Tales from Shawangunk, Part 71

TALES FROM SHAWANGUNK Chapter 71 by Peggy Spencer Behrendt

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In 1974, Tim and Peggy Spencer Behrendt set off on an adventure. They began a new life in the woods of Cold Brook, NY, without modern conveniences like electricity or indoor plumbing. These are excerpts and reflections from Peggy’s journal chronicling their adventures and also her childhood memories growing up in Westmoreland.

We try to squeeze many excursions into October to savor the great theater of Autumn color before snow flies and winter weather creeps in like a kitten after a chipmunk. Over 48 years, we’ve experimentedalotwithvarious modes of transportation, from a 50cc Honda motorcycle, and “well used” VW Beetles in the 1970s to electric bikes in this century. One of our favorites was an electric scooter. We could sit on it together, and it was ecstasy; flowingsmoothly, comfortably, andalmostsilently along country roads with no gas fumes or enginenoise;abletosmellthefreshair,flowers and feel the brush of autumn leaves on our hair and cheeks as we glided through wind tossed kaleidoscopesofflutteringcolors.Thisvehicle is so quiet, we could hear crickets and the call of a red-tailed hawk, or the rush of water over the rocks of upper West Canada Creek. Its challenges were a lack of adequate power ascending steep hills, and it didn’t indicate remaining power very well. One day, the battery got too low to get us up steep Dan Davis Rd on the way home. Since it was too big and heavy to load

Tim enjoys the scenery on our electric scooter ride into our car, Tim decided we’d tow it home with him on the scooter and me in the tow car.

I really didn’t like this idea, and agreed to it reluctantly, having a little alternative. So, how to connect them? I thought he should hold the rope so he can release it easily if needed. But he needed both hands on the handle-bars. So it had to be tied to the scooter. I knew that this was crazy but we decided to try it. I slowly dragged him up to the top of the steep hill. I knew that going down would be the hard part. Remembering past experiences towing broken-down cars with faulty brakes, I worried that he might crash head-on into our car if I went too slow, so I accelerated going downhill on the gravely dirt road to prevent this. Not until I heard him yelling and careening back and forth behindmedidIfinallyslowandstop, suddenly realizing with a sense of horror

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Hinckley Lake looks like Scotland in morning mists

that it was too rough for a scooter at that speed; that he could have fallen and been seriously hurt and it would have been my fault! Since then, we’ve moved on to lighter electric bicycles that can fitinacar.

After twenty-one years of traveling together in cars and trucks with minimally effective defrosters and heaters, Tim and I felt extremely fortunate when we could finally afford a new car in 1995. It had heat, defrosters, and windshield wipers! What luxuryitwastonothavetowearbunnyboots,scarves,andmultiple layers of coats to travel in the winter! No more frigid breezes inthe carfromthe patchedsheet-metalfloor, orputtingour hands out the window into the arctic wind to scrape ice off the windshield as we traveled. So, with confidence, we accepted doing a wedding and a memorial service 125 miles away, feeling that it would be a scenic and comfortable trip in our new car. From morning mists on Hinckley Lake, making it look like Scottish highlands, to the great, rolling tableaus of multi-colored, calico-printed hills and lush waterfalls in New York south of the Thruway; it was a glorious trip until we entered unfamiliar urban areas and struggled tofindourvenues.BeforethewonderfulavailabilityofGPS,this was often quite a challenge and I couldn’t count the miles and hours we’ve wasted being lost.

We found ourselves constantly asking each other: “Is this where we turn?” Have we gone far enough?” Travel challenges add to the fatigue and stress of leading an important event; one in which we need (as minister and musician), to be clear-headed so wecanbeacomforting,calminginfluenceaswellasfacilitatea meaningful service, especially for such emotional events.

We eventually made it to both events, but the day ended in tearsoffrustratedexhaustion,asthelast,(shouldhavebeen)ten minute stretch to our overnight lodging took us an hour in the rainandglaringlightsbecausewecouldn’tfindourway!

From last year’s diary:

I start a fire with kindling I brought in last night and hurriedly dress close to the fire. I see that we caught four mice last night. I get them all into one hav-a-hart trap and ride my bike, steering with one hand as I carry it to the end of the road at Black Creek. I pass what distinctly looks like fresh bear scat. Hmmm! Consequently, I wonder; is that low, dark shape where the path curves way up ahead a bear or a stump? I ring my bell, to alert it, just in case, and continue on. But it’s just a dark shadow. Bumpety bump over tree roots I go until I get to a pile of dead branches. I enjoy watching the little mice with their big, dark eyes and Mickey Mouse ears scurry all along with the twigs. One licks a moist leaf because he’s thirsty.

Tim is bringing in some dead trees he found, and I decide to do laundry this morning because we have hot water from the woodstove and it looks like a perfect, sunny day to dry stuff. Then, I clean out the root cellar. There are rotting apples galore from our wild apple rambles last month. I knew this would

happen. We always gather too many, but can’t resist! We call it the “Chipmunk Syndrome.” I pull out all the buckets, sort out everything, and sweep the root cellar floor. Tim washes out the buckets and takes all the spoiled stuff to the compost pile. It does feel good to finally have it cleaned out.

We take a walk through the woods to the big beaver pond with our great-grandchildren and their mom. Kim. I brush something off my cheek and little August (2 ½) is interested in it, so I look closer. I think it’s just a piece of bark, but I pick up a twig and touch it. Suddenly, it unfolds into a big spider! And it had been on my cheek!! Yuck! I get it to grab hold of the twig, then hand it to Kim who puts it in a dry area away from the trail. (I couldn’t do it myself!)

Mittens says the root cellar needs to be cleaned out

This evening, Tim and I get in a short bike ride which is exceptionally lovely and peaceful as the last light from the sun fades behind hills of watercolor hues. The clouds are all gold and pink, like a Maxfield Parrish painting. The earth has a lovely, rusty gold complexion. It’s so beautiful, but my hands and ears hurt because it is almost too cold for biking.

Yes, the leaves have shed their garments of chlorophyll green, revealing their unclothed essence in the flaming red, yellow, and orange of the sunlight they’ve absorbed throughout the summer. They know their end is near and are busy whispering memories of last summer and expressing their gratitude to have had the opportunity to dance in a few moments of eternity.

We pick up wooly caterpillars along the way to get them off the road. Our daughter thinks the winter will be hard because of the wideness of their bands of color. Tim sees some little apples remaining on a tree, so we pick them to feed the goats that live on our route. They’re so cute!

Now, I’m waiting for the shower water to cool after getting too hot on the woodstove. I bring in some kindling for tomorrow morning’s fire, and Tim brings in the bigger chunks. Sometimes, I feel very un-centered and confused about my life and my feelings. My life is It’s a nice day for Peg to do laundry

good, so why do I get into such negativity? I suppose it’s probably because I’m tired. I play some hymns on the piano, and then some harp music, while Tim does the dishes. Hearing those rich fourpart harmonies bring memories of religious services we’ve shared with so many people over the years feels quite centering and comforting for both of us. Tim says; “I really like the fact that you play the piano. My Mom played the piano in the evenings.”

Tim missed her when she had to leave them everyAugust for six weeks to escape the hay fever season in Ashtabula, Ohio. She stayed in pollen-less Petoskey, next to Lake Michigan coveringtheextraexpensebywaitressing. Curiously, he says his father was always nicer than usual while she was away, but it was sad for Tim to wave goodbye to her soon after his birthday

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in early August.

This October, I will have celebrated my birthdayseventytwotimes.ThefirstoneIcan remember was when I fell in love with sewing cards (lacing colored yarn in and out of holes punched into cardboard, outlining a cute picture.) Butthenextmemorywasbittersweet.MyMom said I couldn’t include a particular friend to my party because there wasn’t enough space, and her two younger sisters were already coming. I was devastated and fruitlessly begged to let her come, crying myself to sleep in sorrow to think that she was left out. However, when I went to meet the birthday

Little Behr visits Mittens grave

guestswalkinguptoourroadthenextday,Iwas so surprised and happy to see her coming after all! I wondered though, and still do, was a pleasant surprise worth the grief I went through?

But, sorrow and grief is something we do have to learn to deal with. We lost our dear cat, Mittens last spring after nineteen years together, and I miss her a lot. But we recently adopted a black kitten from the Humane Society. Did you know that black cats have a much lower adoption rate than cats of other colors? “Little Behr”, is providing us with great entertainment; as his energy, enthusiasm and curiosity are boundless. But there are challenges. We had to put up a 2 1/2’ ft high circle of fencing with 2’x6’holesunderourbirdfeedertoprotect the birds, and ground feeders (chipmunks and squirrels), from his predatory instincts. They can escape through the fence before Little Behr can jump over. And Tim worries about getting scratches from his sharp little claws, but I trim them, and we’re slowly training him to “go” outside instead of in the inside litterbox. I still weep sometimes, when I see Mitten’s nice gravestone made by our friends at Adirondack Stone Works and remember her beautiful sweetness, but now we have adorable Little Behr to cheer us and remind us of the joy of youth and enthusiasm for life. I can no longer comfort dear Mittens in her failing health due to age, but find meaning in offering a safe and happy life to a homeless kitten. We are all dealing with such dichotomies. There is a sense of loss and isolation due to the Corona pandemic, but hopefully,wecanexperienceadeepeningawarenessoffindingmeaninginsimplerlifestylesand our primary relationships. I watch Little Behr scamper among the falling leaves, leaping and running out of the sheer joy of living; his sleek, black coat a soft, dark contrast to the brilliant hues of red, orange, and gold. I look up at a tall cherry tree, hoping to see that specialmomentwhenaleafreleases, andfloats to earth. Tim joins me, and it’s so quiet today, we can sometimes hear the slight, gentle rustle of a single leaffinding its place to restonthe earth. Yes, there is much to feel sad about, but we also can feel grateful to have had the opportunity to dance, like the summer leaves, in a few moments of eternity. Tim says; “From oneness, we came to onenesswereturn.” •

The Shawangunk Nature Preserve is a deep ecology, forever wild, 501©(3), learning and cultural center. Tim and Peggy still live there and can be contacted through their website. www.shawangunknaturepreserve.com

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