Hiking Offers Temporary Distraction from the Difficulties of Today

While hiking the last few days, we have seen the first blush of spring blooms, aided by more rain in these parts than we have ever experienced at this time of year. Fairy dusters, lovely pale pink flowers, are popping up everywhere along the trails we hike. Brittlebush, whose bright yellow blooms are a staple of the desert landscape, are also getting into high gear. A birding guide I recently spent a morning with observed that this is the first real winter Tucson has weathered in quite some time. Lucky us. Good thing we packed some woolies, although forgetting any sort of rain gear suitable for hiking was not terribly prescient of us. During our first few days here it rained quite a bit. Neither of us is quite sure why we neglected to pack rain pants and, despite having exactly what we needed back home, we hightailed it to a local outfitter and bought two pair—not too cheap, I might add. Believe it or not, we never took them out of the bag and returned them the next week since the weather took an abrupt turn for the better. We figured, what the heck, save some cash and take our chances. So much for the wisdom of hasty decisions.

Last night it rained buckets, but the sun is out now so hope is on the wing. The good news is that perhaps all this rain will prompt all those wonderful desert wildflowers to put on their glorious parade of color and variety while we are still here. Few sights are more compelling than a hillside blanketed with golden poppies glistening in the desert sun. The forecast is for a bit more rain this week, and then it looks as if warmer, drier weather is right around the corner. We get periodic texts from friends back home alluding to how “nice” the weather has been. Makes one wonder about the rationale for cross-continent treks to escape the cold. For a variety of reasons, we have decided to stick it out at home next year. Sciatica, not an ideal companion on long drives, has something to do with it, but also a bit of homesickness spiced up by a disinclination to worry too damn much about the house and all that could go awry. Although I know that worry is its own worst enemy, knowing in this case helps very little. The prevailing notion is a few short forays to warmer climes; time will tell.

One of the drawbacks of one’s mental life is the inability to completely detach oneself from ancillary issues. Hiking, for me, is a lot of things, among them is getting away from it all. That has been difficult to do lately. I feel a strong, life-long obligation to keep up on “important” news events of the day. I was raised that way, so I guess my mother and my teachers did a good job in that regard. I try to get this stuff out of my head early on; some days it works and on others it takes quite a while. If you watch any newscasts at all—and they have become increasingly hard to stomach—it is rare not to hear about a new or ongoing investigation of some sort. More often than not an analysis is provided by a pundit who invariably describes him or herself as a “former prosecutor.” Seems to be an infinite supply of these guys. One wonders just how many investigations a society can accommodate. The possibilities appear to be endless. We have been described as a litigious society; investigations appear to be its endless cohort. Each network must have a filled-to-the-brim warehouse of “former prosecutors” at the ready to comment on every pending investigation, in-process investigation or potential investigation.

I am not sure what the answer is. For sure, miscreants of all ilks need to be held accountable. It just seems as if we spend an inordinate amount of time policing one another and precious little time obviating the need to do so. For starters, we need to solve the gun problem. And, until we do, tragedies like that at Michigan State will be the rule rather than the exception. That is a real shame. Hikes only alleviate the worry for a short time. There have to be better ways for us to live our lives.

Recently, Roger and Diane Vaughn—who operated the only small commercial poultry farm situated along the Route 20 corridor between Albany and Syracuse—retired. Theirs was one of about 15 remaining egg-laying operations in the state. At one time, there were 15 small farms like theirs within a 15-mile radius.

Then, the average setup consisted of about 300,000 birds, which made the Vaughns’ flock of poultry look rather paltry. Nevertheless, this small operation, in spite of Diane’s help, required Roger, an octogenarian, to put in a 70-hour week caring for his hens and delivering their bounty to stores and restaurants within 25 miles of the farm. Their eggs were also sold retail and wholesale out of a small shop in close proximity to the coops.

It was ironic that with every detail about the Vaughns’ 2,000 chicken operation painting a diminutive picture, a colossal egg

Daniel Lee

Schoellig

1953-2023

WEST BURLINGTON—

Daniel Lee Schoellig, 69, of West Burlington passed away doing what he loved on March 10, 2023.

Daniel was born on October 31, 1953 in cooperstown, the son of the late Fred and Anna (Gregory) Schoellig. In addition to his parents, he was predeceased by his in-laws, Jennie and charles Gelatt, a granddaughter, Abigail Schoellig, a sisterin-law, Jean Schoellig, and his pup, Ralph.

He is survived by his wife, Dee Schoellig, who he married on August 26, 1990 at The Major’s Inn in Gilbertsville; his children, Nick (Andrea) Schoellig, Sara (Adrian) Schoellig, Kari (Joe) Stockdale, Adam (Shannon) Schoellig, Krista cotten, Kimmy chapman, Denyse (Davin) Ruffles, Daniel Jr. (Leisa) Schoellig, and Derek (Sarah) Schoellig; his grandchildren, Patrick and Greg Schoellig, Lane Gruber, Isaiah, Ella, and Koda Stockdale, Leah, Drew, Rynn, and Trey Schoellig, Logan, Jennadee and Gabriella cotten, caden, Liam, and Maxx chapman, Allee, Emma, was laid by one of their Rhode Island reds. The gigantic brown egg weighed in at 5-1/4 ounces, more than twice the weight of an extralarge egg, which averages about 21/4 ounces. It was 3 and 1/32 of an inch long and had a girth of eight inches. The ovate giant couldn’t even fit on their antique egg grader.

Since 1964, when Roger and Diane came to live and work on his family’s farm, more than 82 million eggs have sold directly or gone out for delivery.

Roger said, “This was the biggest egg the farm had ever produced.” He thought he knew which hen had dropped the football. “She was always laying larger eggs,” he said. Without a time-consuming search for a telltale “natural” episiotomy, there was no way of knowing for sure.

For Roger, coming home followed a degree in poultry science from cornell University and later an army stint during the Vietnam era as company commander at Fort Hamilton in and Davin Daniel Ruffles, aka “Moose,” Brenden and Esther Schoellig, and Oaklyn Schoellig; and his siblings, Elizabeth “Betty” coutlee, Ed (Janie) Schoellig, David (Michelle) Schoellig, Mark (Alisa) Schoellig, Ann (Emil) Manzo, and Fred (cathy) Schoellig.

Daniel grew up in Garrattsville, New York and spent his entire life on Schoellig’s Fieldcrest Farm. He graduated from Edmeston central School in 1972, where he enjoyed playing football. Farming was his greatest passion. He loved the fields of wheat, hay, corn and oats. He loved harvesting grains. He would rather be working on the

Brooklyn, New York.

Roger and Diane eventually took command of what was originally called Vaughn’s Hatchery from his parents, who had been stationed there since 1932. The change from a hatchery to an egg-producing farm took place back in the late 50s, when the market for hatched chicks dried up almost overnight.

Roger thought that the age of specialization was responsible farm more than any vacation. Whenever he found a feather, he would stick it on a bike or wagon so the kids would see it. for the change. The pace of dairy farming had stepped up so much that to have chickens for home use was considered an unnecessary distraction. Back when Sidney and Katherine, Roger’s parents, were running the place, a spring order of 50 hatchlings each was the norm from surrounding farms.

His family was everything to him and he was blessed with many. He had 22 grandchildren, and they meant so much to him. It must be why they are called grand-children. They were his helpers and wanted to follow in his footsteps, as he was their hero.

When someone asked something of him, he was always there to do what he could. He loved to tell stories, and he had a million of them. Dan loved his old Ranger truck, with the dust and all.

According to Roger, 75 percent of the eggs consumed in New York State were shipped in from out west, where grain is cheaper, or from tax-advantaged states like Pennsylvania. The reasoning was that, “the price of eggs was very competitive, so why bother raising your own?”

The answer may have been ORGANIc. People were paying more than triple for eggs that could be labled organic. Free Range charlie, an egg aficionado from Brooklyn, touted, “egg cartons containing an assortment of naturally colored eggs: green, blue, brown, orange, pink from naturally fed, free range chickens had great appeal. Voila! You have organic eggs at designer prices!” But for many, the quality of the egg in regard to the color of the shell remains debatable. Also, washing eggs as the Vaughns did, removed a water soluble protective coat which then required refrigeration. In many other countries, unwashed and unrefrigerated eggs are still put on the market. Maybe Roger’s colossus celebrated a relatively new and expanding age of poultry specialization and the growth in popularity of back-yard chickens in light of the specialty egg business. Of course, for most people, a good fresh egg is all that matters. The recent epidemic of avian flu has killed millions of chickens and caused prices to fly the coop, soaring to unprecedented prices— ironically, shortly after hardworking Roger and Diane retired. Back when the big egg was on display in a storefront in downtown Richfield Springs, bets were on concerning the possibility of it being a “triple yolker!”

He will be missed dearly, and his family will carry his love and memories in their hearts. calling hours will be from 2-6 p.m. on Wednesday, March 15 at the Burlington Flats Baptist church, Arnold Road, Burlington Flats. Funeral services will be at 11 a.m. on Thursday, March 16 at the church.

In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Edmeston Emergency Squad or the Garrattsville Fire Department in Dan’s memory.

Arrangements are with Delker and Terry Funeral Home, 30 South Street, Edmeston, New York.

Grandma loved her farm, her family, and playing her old guitar.

Lester R. Grummons Funeral Home will take the time to find out what made your loved one special. Whether it’s finding just the right flowers, or finding a musician to play her favorite tunes on her old guitar, we’ll do what’s necessary to make her service as unique as she was.

Lester R. Grummons Funeral Home 14 Grand Street, Oneonta • 607-432-6821 www.grummonsfuneralhome.com

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