Tales from Shawangunk, Part 73

TALES FROM SHAWANGUNK Chapter 73 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.

“Thumpity, thumpity…” It sounds like animals are scampering across our roof. Occasionally there’s a “roar” and a house shaking “thud”. The pretty snow that turned the forest into an elegance of black and white, striped, lace filigree is melting in the warm caress of this late morning sunlight. Despite the lovely, pale blue sky above, icy cold rain comes down from the trees, peppered with huge clumps of snow falling off heavy-laden evergreens and bits of ice from hardwood branches. We put our hoods up when we go out to do chores, so it won’t go down our necks.

The ebony and amber waters of Misty Brook are also affected, twinkling with stars and galaxies of bright sunlight bouncing off all the ripples caused by this “snow rain.” We hear sweeps of crystalline tinkles from snow dust, and “plop” from snowballs as they hit the waters. The upper story of the whole forest is ablaze with prisms of white light shining through all the semi-melted snowdrops. This inconvenient beauty is typical of life: yin/yang, up and down, pro and con. Humanity is going through a rough time this year. It’s hard not to have a personal reaction of social rejection when people distance themselves from you, and vice versa. Sometimes I feel like I must be radioactive. I felt this way when I got poison ivy on my face many years ago. I looked (and felt) horrible with itchy red blotches and oozing blisters fringed with orange calamine lotion. People I saw couldn’t hide their revulsion. A face mask at that time might have helped.

Tim & I keep associating the face masks with bandits from the old Western movies we grew up with, and it’s hard to get used to the idea that the people behind the masks are the good guys, the heroes. We are fortunate that we only need to use them when we go out, unlike A place for visitors to share our winter beauty

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Tim was a star athlete

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many workers who must wear them all day long. On the up-side; I rather like how warm they make my face outside on cold winter days. The down-side of that is, I can’t see much because my glasses are fogged up from my breath.

We take some inspiration from others who’ve gone through tough times. Winston Churchill said during the Blitz in WWII; “If you’re going through hell, keep going.” And Helen Keller who achieved so much despite being blind and deaf; “Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.” I’m confident that we’ll get through this.

Daily tasks and hobbies can be pleasant distractions from the struggles and tragedies of life. I have always been good at finding distractions, even if they are worse than what I’m avoiding. When I was young, if my mother wanted me to paint shutters, I’d likely rather move rocks for the new patio.

Now I have self-imposed tasks to which I react the same way. (I have become my mother!) I expect myself to spend about 15 minutes a day doing sit-ups, leg-lifts, push-ups, etc., which I absolutely hate doing! But, I know that being strong is essential for good health and safety. My husband invariably cheers me on; “Wonderful, Peg! Good for you!” (Hey! I married a star athlete!) It feels great to get it over with, so I can feel relieved and proud of myself for the rest of the day. I can fit it all in during the time it takes for the oatmeal to cook. But it’s very easy to find more “important” things to do first, like clean the rug before I exercise on it, look at the weather report, check

the mail, balance the checkbook, take the ashes out of the woodstove, take the captured mice down the road, wash the floor under the cat dish, fill the bird feeder, empty the chamber pot, get water from the creek, start the fire, bring in dry firewood, call a friend, call a sister … you see how it is! By then, I am too tired and hungry to exercise. But after breakfast, I’m too full and have to let it digest before I can exercise.

Maybe Tim has the right idea. He waits until the last possible minute of the day, just before crawling into bed. He sometimes asks me; “Did I already do my pushups?” And I have the option of saying yes or no depending on if I want him to come to bed breathing heavily. A great way to distract myself from worldly concerns is to bundle up in warm clothes and get outside for a while. Admiring snow showers like this morning, or the subtle shades of our native trees and plants as they enter the deep sleep of winter and thinking about how to describe them to you puts me into a nice consciousness. Nature has a subtle loveliness and rhythm that is little affected by human difficulties and draws you into it.

Such scenes of winter beauty have often helped alleviate the stress of long trips to our various churches in the early hours of Sunday mornings. It’s easy to think it’s a pretty simple matter for a minister to dress up and give a presentation, and Tim and Peg performing at for the musician to church play a few tunes. But here’s how it really is: We’d wake up in the chill of night at 5am, stoke the fire, make and eat breakfast, dress for church (but bundle up for the cold), pack up and lug our instruments (harp, guitar, viola, keyboard, amplifier, stands) out to the cold car, then begin a journey of an hour or two through icy, snowy, slushy roads, sometimes with harsh winds creating white-outs that are scary to drive through. But often the scenery, the grand vistas that we don’t get in the forest, make up for the difficulties. North to Watertown, there are wide open ranges of farmlands and meadows fringed with snow traced trees of sunrise pink. Tim with his Christmas car and cowboy outfit

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East to Little Falls or Salisbury Center we savor the broad vistas of the Adirondack Foothills and valleys of the West Canada Creek and Mohawk River giving us a sense of the wonder of our planet. Or, south to Cortland, we are awed by the dramatic inclines of hills & valleys that were carved out by glaciers eons ago, like mini-mountain ranges sprinkled with pastoral farm fields.

Tim has little signs on a trail

We arrive at church, breathe a quick moment of relief that we and our car made it, then unload our gear from the car, and hope the church isn’t still locked. There are usually narrow, steep stairways to squeeze through, then unpack, tune-up, (hard to do if it’s still cold in the sanctuary), and try to get in a warm-up practice before Tim goes off to lead a pre-service forum. I would love to participate in the interesting discussions they have, but this is my favorite time; I’m alone in the sanctuary with my instruments and their nice piano or organ and can totally focus on organizing all that I intend to play, calming and comforting myself with making beautiful sounds. In performance, some songs go better than others, and I have to quickly practice forgiveness of myself or my music partner (Tim), when it’s not “just right.” The easy part for me is when Tim takes over with his presentation and I can relax and listen. He likes the concept of “presenting” a gift of thought instead of the more authoritarian concept of sermonizing, and it must be well researched, informative, inspiring, and sometimes entertaining

I used to make subtle hand motions to indicate to Tim that his tie was crooked, or his collar turned up, but it caused him too much distraction from his presentation.

I love to hear about all the different major world religions and their holy days (holidays) which Tim is very knowledgeable about, having studied them for many decades after being introduced to them in Seminary. It was also a great discovery to me when I first met him and realized that there were other great philosophies and religions in the world besides Christianity, in which I was raised, and Judaism. One of his favorite texts is “The Bible of The World” edited by Robert O. Ballou which contains scriptures from Hinduism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Taoism, Zoroastrianism, Judeo-Christianity, and Islam. Tim says; “I’m too insecure to adhere to only one religion. They are like different colors of squares in a great quilt of comfort. I

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“Special holiday foods are unique to each religious celebration,” he tells us one December. “During Diwali (the Hindu Festival of Lights), rice cakes are traditional. During the Jewish celebration of Hanukkah, potato pancakes or latkes are cooked in oil to symbolize the burning of the oil that lasted eight days instead of one. Biscuits or cookies with sweet spices symbolize the frankincense brought by the Magi to the Christ Child at Christmas, and ancient Tibetians offered dough as sacrifice to their deities.”

“The tradition of “toasting “comes from the Anglo-Saxon wassail bowl. “Wassail” means; “Be Healthy!” and celebrants used to pass the Wassail Bowl filled with steaming spirits, nutmeats, and pieces of toasted bread with the wish for good health. We continue this “toasting” idea, but without the toast.”

Tim continues: “In the 1600s, Protestant Anglo-American’s regarded Christmas as a Popish import, unappealing and to be shunned. In fact, the Massachusetts Bay Colony passed a law against celebrating it in 1659, punishing: ‘anybody who is found observing it by abstinence from labor, feasting, or other ways.’ This was repealed 25 years later, but anti-Christmas feelings continued, and Judge Samuel Sewald was happy to report in his diary in 1685 that he didn’t see anyone celebrating this holiday.”

“Until the Civil War, it was hardly observed in America and retailers barely noticed the occasion. The New York Tribune in 1841 did not contain a single example of Christmas advertising, but after the Civil War, that all changed. By December 1870, it was merchandizing’s biggest month of the year as it is now.” Christmas was greatly celebrated in our childhoods and a great excuse for crafts projects. One year, my mom made Santa candles for all her friends, whipping wax for his beard with an eggbeater, scenting the kitchen with paraffin for many days. Cookie decorating was fun, and homemade cards were popular and posted on a card tree. In later years, she collected nutcrackers.

I have a dear friend from another country who recalls that during her childhood in the 1970–80s, they had to close their curtains, lock their doors, and celebrate Christmas secretly or face dire consequences. We are so fortunate in our democracy to be able to celebrate, or not celebrate religious holidays: “…it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government except for all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.” (Winston Churchill) As this all too brief, sunny winter day draws to a close and the air chills once again, cloudy mists rise from the downy quilt of snow on the forest floor. The mists are pleated with opalescent rays of diaphanous light wafting gently through the trees from the sun glowing softly in a pearlyblue heaven. We experience a sense of otherworldliness; except that this is Our World. This is Our Holy Place, and every day is a Holy Day. •

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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