Large Elm, Forster Farm, near Schuylerville
You Meet the Nicest People on
WEST RIVER ROAD WRITTEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY JOHN R. GREENWOOD
This story began one summer day in 2013 when I
visited the Lyrical Ballad Bookstore in Saratoga Springs. A few feet inside the door, I found a shelf labeled "Adirondacks." There I found an 8" x11" book titled "The Hudson River." Being a lifelong fan of both, I rescued the book from its dusty slumber. The 1964 book was self-published by Delaware watercolor artist Jack Lewis and dedicated to Anna Eleanor Roosevelt—yes, that Eleanor. My later research revealed she had invited Jack to the Roosevelt home in Hyde Park and asked him to document the Hudson's length in watercolors and prose. It was filled with Jack's paintings and the descriptions of the subjects and locations painted. The progression started at the Hudson's source and ended in New York City. Many of the scenes from Mt. Marcy to the Port of Albany were as familiar as family. The opposing page of each painting was broken into three sections. The first was titled Human Interest. Here Lewis explains the painting's subject matter and what may have been taking place. The second section was titled Composition. Here he describes how the mood of the subject influences his color choice. The third section is Philosophy, where he explains what lesson or inspiration, he takes away from the scene he's painting. The combined prose of the three is as beautiful as the scenes he paints. The book and the artist have had an alluring grip on me since I first discovered it. In 2014 I'd spent a year savoring every entry in the book. One of the entries included a scene from nearby Schuylerville. It was a farmhouse with the caption, "Large Elm, Forster Farm, near Schuylerville." I determined from
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previous paintings that they were scenes along West River Road in Bacon Hill. This particular scene kept pulling me toward it. The prose indicated it was a family farm, and it included young children. I wondered if I could find it? I Googled "Forster Farm Schuylerville." The very first item on the list was "The Yarn Shop at Foster Sheep Farm." What were the odds that the name in the book was an error? My curiosity peaked one afternoon after work, so I tucked the book into my motorcycle saddlebag and headed for The Foster Sheep Farm on West River Rd. I got a mysterious feeling as I pulled in the gravel driveway—I felt like I'd been there before. It was a classic farmhouse, and it did look just like the painting. Something kept tugging at me, so without hesitation, I parked my motorcycle, grabbed the book, and headed for the door of the yarn shop at the rear of the home. I knocked on the screen door after petting the friendly black and white dog with the brown belly. A voice with an Aunt Bee gentleness said, "Come on in." I found the gesture heartwarming, considering I was a six-foot, 250lb stranger with a leather jacket walking into a yarn shop, and the proprietor never flinched a muscle. She welcomed me in like a lifelong neighbor. This had good karma plastered all over it. I stood there for a moment, trying to assemble my speech. I wasn't sure how to begin, so I dug right in, "Is this the Forster Farm?" "No," she said, "It's Foster, not Forster." My heart sank. Well, I had my foot in the door; I may as well explain the reason for my visit. saratogaTODAYnewspaper.com
