing through again.

It looks like the sun will continue to shine all weekend on this little hilltop country fair.

Maineacs Sur Hampton

2010-09-03T16:10:00.001-04:00

Portland Of The East

2010-08-29T09:31:00.008-04:00

All those cliche's about Maine; the moose crossing endless woodland trails, the fat lobsters hauled in and eaten within hours of catch, the huge lakes packed with trout and bass, the rocky rugged coast, the brilliant starlight above the red glowing dome of a campfire.

True. All of it. And we've only seen a small, relatively populated corner of the great state this weekend.

Our hosts have kept us pretty busy showing us the area and local sights, and I haven't really had as much time to take the back woods nature pics I was hoping to take; but I did get a few of our visit to nearby Portland on Saturday.

There's a pretty vibrant art culture in this friendly city, and an arts fest was going on in the blocked off Commercial Street, the main vein of the college art body here.

Lots of paintings and photographs, music, and a vibe typical of a college region. Much like our dear old valley. Down the the road a music fest was packing a park with revelers. A short walk from the arts fest and we were in Old Port, a rehabilitated port district absolutely jammed with restaurants, bars and shops.

The architecture of the town is something to take into account too. Many of the buildings stretch from Old Port to the college district are from the 18th to the middle 20th century, most restored, and all within walking distance of each other.

This hotel has the notoriety of being host to a visit from Elvis, who's suite is still restricted to most lodgers.

This building, with a giant time and temperature sign on top of it, is know locally as what? The Time And Temperature Building. Of course.

Meanwhile, the local library is a modern, blue glass affair.

The college campus is spread throughout a good section of this section of city. And the art can be found scattered all around, even outside the art district.

From this architectural wink and nod...

To this darker themed graffiti gracing an alley across the street.

Portland is a beautiful city, kin to Boston and maybe bigger than Providence. We'll have to come back for a more thorough look at some point.

But we're only up for a long weekend and there's much to do. Our hosts have been showing us as much as they can during a couple whirlwind days, and have been capping the nights with blazing chimeneas,

....good drinks, and a willing moon.

Right now it's about 10:30 am on our last day and I have to end this post here. They're calling us; apparently we're joining them for a boat ride on nearby Lake Sebago.

Boy, Maine sucks.

Sky High: The Movie

2010-08-25T10:11:00.000-04:00

Sky High

2010-08-21T23:55:00.017-04:00

Northwest Passage

About two weeks ago while at work I took a wrong turn and got lost. But following an unfamiliar winding road long enough eventually dumped out onto route 10, in around the Southhampton/ Westfield line. At the time I was just glad to get back to a familiar road, but little did I know how lucky that little meander would prove a couple weeks later.

We got up early on Saturday and headed out on the Pike from Ludlow for a ride to the air show in Westfield. Not having been to an air show in a couple years, The kid in me had been straining at the reigns for this day to come. Whizzing past the Springfield 291 exit happily enough, then coming over a hill and approaching Chicopee, we suddenly came upon a sea of red brake lights.

This was crazy. The traffic for the air show was completely backed up at least from the West Springfield exit, about 5 miles away. And then, probably another 5 miles to the Westfield Exit.

So much for the most direct approach. We stopped and started and crawled and finally made it to the exit in Chicopee which, surprisingly, not many others were taking. The new mission was to find another way in to Barnes. Maybe route 202 through Holyoke, past HCC and Ashley reservoir. We criss-crossed the criss-cross streets of Holyoke and crossed under 91, but were soon awash again in a sea of red light. Ugh. The day was looking like a complete bust, and glum discussion of other options for the morning sprang up. Nothing would substitute satisfactorily, though.

That's when that back road trek of the previous fortnight came to mind. It was worth a try. We climbed up Rte 141 heading to Mt. Tom, and took that same left turn. Mile after mile wound by, and our hopes began to rise as traffic in front of us remained light to non existent. We came closer to route 10 and still nothing. Could it be? Had we found the Northwest Passage? We pulled out onto Rte 10 south, and still nothing. One more mile or so to the intersection of 202, and we knew we were in the clear. Even if there was a traffic jam the last mile to the air base (and there was, a little) we could deal with that.

Turning left into the base, we looked with pity on the poor souls virtually parked on route 10 north, their sallow expression telling the story of hours and hours of staring at bumpers.

We paid the 10 dollar parking donation, were directed to our space far out in a grassy field, and piled out of the car just as an F-16 ROARED overhead.

We had arrived.

The F-16 was half way through it's set, and for the second half slowed down a bit too be joined by that other venerable super-fighter, of a long past generation: the P51 Mustang.

Getting through the gate, security was tight. Really tight. everyone had their bags searched and pockets emptied.

Eyes were everywhere.

But so it must be, in this day and age. We got in without much more ado, as the F-16 and P-51 finished their show and stunt planes now ruled the sky.

Next up, the A-10. A pair of these former full time Barnes residents 'bombed' the field betwixt runways, to an approving crowd.

As show after show took to the skies, we wandered about, checking out the other aircraft lined up on the tarmac. Vietnam-era helicopters and titanic cargo craft.

Old and new is always the big theme at these air shows, with both providing their own interest and fascination.

Our hearing was starting to come back again, just as an F-18 Hornet wound up and catapulted into the sky.

The Navy's number one fighter put on a show as impressive and as deafening as the F-16 earlier. As for myself, I managed to get the shots I was hankering for since getting here:

The hard accelerating afterburner lightup...

...the air-pulverizing nose-up maneuver...

...and the coup de grace, a mixture of both.

This gave me tremendous, though odd, satisfaction. It was like bagging prey. Or more precisely, locking on target. I Am Become Photohunter.

Like the F-16 earlier, the Hornet was soon joined by it's mid 20th century counterpart, the Navy's F-4U Corsair, and they both did a commemorative round together.

Good show, old man. Thrilling stuff.

Things quieted down for a spell after that. Though there was always something going on above, be it engined or not.

Gliders, floaters and turbo-props. They seemed to be alternating the technology with each show.

It was way past noon now and the place was full up.

Having done a lot of walking, as is par on an broad air base, we were getting pretty hungry and decided to break for lunch. We had brought sandwiches but coolers weren't allowed inside, so we had to get back outside the gate to eat. We passed under (mostly) watchful eyes once again.

The long trek back out to the car was rewarded with a cooler full of tasty sandwiches, while WWII vintage aircraft buzz by in the distance.

The air was on the cool side, compared to the past couple months, the sandwiches hit the spot, the old planes' relatively quiet piston engines puttered overhead, and it was all pretty relaxing.

So relaxing in fact, that we decided we had seen plenty this morning and should maybe forgo waiting the couple more hours for the headlining Thunderbirds. Westfield was also having a fair this weekend, and maybe we could go check that out.

But not 15 minutes out of the gate, we (I) began to feel pangs of early-leaver's remorse. We did a drive-by of the fair but just weren't into it today. Lets head back and see the T-Birds. Now to go back might mean another $10 donation...we wanted to see the Birds, but not that much.

Plan B here was to find a good roadside clearing near the base as many a traffic jammed, frustrated populace was doing on every road surrounding the base.

We circled around and found a fine lookout at a golf course on the East side of the base. Many people were already there and we picked our spot and waited. It took a while, but at last we heard the distant panther roar of F-16 jet engines winding up.

A flash of reflected sunlight here, beyond the tree line, a streak of white smoke there, and suddenly...

Boom.

It turned out to be a prime spot for the show, with several planes buzzing low right above us, the thunder terrifying and delighting the bloggerette at the same time. Too cool.

These guys, and all the pilots, earned their pay today.

The Thunderbirds capped it. Time to head back.

Two Hours To Sunset

2010-08-21T01:12:00.002-04:00

To Turners Falls, And Beyond

2010-08-15T10:29:00.001-04:00

Talk Of Secession

2010-08-12T22:11:00.004-04:00

It was a warish kind of weekend. Not one, but two excellent reenactments were going on, in adjoining towns, no less. Readers of this blog will know of my affinity for all things historical, especially all things militarily historical.

I've driven the family on forced marches from Lexington Green to as far as Ticonderoga, to witness Revolutionary War reenactments. So with such conditioning it was an easier load to bear simply heading only 40 minutes away to Brimfield, for daddy to get a dose of Virtual Civil War.

There was a lull in battle when we arrived. Some troops had taken to drilling in preparation for the next confrontation...

...while others languished in the shade.

...Some took cat naps...

...or ran the course that all idle, ill disciplined troops have done since war immortal: drinking, to horseplay, to fisticuffs.

The officers immediately pounced and this scuffle was cut short before it could really get going.

The drunken offenders were driven around camp in the most embarrassing way.

It was a neat little display in historical context. These reenactments are never just about the battle. Just as many participants, usually the soldiers' wives and family members, join in the fun and do their part as camp makers.

Although sometimes, then and now combine a little.

These reenactors went to some lengths to bring all aspects of this especially brutal conflict to light.

By mid afternoon word came in over the wire that trouble was brewing over the crick. Commanders were consulted, both sides slowly broke camp, shuffled to arms and readied for battle.

Best to get in your final goodbyes before the fight.

Both armies were called to muster, where final inspection of man and materiel were made.

Under the strains of the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and then Dixie, both armies were marched in turn.

They headed off down a country road, around a long pond and to the hillside opposite the water, where the battle was joined.

Other reenactments we've been to allowed the spectators a much closer view of the goings on. This time we were a good distance away, and we soon heard why. The cannon brought along weren't the small field pieces the 18th century. This battle was fought with weaponry 100 years more advanced, and several times as powerful. The sound was deafening, even from this distance.

All throughout the fight, in the background of the earth shuddering explosions, shouting and echoing rifle fire, the band continued to play. It struck me that many of the real battles of old were fought this way, to music. "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again" took on a more sinister, darker and somber feel. For hundreds of thousands of people, those simple horns fifes and drums were the last melodies they would ever hear.

And the families they left behind would listen to those songs with a different perspective altogether.

Twin Peaks

2010-08-06T23:30:00.005-04:00

Peak One: Rising above it all.

At the height of the summer steam bath we were all immersed in, we took a weekend ride up to higher altitudes, in an effort to shave off a couple muggy degrees, at least for a few hours. We swung up to Deerfield's Mt. Sugarloaf, climbing the almost harrowingly steep grade to the top of the 650-foot rock jutting high above the surrounding farmland.

Bursting out from under the tree-canopied access road and approaching the final hairpin turn, our breaths were snatched away for a second as once again an eagle-eye view of our beautiful valley broke before us.

Tobbacy, corn, and forest. As blessedly far as the eye could see.

A trip to the northern end of the valley is also like a couple decades back in time. To where industry and commercialism has only washed over the land about ankle deep, and life not nearly as submerged with chaos as it is further south. From this perspective, anyway, small villages and broad tracts of cultivation still appear to command the scape as it had for generations on end.

Looking to the south and east, the whole peaceful green expanse is broken only by a couple of mountains (Mt. Toby nearby and Mt. Holyoke in the distance) and bisected by a tree lined, low and slow moving, equally peaceful ribbon of blue.

Stunning, every time.

Stunning, but unfortunately, not much cooler. The warm wet blanket of July seems to have been thicker than the heights we were at. Oh well. Nothing to do but suck it up. After nearly two straight boiling weeks we were well conditioned anyway. The older and more jaded adults took cover under the shaded sides of the viewing platform or under what trees were nearby, sitting still and panting while taking it all in, blinking through salty, sweat-covered eyes.

Only her second witness to a summer, the bloggerette found it easier to accept things as they were; and thought the dazzling colors and smells of a wildflower garden more fitting of her attention.

The jungle conditions are good for most other life anyway, if not the most comfortable condition to we hairless, pampered primates.

...heat+water = good.

...ask any bug.

Meanwhile above, the sun-stirred humid soup seemed to be building up for a show. A show probably best not viewed so close.

Time to head back down...

Peak Two: Closed But Not Forgotten

With the return of sane temperatures, my work schedule likewise is beginning to settle back in to something bearable. A couple more hours here and there can be had to venture off and fritter.
And fritter them atop one of the valley's best peaks, shall I.

Skinner Mountain on the Holyoke Range, with the dual attraction of easy access and spectacular scenery. A jaunt on the motorbike late last week found man and machine winding up it's narrow paved roads to the summit.

I was quite pleased with myself for being able to get up here so quickly and efficiently on my little two wheeled escape pod. Love that bike. Can't top the experience, I mused while pulling the helmet off...

...just as this guy buzzed by overhead.

A reminder that there's always something to put you neatly back in your place.

The Ultra-Light motored by low overhead and disappeared behind the Summit House which, very unfortunately, has been suddenly and unceremoniously closed earlier this year with nothing but a brusque 'Until Further Notice'. Apparently the wooden deck and support beams, which daily weather the weather atop the 950 foot peak, were finally deemed unsafe for the general public.

It didn't look that bad, but better safe than litigiously sorry, I suppose.

Such a shame, and at a time when funds for state parks are so scarce. It might take a while before things are restored again.

But even without the old house and it's broad, venerable covered deck to sit or stroll on; there's still plenty of view to be had and picnic tables to be eaten at all around the long rocky summit.

And better still, August is one of the best months to visit the top since the summit is open to 8:00pm every day until the end of the month. Really the only time of the year you can drive up and stay long enough for a good sunset viewing.

Two State Park Rangers used their clout to watch said sunset from the forbidden deck, while the rest of the visiting riff-raff were relegated to a nearby rocky outcropping.

Meh. Just as good. Nearly.

Put Your Town On

2010-08-03T10:48:00.003-04:00

After a Bueno Y Sano outdoor lunch in Northampton, we were ready to get over to nearby Easthampton's Manhan trail, for an afternoon bike ride.

First, a quick power-up...

We hadn't been on this trail since a gaping hole was washed through it a couple years ago, due to a plugged culvert. It was a major chasm, and a timeline for repairs any time soon was in serious question. But things were worked out speedily enough, and the great divide patched up nicely. You can hardly tell what happened.

One of the great things about the Manhan is that it's a short detour from the trail to the great Arcadia Wildlife Sanctuary. We veered in for a sniff of some wildflowers, and a stretch of the legs through a cool pine forest path.

But it had to be a short visit; shadows were getting long and we were to head back to base on the way to pay tribute to my hometown, in the form of a visit to the annual Celebrate Ludlow Festival.

For various reasons we'd never been able to synch our schedules to coincide with this annual event, so it was our first time at the fest. It was held at the Fish and Game Club, presumably the only venue in town large enough to handle the tremendous traffic. Parking was a little distance away but fear not, double-decker shuttling was available.

Warmed up and loose from the bike ride, we had no trouble walking it in. The Fish and Game club is familiar territory to me, as it was right between my old neighborhood and the junior/senior high schools and thus, right in the usually peaceful shortcut-through-the-woods route we'd often take to school. Today, it was wall to wall Ludlowites.

Ludlow's celebration is a one day a year people-fest; short on carnival rides but heavy on food, drink, and music entertainment. A day to hang out and chit chat with friends and neighbors...

...listen to a little music...

...have a sandwich...

...maybe take in a snake show.

Good times.

We met up with a buddy and his family, hung around a bit and ran into some other folks we hadn't seen in years. Makes me think we should hang around home more often...

Light, Lite

2010-07-24T21:55:00.001-04:00

Oye, fighting the effects of heat is my business and baby, business has been a-boomin'. It feels like this whole month has been one unending work week. By the time the weekends come I'm too wiped out to do anything but try and recover before Monday rolls around again. Not much extra time lately for our usual drives, events, get-aways ....or blogging.

But that's not to say the ol' camera has been still. It clicks away whenever and wherever possible. Usually during the later hours, which is fine as sunset provides some 'golden opportunities' for photographing. In lieu of the usual parade, picnic, craft show and museum reports, here are just a few random pics taken lately, without rhyme or reason, to share until a blog post proper can be proscribed...

Some shaggy Ludlow cattle enjoying a brief cool-off period between heat waves.

(...I wasn't the only one intrigued by the bucolic scene...)

A Granby farm silo, nearing it's final few sunsets...

And Northampton's meadows providing it's usual sunset glory:

Actually, a couple of unexpected free hours this past week were had, and carefully invested in a long overdue bike ride down the ol' Norrwotuck.

Pleasant, relaxing and refreshing as always. We did the 4 miles or so from the train bridge to the Maple Tree Farms store, which now serves up ice cream to enjoy while perusing a new petting zoo.

A little more energy burn off before heading back...

...after dizzy-recovery of course...

...and then a cooler twilight ride back to the car.

Arriving back at the bridge and the Elwell Recreation area just as the last of the day has dissolved into the deep blue. A couple of well placed hours to be sure. When time is tight, it must be carefully spent.

We strive to get our money's worth...

Days Of Thunder

2010-07-13T22:49:00.001-04:00

A couple steamy weekends ago we headed east to the town of Monson, mostly to check out their annual Summerfest...

But mainly to have a look at the annual Soapbox Derby they throw on that day.

There's something trademark-American about soapbox derbies. Something 1930's old fashioned, something creative. Something 'Our Gang' about the whole thing.

It's an event I've been wanting to check out since first catching wind of it a couple years ago, over on Radar Check.

The racers were very young and while it wasn't a toe to toe race, it was more like time trials, with each racer trying to make best speed down a long hill and stopping just short of the hay bail barrier at the bottom.

That is, if you make it to the hay bails.

A few speedsters brought their game that day; pushing the dual envelopes of their machines' capabilities and their own mettle to the limits.

Sometimes with harrowing results.

Most of the racing went off without a hitch, with successive runs by the competitors increasing in speed and competitive ferocity.

But half way down one of the runs, it became alarmingly apparent by the way the number 2 car was weaving back and forth that something had gone frightfully wrong.

The car suddenly veered violently towards track side and the crowd leapt to it's feet as, with nerves of cold steel, the racer struggled to maintain control in the face of imminent disaster.

With skills honed of weeks of experience, our driver struggled against forces of gravity and inertia. Refusing to succumb to cruel fate without a fight.

Control was impossibly maintained, and with a last split second maneuver from the old pro's bag of tricks...

....it was over.

Car and driver had screeched to a halt. Intact, mostly.

A collective sigh of relief expired from the crowd, and pent-up emotion burst forth from the pilot's seat.

The pit crew raced over to console, and cleared the track with all haste.

In a plywood and lawnmower-wheeled nutshell, that's what sport is about.

It's not always the thrill of victory.

Just as often, it's the agony of defeat.

But in sport, it doesn't matter either way. Win and lose will always happen.

It's what you find out about yourself in the experience that matters.

Dancing In The Streets

2010-07-10T23:52:00.004-04:00

As the 6 day and night heat wave continued on into a steamy Friday evening, we motored over to downtown Springfield to while a few hours away checking out the Hoop City Jazz and Art Festival. It's a weekend long outdoor concert which was kicking off that night. Parking under the highway was discounted to 5 bucks for the festival goers, and it was a short 1 block walk to Court Square where the music was playing in front of City Hall. Court Square itself was crowded with jazz afficionados, and Ken Navarro was just getting to the end of his set.

In between sets we acquired a couple cold (4 dollar) beers and found a place to sit on the grass. The upbeat crowd milled about in between sets, getting their own beers or ice cream, chatting or 'chillaxing' while waiting for the next performers.

The next group up was Soul Source, who kicked things off with an R&B-turned medley of James Brown funk, getting started just as dusk settled in.

While most of the people were splayed out across the green and closed off road on chairs and blankets, there were a few large round tables set up behind the main crowd where an event organizer invited us to take a seat. On the tabels were these handy hand fans, to help beat the heat...

...heat which didn't seem to have any effect on the power of music, as some people began working up a sweat movin' and groovin'.

Soul Source was rolling along as the evening came on, with not only jazz tunes but everything from Marvin Gaye to Barry White to Prince to Blackstreet.

Throughout their set dancing erupted spontaneously, everywhere. Behind us under the trees, out on the street, on the steps in front of the stage.

It was a beautiful way to finish off the steamy week. Later on, as the bloggerette began signalling it was time to get on back home, we said good bye to this couple sitting next to us;

David and his girlfriend. They said bye and David paused, and with a big smile fittingly summed up the mood of the evening, by wishing us "Happy Summer Days"...

Old Glory

2010-07-04T22:09:00.005-04:00

Kelly had to work (yes, work!), so it was me and the bloggerette scrambling up route 143 at about 10:50, trying to get to Chesterfield's parade, which started at 10:30. To save time we eschewed the regular parking spaces strung out along the Main road into the center of town, and pulled right up to the parade's road block; risking a parking ticket for a look at some good old fashioned July 4th revelry.

I'd say the parade was about halfway through when we arrived.

For a town of about 1200 people, either everyone in town showed up for this, or the surrounding towns came flooding in; because spectatorship must have been in the multiple thousands, lined into the distance along the parade route.

I'll go with the latter reason, because I'm sure many out of towners came here with the same idea: A good, old fashioned hilltown parade and festival.

Nothing to big or flashy needed. Few if any giant floats. Just a lot of people turning out for a local community event on a glorious day for celebration.

Antique cars, some tractors, a few fire engines. Some livestock. Just the basics, please.

Alright, maybe some new local innovations in travel thrown in... can't stop progress, you know.

But certainly, some remembrance of why we've been able to celebrate this day oh, about 234 times now.

Sacrifices that were, are, and will be made.

As a nation, we've been lucky, to be sure. But it wasn't all luck.

The last elements of the parade rolled, marched, honked and clip-clopped past.

With hearty applause and cheers, the crowd began to break up and mill about; purveying the other holiday festivities Chesterfield had set up for the day.

It's always a good feeling to see simple traditions spanning the tests of time.

Speaking of which, it was time to walk my baby back home...

Before The Cloudburst

2010-06-30T23:06:00.003-04:00

Some pics from a recent kayaking glide down the Swift River; crystal clear as always and splashingly cool in the humid afternoon.

Putting in at the Belchertown boat launch, I didn't go the whole way downstream into Bondsville as is usually the case, but rather stuck around the boat launch area, gliding a little bit upstream this time. Under the low overpass and towards the fly-fishermen area where the river crosses route 9.

The humid afternoon was threatening to give way to thunderstorms, so it was best to stay relatively close to the vehicle, should things get all lightening and hail-ey.

Luckily, there's no need to paddle for miles on this river to get a good dose of nature. There's plenty on the nearest bank and overhanging branch, if you look closely.

And look closely I did.

The dragongflies were all over the place. Sunning themselves between grabs for smaller bugs on the wing, or dive bombing the surface of the water for nymphs and such.

They seemed pretty preoccupied with their endeavours, and didn't seem to notice me too much as I got right up in their grille (as it were) with the camera.

Pretty relaxed in these fattest of days. It's summertime, and the livin's easy.

Higher up the food chain, some humans nearby were busy setting up a swing rope.

While man and beast glided by underneath in both directions.

A slight darkening of the sky, a few last minute bobs....

...and the first drops were being felt. Time to head back, and quick.

Love And Rockets

2010-06-26T23:22:00.011-04:00

Proving it's never too late on a hot summer day to get out and do something, we moved out for an ice cream, lo' about 8 o'clock.

Help me, Mr. Cone in Chicopee.

We grabbed a table while Kelly went up for the ice cream. The Bloggerette is old enough now to know exactly what type of product can be found at such an establishment, and watched with bated breath for mommy to return with the goods.

Wait for iiiiit....

Wait for iiiiiit....

Here it comes!

While messily scarfing down some coconut-hot fudge and carmel ice cream, there could be heard in the distance the crackles and pops of backyard fireworks off in the distance, another icon of summer. Then I remembered reading that Chicopee was having a festival of some sort going on this weekend. A Chicopee-ite munching on a cone at a neighboring table alerted us to the fact that the real fireworks were going to be on at about 9:30.

We hurried up with the eating, packed up and scooted across town, soon cramming one more vehicle into an utterly jammed Szot Park parking lot. Then it was a short stumble in the dark towards the brightly lit commotion that was Chicopee's Fest-Of-All.

To say it was crowded would be an understatement.

We toured the expansive set up spread out all around the park, with many many tents and much food and spirits for the so inclined. But time was getting tight. A policeman directed us down to the playing fields, which we found covered wall to wall with folk revved up for the show.

We grabbed a seats just as the lights went down, and the fireworks went up.

It was a darn good display.

From what I've seen over the years, Chicopee's pretty much always delivers.

As the finale died down the lights came up. And the scramble for the exits began.

Most people were heading back to the main festival grounds, where food and drink were still flowing.

We held back, and waited for it to clear out a bit before mixing into the fray.

We had plenty of time. After all, we just got here.

Sunset People

2010-06-22T22:38:00.007-04:00

Having stole up to Arcadia for a freezing cold Winter Solstice celebration last December, the bloggerette and I book-ended the extending daylight of the past six months with a visit to the UMass Sunwheel, for a balmy Summer Solstice gathering.

The gathering was gathered by the the time we got up there; and we made haste to find our spots on the grass amid the circle of stones that make up the Sunwheel.

At the center of the wheel was Astronomist Dr. Judith Young, armed with a globe and Jar Jar Binks action figure, in mid-lecture about the cycles and angles of light dancing between Sun and Earth.

The crowd was mostly laid out on the grass and basked in the glowing, golden twilight of the longest day of the year, rapt with attention to Dr. Judith's teachings...

While behind us, the sun quietly completed it's mission for the day.

The final moments of light had arrived.

An impromptu strain of "You are my Sunshine" broke out as Dr. Judith formed the crowd up into a line. Most everyone took a turn standing in the middle of the wheel to line up their own eyes with the Solstice marker stone and setting sun...

...and really, to take a turn welcoming back the Summer.

Tastes Of Summer

2010-06-18T22:50:00.001-04:00

Summer is on tap for the weekend, starting NOW. We launched up some back roads to cool off just as the evening began to set in. We stopped in Granby for ice coffees and proceeded further, up Amherst way, where their 'Taste Of Amherst' is going on all weekend, on the common.

The weather was perfect for it, and the common was pretty packed with food getterers and music listenerers.

Oh, and many Hula Hooperers.

Kelly found her dish in the Paradise of India; a rice and curry chicken mixture that she raved about, but I found a little too exotic for myself.

My expansive palette craved something more... continental. Like American-continental. Like chicken wings from Amherst's Alpha Pizza, to be specific. The Bloggerette's tastes run somewhere in the middle and she had a bit of both our dishes. Here she is stuffing her face:

A perfectly mild night was settling in by the time we finished eating, and we took one more walkabout before heading back.

It was almost 9:30 now and the band was pumping out fine stick-in-your-head song craft to a receptive crowd relaxing on the grass,

...while the many booths were winding down for the 10 pm closing.

A short visit but a perfect destination for our evening drive. Now, time to head back and turn in early.

A beach visit is in order for the morning...

Rain Event

2010-06-13T09:03:00.004-04:00

We took advantage of a temporary let-up in the rain Saturday to check out the nearby Granby Charter Days fair, going on all weekend.

We're suckers for these country bumpkin events, and modern as the modern age may be, I still find watching heavy work done via brute strength a fascinating sight.

Beast compared to Machine is usually part of the fare at these fairs, and Granby has their own oxen pulls like many others.

It's a tradition going from way back...

What exactly they compete for I'm not sure, besides ribbons and bragging rights. Maybe it's just the upholding the tradition and passing it on that keeps it going. Maybe a combination of all three.

But one thing is for sure, they bring their best competitors to the fight.

Here's a short motion-view of the proceedings:

We got our fill of that before setting out for other sections of the fair, spread out around the grounds of Dufresne Park. The visitor count was sparse, with only some die-hard fair goers venturing out in the afternoon rain.

But the fair exhibits were all in effect, and what small crowd there was mostly centered on the small petting zoo section, with lots of cute, cuddly and not so cute and cuddly petting specimens were found.

From there, it was 'round the park's freshly fishing derby'd pond...

...and to the main fairway. Where umbrellas were propped up everywhere.

All the usual spinning, tumbling, rocking and bobbing rides were available and waiting, including some old classics...

...but not too many takers this afternoon. Idle ride attendants gazed wistfully into the horizon.

While at the games trailers bored carnies had taken to wrangling amongst themselves.

Hopefully Sunday will bring back better weather and more teaming crowds. The culprit rain was now picking up again and we began heading back, making a quick stop at Ludlow's Lupa Zoo (a loooong overdue blog post, btw) tent. Some interesting critters were there, including a massive scorpion, a healthy sized chameleon, and this guy.

Hedgehogs are pretty cute, and if there's any truth in video gaming, fast as the devil.

The increasingly familiar, joking jargon of B'wana Jim began blaring over the speakers nearby, and rain or not we had to check out one of his hilarious and informative animal shows.

We've run into his exhibits more than once on the fair circuit, and it's always an entertaining sight.

Time to go? Wait, Kelly hears the clicking of a gambling wheel. She needs her fix. For charity, ahem, of course.

Ok, NOW it's time to go...

Memorial Day, Remember?

2010-06-06T12:00:00.004-04:00

Is it too late to put up some pics from Memorial Day?

This 7 day time delay for posting is evidence of a long running disturbing shift in free blogging time over here at 'in the valley'. I can make excuses for that with the best of them: The care and feeding of the bloggerette... long hours with fewer people to do much more work over at the day job... facebook and twitter dissolving the will to put more than a 140 characters into posting... a subtle growing senility...

Yes, back in the day we were pumping out 5 or so blog posts a week over here. Now......ehhh, not so much. We've been about a week back-logged and things seem to have leveled out at about 2 posts a week. But fear not oh, faithful readers. The fervor is still there, just not the blogging time lately. At any rate, free time and busyness are always subject to change without notice so we'll see how things play out. One thing is for sure, 'in the valley' will press on...

But back to Memorial Day. Here in Ludlow the parade route runs close to home, and the thumping of drums had me and the little girl hustling out for a look while giving Kelly a well deserved bit of sleep-in time. We got to the parade a little past midway and just in time to see some traditional Portuguese dancers go by.

For the uninitiated, the Portuguese element is very, very strong in this town. Not to take away from the long standing French, Polish and Irish influences here but the Portuguese, well, come down here sometime, you'll see.

This works out well for the town in food and entertainment; as the Portuguese are very fond of both.

After the parade, I broke the surly bonds of home life, handed a refreshed Kelly the conn, and escaped on the motortbike for a holiday look around the valley.

Before long, the newly planted fields of Whately were whirring by my peripherals.

Then into the thick spring greenery of Deerfield and Montague...

...were a pit stop was in order for a closer look at a storm torn tree, which was miraculously rent asunder without breaking any of the delicate tombstones of this ancient graveyard.

Just as last spring and summer were probably the rainiest in recent memory; this year is shaping up to be the windiest and stormiest. They've sure been coming strong, fast and frequently. I can't remember ever seeing so many trees go down.

Moving on, the Connecticut river was low and slow below as I zoomed by and into Montague.

An hour or so left, There was time for a hurried dash up route 2 as far as Erving, where a cool roadside antiques/craft store/deli served as the turn-around point on my cruise.

A quick break, a few more pics, and alas the holiday weekend was complete.

Time to set a return course...

In Dog Years

2010-05-29T22:52:00.010-04:00

I received terrible news Friday night from my sister; a highly loved and esteemed aunt in my family was suddenly stricken very ill.

She is the oldest sister of my mother who recently passed away. Our coping with life in my mother's absence was only now beginning to approach something resembling normalcy. This new tragedy refreshed my sorrows and weighed heavy on my mind over the night and throughout most of the day Saturday. It was only late in the afternoon that Kelly was able to roust me up and out.

We took a short drive past some fresh-cut, rolling farmland in Granby...

...to the relatively close-by, greener Dufresne Park. Kelly had heard there was a dog park there where we could let our little four legged critter run free, and a playground where we could let our little two legged critter run free.

The dog was going bonkers as soon as we pulled into the park, which for some reason was crowded with RV's and pitched tents. The dog's excitement continued to ratchet upwards as we searched for a spot in the crowded parking area and we soon saw why; everybody there seemed to have a dog with them.

We had stumbled upon the LEAP Agility Club's weekend-long dog trials. It looked like they were done for the day when we arrived, but a member informed us that there were plenty of events going on Sunday and Monday, and to come on by.

We circled around the pond and headed for the fenced in dog park section Kelly had heard about. It was an adequately sized, fully fenced bit of land, where we were able to safely unleash the canine and let him run to his heart's content. His energy levels were so peaked that another lady's dog, who was already there, couldn't help but be swept up in the fervor and engage in like behavior...

...soon enough yet another mammal in the fenced in area caught the high-energy bug.

After a good jaunt in the increasingly humid twilight, the dog was finally spent and panting, with the other dog and Kelly in a similar way. It was the bloggerette's turn for fun and we made our way back to the playground.

Dufresne Park has a very new, very well designed children's play scape. All kinds of interestingly and ingeniously designed structures and obstacles are set up, with some of them challenging enough that an adult can't help but give a try.

Things that slide, things that spin, things that bounce and things that spring.

Not really in the mood for fun, I was content to hang back on a bench and watch woman, dog and baby.

Sitting there with half my mind on them, the other half drifted off with memories of my childhood, my family, my mother. How my aunt and her family had touched our lives through the years. How I had selfishly and ignorantly grown out of touch with them and with others, how there's never enough time to reunite and regain what is lost. How there's never enough time for everything.

We're all here and gone in the blink of an eye.

I wish I had understood that earlier.

South By SouthWick

2010-05-22T19:59:00.002-04:00

We tried finding it a couple of years ago. A trail legend said it would carry us far over the state line, and deliver us into the mystical, mythical, waiting ribbon of asphalt layed through one of the greenest, lushest valleys of far off Connecticut; a path known by some as the Farmington Valley Trail system. We followed clues, took directions from locals, and pored over maps. But we just couldn't find it.

We couldn't find it because at the time, it didn't exist.

Not so today, we have since learned. They've been hard at work, and the connection is almost a reality.

But rather than ride along the uncompleted dirt path, as we saw many doing, you can meet up with the Farmington trail system at a Southwick package store called the Oak and Keg. Across the street there is a parking lot, and just below, a fresh section of connector trail.

It's still a couple miles to the border from here, and the going is lush and easy.

It's all a freshly paved, nicely built biking way.

Much of the Farmington trail runs alongside the short lived, early 19th century canal that stretched from Northampton to New Haven. Completed in three short years, they got about the same amount of time usuing it before the railroad age really kicked in, pretty much putting the new but slower canal system out of business. In many spots, evidence of the old canal is still visible.

I had no idea the Farmington valley was so lush, green and farmy. On both sides were tobacco fields...

...wetlands...

...and lush forest.

All of it hardly interupted by the blaring aesthetic burdens of modern man. A couple small neighborhoods or the oddball house in the distance here or there, but seemingly not a highway or subdivision in sight. Anywhere.

Quiet, green and clean seems to be the mantra of this trail system. Or at least the section of it we did.

The trail system goes on from the border for a good 27 miles, through the valley into Simsbury. Thereabout it branches off into other sub-trails and connectors for many miles more.

And all along the stretch are off shoots of dirt trails and walking paths, veering off on tangents into woods or over hills. Really beautiful stuff.

We only had time to check out about 7 miles of it before having to turn back. We made it to the Newgate wildlife preserve, which the trail cuts through in dramatic woodsy fashion.

Near there we took a little break before the turnaround, and rolled around a little in a field by a rest area, checking out robins and buttercups, with my buttercups.

Kelly had to work later that afternoon: the bane of my Sunday afternoons now that spring has arrived. But turn around we must. But we'll be back. The plan is to return to this trail in three or so visits; each time driving to where we left off biking the previous time, until we cover the whole 27 miles.

For now it's 7 down, 20 to go.

But who's counting.

Pancakes, Dogs And Primates

2010-05-20T23:32:00.004-04:00

Sometimes we drive the blog, sometimes the blog drives us. Usually its a mixture of both. So it was last Saturday when carefully timed, we made it out for not one, not two, but THREE area events for some fun and blog fodder. We were up early, the weather was windy but perfect...

...and we made our first stop: the annual humongous Pancake Breakfast in downtown Springfield.

This was very well attended when we got there about 9:30ish, although the lines for pancakes were loonnnng, long long.

It appeared more people were waiting for their pancakes than eating them. So we forwent breakfast and walked up and down the street for a good bout of people watching.

All types and walks of local life were mixed and mingled together, waiting, eating or watching shows of which there were many; several kids were performing at three or four different stage areas along the street.

We hung out and watched a couple shows, listened to Mayor Sarno give a rousing speech, and let the bloggerette take in all the sights and sounds, until 11 o'clock rolled around and it was time to move on to the next stop:

The first annual Dakin Shelter sponsored Bark in the Park, in Springfield's Forest Park. We got there right at it's commencement, and most of the people (and dogs) were just filtering in.

Several booths were selling assorted animal and pet related items, a band was playing on stage, and dog acrobatics and feats of skill were being performed by the baseball field.

Not to mention some of the friendliest volunteers you could hope to meet...

...and the League of Dog Owners, as I call them: a close knit club, of people who have never met yet apparently share some inherent genome that allows them to get along surprisingly well.

Moving on from there, it was a quick lunch break/ picnic over at Mt. Tom state park...

...on our way up to the hills and the Cummington fairgrounds; where the Hilltown Spring Festival, or 'Spring Fling' was already in high gear.

There was some of the traditional hilltown festival fare...

But mostly people were dancing, people were swaying, to the rhythms of bands and singing troupes performing one after the other on two stages.

From what we witnessed, they were grooving to:

This oddly great sounding bagpipe and string duo:

...who were followed on another stage by the young and very talented Freight Shakers:

...who were followed by the locally famous and unique sounds of the Primate Fiasco.

Go ahead, try to get this tune out of your head, (once they got tuba levels right, of course...)

A long full day. Much travel, much to see and hear. The valley is brimming with this sort of thing any given weekend; just have to poke around. Maybe some kind of local events calender would fit on this blog...

Now, time to get home again.

We were whooped.

Small Wonders

2010-05-17T23:10:00.010-04:00

With the return of the return of the spring on Friday, and in keeping with the beginning of Bike Week around these parts, we made a run down to Ashley Reservoir in Holyoke for a quick bike ride before the sunset.

We hadn't biked here in over a year, and pleased to see it was just as beautiful as we had left it.

Especially during the golden hour right before twilight.

I had forgotten this, but early May is high gossling time around this reservoir.

We encountered probably over two dozen large geese families on our bike run, spread out along the trails and coasting about in the water.

While some of them had pretty sizable broods, keeping their parents' on their webbed toes...

...others not so much. For whatever reason nature, luck, fate, what have you; delt some of the couples only one or two young'un to care for.

Such is life and who knows, maybe less hungry beaks just makes matters easier for everyone.

All I know is... we usually have our hands full back at the ranch.

The cooling, late afternoon temps were refreshingly perfect, and we made such good time that we decided to go around the 3.5 mile loop twice.

The sun was getting really low, the light was starting to fade and we were cruising along the shady back stretch of the track at about 10 miles an hour when Hawk-Eye-Freakin'-Sacajawea-Kelly done it again: spotting this tiny critter sitting right in the middle of the darkening path, and came to an abrupt stop.

She immediately identified it as a newt of some sort.

Not a salamander, as I challenged her on it, but a newt. Whatever it was, I don't know how she does it. This guy was smaller than a piece of gum.

But reading up on it later, I found that it was indeed a Red Spotted Newt. Or more precisely an Eft. Probably pretty young considering it's small stature, even as newts go. We checked it out for a few minutes and with some straggling joggers and another group of bikers still tromping by on the path, we decided we'd better help fate and nature along. Kelly gingerly picked it up...

...gave the enchanted bloggerette a quick eyeful...

...before setting it down again in the grass, path-side.

Good luck little guy.

...and watch out for predators, it's a hungry world out there.

We finished out the loop discussing differences between salamanders and newts and the occasional ability of the tiny creatures to make news by up-ending entire subdivisions and box store developments. Eventually we coasted down the final stretch to the car settled into a cooled breezy satisfied silence. Listening to the sound of bicycle tires running over gravel, and the occasional honk of geese...

The sun had by now just about set.

Time to get our own gossling home.

Hear Ye, Here Ye!

2010-05-11T22:45:00.001-04:00

There's just something about field trips that I've never grown weary of. There was a Mother's Day theme going on at Sturbridge Village on Sunday and mom's were let in free. Children under 2, free. 42 year old children, 20 bucks.

Gladly.

Let me in.

We've been to several of these living history museums: Plymouth, Storrowtown, Hancock Shaker, Deerfield. But none are so large or interesting as nearby Sturbridge. Plymouth was close, but being a little too realistic, most of the houses there looked identical and the entire area was much smaller.

This place is far more varied and colorful.

It was a bit more crowded than I would have preferred, which kind of dampened the early 19th century feel, but not too bad.

More disappointing was the relatively low number of reenactors compared to my earlier visits. But hopefully that's because it's still early in the season. A few years back the old sawmill was actually a working sawmill for instance, with a couple men cutting and planing large boards from logs as the giant wheel turned. Not so today.

Not that there weren't any reenactors at all. Most of the buildings had at least one on hand, and you would pass a couple along the dirt paths between sections of the village.

But quality over quantity, the reenactors that were available were thankfully completely in character. Viddy this cooper explaining how work was bartered, in a small village where coin was hard to come by:

At several locations there were hoops, rope, and sticks set up for playing; this lady was demonstrating to children the PS2 of the day.

...Meanwhile a tug of war raged on the common, thankfully drawing a good chunk of the visitors and providing some elbow room for us in the tiny houses.

Most of the buildings and houses were open to the public; like the parlor in this small unassuming house. It was a room probably very like my living room growing up: off limits to children.

Other than the parlor in this particular house, everything was open for the handling. Drawers could be opened, cupboards examined, the bed layed on. A board of checkers was on a table for a quick game. (btw, the original name for checkers was 'Draughts', the word checkers originally meant the substitute pieces they used in place of real pieces that were lost...)

Away from the town common and the circle of church, school house, bank, lawyer's office and general store, could be found more bucolic circumstances.

After a walk through a windy high meadow, we descended down into ol' man Freeman's farm, where much of the local livestock was available for feeding and petting... and eating...

It look liked ol' man Freeman was busy tilling with his boys,

...so we continued on, following the dirt path back to the town center and stopping here and there along the way to check out the long horned cattle and feisty goats behind the fences. Not too much of a barrier between the large animals and the passerby but overall, the situation was safe for lambs and babies alike.

The afternoon was gone before we knew it, and Kelly had to get back to our century and to work, so our tour of the past was finished for now.

My 20 dollar pass is good for 10 days so who knows, if the weather turns warmer again soon, I might just take another spin back in time...

In Bloom

2010-05-09T09:24:00.003-04:00

We're heading to Old Sturbridge Village today (Field Trip!) where they're having a Mother's Day special event. Kelly (and I) can get a glimpse of how old-time mommying used to work and steady her (our) perspectives in our daily tangles with the Bloggerette. I'll Hopefully get some decent images and send them your way.

Meantime, just a few flowery pics from our trip to Shelburne Falls last weekend, to help celebrate this day...

Happy Mothers Day to all!

I love you Mae.

Bucket Brigade

2010-05-06T23:56:00.015-04:00

Sunday was Kelly's Birthday and we were en route to Shelburne Falls for a walk-around. Passing the Easthampton exit right around 9:30-ish, we (me) figured we had time to fit in a detour and a quick look at the 7th annual Derrill's Race going on along the Manhan trail, scheduled for 10am.

The annual race is in honor of Seargent Derrill Stoddard, a decorated Easthampton firefighter who died from Leukemia. The race proceeds are sent to the Cam Neely foundation for the care of cancer patients as well as other noble pursuits. Last year some of the funds went to repairing the Manhan trail's gaping washout.

We made it to trail side near the blown out Silk factories not far from the race route's turn-around and set up shop just as some of the leading runners were trotting past...

...soon followed by the pack.

The day had started out cool and cloudy but became instantly muggy as the sun peeked out and brought the high humidity to a broil, making for some mighty thirsty running...

...and a little delerium.

As they're wont to do, some firefighters and their volunteers were furiously tossing water at the problem, but eight ounces at a time.

And as they're wont to be, the townsfolk were extremely grateful.

In a double honor to the race's namesake, several of Derrill's cohorts ran in their heavy firefighting gear... Heat? This aint' heat.

It seems to me these charity-driven races have grown tremendously in popularity just the past few years. There were definitely a lot of runners in this one; just one more of the large community events dotting this town's annual calender.

The runners made their turn-around, dug deep and trotted on back down the steamy trail to the finish. Maybe have some ice cream.

The close cluster of the main pack began to slowly stretch and loosen up...

...until finally just a few determined stragglers were left.

And then, it was over on this section of trail.

The race was cool to see, and it's always good to see a charity event go off so successfully.

Now, it was time for us to go.

Shelburne Falls awaits...

Pride Before The Spring

2010-05-01T23:04:00.010-04:00

It's one of those events that absolutely pack the streets of Northampton.

I stumbled upon the annual Gay Pride Parade several years ago when heading home after a morning coffee, the police suddenly blocked the intersections and a small but boisterous string of LGBT folk came parading up Main St. The whole thing seemed kind of impromptu and patchwork; and it looked like many of the people along the sidewalks were similarly amused at the ragtag display, but paused to watch and cheer them on.

It's not so little anymore.

This has become a parade proper like any other, and people early and eagerly stake out their posisitons on the side walks and traffic islands. All eyes down the road and under the railroad bridge.

Just like the first time I saw it they came marching in from the other side of that bridge, but this time they were preceded by the thunder of Harleys.

Lesbian biker clubs plowed the way...

...with Mayor Higgins and the govt' close on their heels.

Many of the contingents had the political quandaries of the day on their minds and were using the parade as bully forums to put their points across.

Others fought older fights that were probably closer to their personal lives.

The Roller Derby set were on the move showing their support in their own rough and tumble way...

...as were those with more refined sensibilities.

Others, they just shook what they had.

The now grown-up parade is sponsored by many local business and institutions, with banks, churches, large companies like Baystate Health and several colleges like Mount Holyoke and Westfield sending in their troops to support the cause. Like it or loathe it, over the past few decades the LGBT culture of western Mass has indelibly climbed several rungs higher in the ladders of society and media.

And to show they're staying, they brought their dogs with them.

They're here, they're queer, and they're getting bigger. Just ask Cher.

The Diva ushered in the transvestite and transgender groups; and that's when things got weird.

We were finally brought back down to Earth or close enough to it via the now seemingly tame Time Warp. Again.

It's just a jump to the left...

The final elements of the parade were a jumble of a little bit of everything, moving en masse towards the festival area...

...where the party rocked on.

Here's some video clips scotch taped together, for a sense of sound and movement:

Zen And The Art Of Tree Swallow Greeting

2010-04-25T12:33:00.017-04:00

Spring is official for me when I can make the trek over to Arcadia to greet the return of the Tree Swallows.

One of my favorite birds to observe, for their sharp speedy flying, their warbling whistles, and their irridescent blue on bright white feathers...

I found a couple of boxes bustling with activity, and got in close for some pics.

At the other end of the meadow, I could just make out a kestrel hovering over it's prey, before nose diving to earth for the kill...

That's not the only battle going on; their's an annual tug of war between the swallows and the bluebirds for ownership of the nesting boxes.

As one leaves the other lands and vice versa, sometimes with a split second confrontation during the transition.

But still peace seems to reign, even with the odd struggle for survival taking place all around.

The main thing about the annual Tree Swallow greet isn't just the bird watching. It's being out on the lively bright spring day, with the cool breeze, the warming sun and the fields alive with sound.

It's a refreshing break, from everything. Until it's time to fly again...

It's A Bobcat, Bob

2010-04-22T18:40:00.005-04:00

Here's something cool; just got a look at a bobcat, while driving in Ludlow...

He(?) jumped out onto the road right in front of me; I slammed on the brakes and layed on the horn...

And he jumped back into the woods.

These were the only shots I was able to get, with a camera phone through the passenger side window. Traffic was piling up behind me, and the cat slinked away just as I had to get going.

...my hometown is wilder than I give it credit for...

Riverwalk, Er, Stroll

2010-04-19T23:55:00.009-04:00

The bloggerette and the lately-interminably-teen-age-angsty-moody-kid joined me for a jaunt downtown and a quick look at the Riverwalk and Riverfront Park in Springfield.

I've heard this one is best travelled by bike, but we risked it on foot and stroller.

With the weekend's relapse into the worst of early spring weather, the pathway wasn't too populated anyway. Just a few fishermen, a couple bikers and a small gaggle of kids were with us in the cool damp park.

There are better days to check out bike trails, but we made the best of our limited time and what fleeting good weather could be had by doing something close to home base. Cool overcast days can sometimes present their own qualities.

Parking in the lot under the highway that cuts overhead through the edge of downtown, we crossed the active railroad tracks to the park entrance.

Both the tracks and highway run parallel to the river and unfortunately both were laid down without any foresight to the potential for future development. They now effectively cut off the riverfront from easy city access; a big reason for it's long delayed and anemic development.

But a strong effort and some good progress has been made anyway. There is still plenty of land here for green and recreation.

From the main entrance we made our way south, passing the triple-tiered ramp and railway overpass that leads to the old Basketball Hall of Fame, now converted to an LA Fitness gym and the Onyx Restaurant.

...a little further on to the new Basketball Hall of Fame...

...and then backtracking and venturing north as far as the Memorial Bridge.

The trail goes much farther, on into the north end. But we were only here today for a quick scouting run. A more thorough exploration will have to be done with more welcoming weather.

City recreation must always be seasoned with a pinch or two of situation awareness. In spots along the trail was the inescapable graffiti and minor littering of a metro area, countering the grass and river views and reminding us of where we were. But old whitewashed sections of wall showed the marks of constant battle and vigilance against spray painters and ne'er do wells. And vigilance can be good enough.

Although I don't think I'd chance a night ride out here, the trail was pretty clean and well kept, all things considered. We passed up and down our section of it very nicely, making it back to the car unscathed, although not without loss.

It seems one of our party couldn't help but take the opportunity during an overlook stop to conduct experiments with the effects of gravity, trajectory, current and snack food. Science is not without it's costs, and although no humans were put at risk...

...let's just say some goldfish are now sleeping with the fishes.