Glory Hill Diaries

(2) Maggie Barnes Glory Hill Diaries

Oh #$%& Tannenbaum...

By Maggie Barnes

“Glad we finally stopped. I didn’t bring my passport.” I frowned at Efrain, who was grumbling as he unloaded the chainsaw from his truck.

“It wasn’t that far,” I said.

“The guy in that last field was speaking French-Canadian,” Efrain retorted.

“Listen, do you want a good tree? Sacrifices must be made.”

He was right that it had been a haul to the tree farm, more than an hour from our Waverly home. But this place had a great reputation, and even this early on a Saturday the parking lot was filling fast. Our friends needed a ten-foot tree and we were in the market for a fourteen-footer. Such height can be tough to find.

We spotted Efrain and Sandi’s tree first. Bob and I had a couple of contenders, but finally found the winner in the last row of evergreens. Right measurements, full and verdant green, I was happy with it.

As was our tradition, we caravanned to our friends’ home first, got their tree situated and then headed to Glory Hill. Standing and securing a large tree is always complicated, but, within an hour, we seemed to be stuck somehow with this one. None of us could figure out what the problem was.

“It’s straight,” Efrain announced from his vantage point on the floor, manhandling the bucket we used for a stand.

“No, it’s not,” Sandi countered from across the room, hands on hips and head tilted.

“How is that possible?” I couldn’t see my husband, who was holding up the tree from the opposite side. The tree shifted under his efforts and he asked, “How about now?”

“That’s got it,” Sandi started forward with the high-gauge fishing line to begin the tying off.

“Are you crazy,” Efrain said. “Now it’s out of whack.”

Two people looked at this tree and came to opposing opinions on its position? The house fell silent as the four of us pondered our plight.

“Efrain, can you hold this side, I want to look at something.” Our friend armycrawled backwards to re-emerge into view and take Bob’s place. My better half backed up as far as the furniture would allow and stared at the tree. Then he dropped down on his haunches and looked. Then stood up and looked. Down again.

“Hey, Jack LaLanne, work out some other time. What’s going on with the tree?”

“I don’t believe it. How did we do this?” It was an incredulous whisper. I felt my heart sink. By Bob’s estimation, our “perfect” tannenbaum deviated at least a foot up the length of its trunk. If its bottom was horizontal to the floor, it leaned backwards at the top. If the top was level, it was nowhere near the bottom of the bucket. It was the most rookie of mistakes, and we—veterans of twelve Christmases in our hilltop home— had made it. Because the tree was nestled

among other evergreens, we didn’t have light coming through it to check the bearing on the trunk. All this thing needed was a crooked man and a crooked dog.

Our determined quartet spent forty-five minutes trying to finagle that tree into some semblance of balance, but we could not make it work. Turn this way, lean that way, what if the bucket goes backwards, forwards, sideways…we tried everything. The sense of aggravation was mounting when we found ourselves in our original positions—Efrain on the floor, Sandi standing back, Bob and I on opposing sides of the tree.

I swear I heard my husband’s tolerance snap like a Christmas cracker.

“Stop. Everyone just stop.” He said it so forcefully, we all froze where we were.

Bob took a ragged breath.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. Efrain, get off the floor. Sandi, open the sliding doors. We’re going to drag this thing onto the deck and heave it into the field. Then go get another tree.”

I pushed back as much of the green mass as I could and tried to get into Bob’s view.

“What? Do you remember how much we paid for this thing?”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “Because that was days ago! We’ve been doing this for a week, haven’t we? It’s time to surrender. This isn’t going to work.”

We were both red-faced and glaring when Sandi’s gentle voice floated through the boughs.

“Efrain, why don’t you open the wine we brought?” A glass of wine while the tree rested on the floor gave us an opportunity to regroup. Sandi, a nurse, provided reason and logic, and calmly enabled us to see the only path forward.

“We can get it to stand in a position that will look straight from one point of view—the entrance to the living room. No other angle will work, but at least it will be secure.” So, we grimly waded back into battle—just like Humphrey Bogart slipping back into the leechinfested water in The African Queen. Once we and the tree reached a state of equilibrium, we hog-tied that sucker nine different ways, loaded the bucket down with extra sand, and called it acceptable.

Our friend was not done with her helpful advice.

“See?” she chirped. “Just move all the furniture from the sides of the room. No one will notice the trunk from here.”

“Yeah,” Efrain chimed in. “The best idea is to put a bar on the landing of your steps outside. Everyone stops and has a cocktail before they even come in. Then they can sit on the kitchen counter and admire the tree from there. Easy peasy!”

Okay, not all their advice is high-caliber stuff.

To be honest, I was sure the tree was not going to survive the night, and sure it might take a wall or two when it fell. But there it was come daybreak, cockeyed as hell, but upright.

We entertain a lot during the holidays, and several times I found guests standing to the side of the tree, eyeing it suspiciously and turning their heads this way and that. I’d advance on them, refill their glasses, and offer our new “VIP seating,” on the kitchen counter.

Next year we’re bringing a laser level.

Writer Maggie Barnes, IRMA and Keystone Press Awards winner, lives in Waverly, New York.

Lilace Mellin Guignard

There’s No Place Like Tomes for the Holiday Recommending More Reads by Our Writers

By Gayle Morrow

At Mountain Home we not only love to write, we also love to read. We know you do, too. An impressive number of our contributing writers have penned an impressive number of books, with topics ranging from race horses to angels to solving cold cases. Since both readers and writers love books under the Christmas tree, and ’tis the season to curl up with something warm in a cup, or cold in a glass, and wile away a few hours in somebody else’s world, check these authors out (they’re in no particular order) and check some gifts off your list. You may even be inspired to start, or finish, that book of your own.

Most of the titles are available at local and regional retail outlets and bookstores, via Amazon or other online sources, and through the authors’ websites.

Mike Capuzzo: Our own Pulitzer Prizenominated writer, Mike is probably best known for his two New York Times best-selling works of creative nonfiction—The Murder Room and Close to Shore. The Murder Room is the story of the Vidocq Society—the “heirs of Sherlock Holmes” who serve as modern coldcase solvers. Close to Shore is an account of the 1916 great white shark attacks off the coast of New Jersey, which were the boilerplate for the book Jaws. Mike co-wrote with (also our own) Teresa Banik Capuzzo Cat Caught My Heart and Our Best Friends; he wrote Mutts: America’s Dogs with Brian Kilcommons. Wild Things is his collection of humor columns. Read more at michaelcapuzzo.net.

Carrie Hagen: Carrie’s we is got him is the true account of the 1874 kidnapping of little Charley Ross in Philadelphia’s Germantown. Carrie’s fiction debut, The Muralist of Matter Deep and Dangerous, also takes place in Philadelphia, where a serial killer is inspired by the city’s murals. Read more at carriehagen.net.

Mike Cutillo: Mike’s George Washing Machine, Portables, & Submarine Races: My Italian-American Life is a funny and loving homage to his father, (whose selftaught English led to mistaking George Washington for someone named George Washing Machine), to Mike’s own travels in Italy, to the friends and family he’s found there over the years, and to the amazing meals, wine, and adventures they’ve shared. Contact Mike at mcutillo1@rochester.rr.com.

Lilace Mellin Guignard: Lilace is the author of a chapbook of poems, Young at the Time of Letting Go, that explores the confluence of nature and grief, and the creative nonfiction memoir When Everything Beyond the Walls Is Wild: Being a Woman Outdoors in America. “The exploration of risk assessment and how women are conditioned to fear certain things have been most impactful for many readers, but lots just love the stories of my imperfect outdoor adventures.” Watch the book trailer at tentofonesown.com.

Jimmy Guignard: Jimmy’s book, Pedaling the Sacrifice Zone: Teaching, Writing, and Living above the Marcellus Shale, takes on a topic that’s especially relevant to those of us living here in the Twin Tiers—the altering of rural landscapes through resource extraction. “When I started writing my book, I had one view of things that changed as I learned more about how complex an extractive industry moving into a place can be.”

Peter Nye: In 2020, the prolific Peter Joffre Nye revised and updated his first book, the 1988 Hearts of Lions, for a second edition. It is an account of early twentieth-century America’s fascination with bike riders and bike racing, and began with his interest in Art Longsjo, a speed skater and cyclist who shared his own Massachusetts roots. Peter is also the author of The Fast Times of Albert Champion (the founder of Champion spark plugs, an amazing athlete, and quite the ladies’ man), and co-wrote, with ace fighter pilot Bill Driscoll, Peak Business Performance Under Pressure.

Judith Sornberger: Judith’s most recent book, Angel Chimes: Poems of Advent and Christmas (published by Shanti Arts), is a collection of Advent and Christmas poems four decades in the making. She is also the author of four other books of poetry, a spiritual memoir, The Accidental Pilgrim: Finding God and His Mother in Tuscany (also published by Shanti Arts), Practicing the World (CavanKerry Press), Open Heart (Calyx Books), I Call to You from Time (Wipf & Stock), and five chapbooks. Find them in local bookstores and online. Read samples at judithsornberger.net.

Maggie Barnes: The Glory Hill Diaries is a collection of stories about a husband and wife who move to the country, buy an odd old house, and set about building a new life for themselves. Adventures include encounters with wildlife (think snake in the house), attempts at learning how to bake, and renovations that take on a life of their own. If you enjoy Maggie’s columns in Mountain Home, this compilation would make a great gift for yourself. Or, introduce Maggie to a friend.

Kerry Gyekis: Trophies takes place in Russia following the break-up of the Soviet Union, and details the activities of unprincipled international corporations as they collude to rob the Russian people and the natural world of their bounty. Throw in romance, philosophy, and Kerry’s insights into that part of the world, and you’ve got an exciting fiction read.

Bonus tracks: Of Woods and Wild Things, by Don Knaus, currently out of print, but you may find used copies online, second edition pending; Six Weeks in Saratoga: How Three-Year-Old Filly Rachel Alexandra Beat the Boys and Became Horse of the Year, by Brendan O’Meara; The Project-Driven Life: How to Figure Out What You Want to Be When You Grow Up, by Kathleen Thompson; The Pine Creek Rail Trail Guidebook: A Bicycle Ride through History, by Linda Stager; Begged, Borrowed, & Stolen, True Tales of Thievery from America’s Past, by Jan Bridgeford-Smith; One Bullet Beyond Justice, One Woman’s Vengeance, and More Than a Vintage Death, all three by Dennis R. Miller; The Workingman’s Game: Waverly, New York, the Twin Tiers, and the Making of Modern Baseball, 1887-1898 and That Lively Railroad Town: Waverly, New York and the Making of Modern Baseball, 1899-1901, both by William H. Brewster; What a River Says: Exploring the Blackwater River and Refuge, by Phillip Hesser, and Harriet Tubman’s Eastern Shore: The Old Home is Not There, by Phillip Hesser and Charlie Ewers; Back of Beyond: A Horace Kephart Biography, by Janet McCue.

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com. Decks are available at CS Sports in Wellsboro starting at about $60. ~GM 13When Steven Fulkerson, the seventh generation of the family at Fulkerson Winery & Farm on the west coast of Seneca Lake, got a call in 2019 from Oak Hill Bulk Foods in Penn Yan asking if he had any pasteurized grape juice they could sell at their store it seemed a logical question, since Fulkerson supplies juice to home winemakers.

“No,” Steven said. “But let me think about it.” Four months later, he had 200 gallons of juice available for Oak Hill to sell, packaged by a local bottler. The next year Fulkerson brought the bottling process in house at the farm at 5576 Route 14 in Dundee, and this year put 6,000 gallons into 80,000 bottles. If you’re searching for a distinctive local beverage for the kids and teetotalers around the holiday table, your quest is over.

Make no mistake—this is not non-alcoholic wine. These are grapes that have never started the fermentation process. This is good ol’ grape juice with its full natural sugar content on display, just like you buy in the store—only better, because, unlike their commercial cousins, Fulkerson’s are cold pressed, to get maximum grape flavor (unlike most commercial juices, which are boiled for maximum yield). “There’s a lot more subtlety to it,” says Steven. The northeastern native grapes are here in their full just-juice splendor: rosy catawba, violet concord, and golden delaware and niagara (the last three especially beloved by grape juice and sacramental wine drinkers the world over). And, ranging in hue from blonde to amethyst, are the names you will recognize from your wineglass: himrod, riesling, valvin muscat, diamond, rosette, syrah, and DeChaunac, all in ten-ounce, $3.50 bottles for sale at the winery. Top sellers concord and niagara are also available by the quart. Except for the catawba and rosette (grown along Keuka Lake), and the DeChaunac (grown on the farm next door, managed by Steven’s uncle), everything is grown at Fulkerson’s, including the cortland, burgundy tart, and empire apples that go into their ciders (also cold pressed and non-alcoholic). “Empire is the best seller,” says Steven, “which works for me. Cortland is my favorite, but we only have a few of those trees, so there’s not as much of it.” You can go to fulkersonwinery.com or call (607) 243-7883 for more info. You can also find the juices in stores across the southern tier, including the Finger Lakes Cider House, Parker’s Farm Market, Tops in Watkins Glen and Penn Yan, and at most Taste New York locations. “The sale of Fulkerson juices outpaces Coca-Cola products at Watkins Glen State Park,” adds Steven, smiling.

We’ll drink to that, and to a Merry Christmas to you and yours from all of us at Mountain Home. ~TBC