Dutch Courage

Perhaps it was the defiance of a newly-made national identity spurning control of an overseas monarchy, but, for whatever reason, the phrase "have a little 'Dutch courage'" remains rooted in the lexicon of America's "New Amsterdam". It's not a nice reference, either, because it implies that you're an utter coward unless you have a strong drink or two before you make any bold moves, which any night on the town would prove correct, rife as bars are with fistfights and amorous advances rejected as easily as one gets drunk.

It's also a clever nod to the infamously "neutral" stance of Switzerland and other Scandinavian countries that backed out of the fight during WWII, to profit instead from the murderous theft of Germany's Third Reich through their banking system, hence the illicit-sounding "Swiss bank account" that recurs in many an old-fashioned spy tale from that era. That's not to say we are immune to the pleasures of tavern life here in New York, or nursing a budding romance over a few cocktails. 

Social lubricants are often the glue that binds young lovers together, or as Jerry Seinfeld said on his sitcom (about drinking), "How do you think ugly people get together?!", as he and his best friend Elaine bemoaned the undateable inhabitants of Manhattan. Certainly, people have been looking for draughts of courage to sustain them in lieu of actual bravery for a long, long time. In fact, Rockland County is home to the oldest tavern in New York, and I like to think that on a full-mooned autumn night, the ardor of a man is bolstered by the potency of a drink well-made and even better served. Have at it, then. 

http://76house.com

The Happy Valley

Rockland has always been hard for me to describe. It's north of the city without being considered "upstate", which is how native New Yorkers refer to the vast area outside of the tri-state metropolitan area. Nor is it traditionally "the 'burbs", like the much more convenient and easily accessible "bedroom communities" of northern New Jersey, Long Island, Connecticut, or Westchester; all within reach of mass transit connected to the city. I would say: "Well, you take the West Side Highway north to the exit for the GWB (George Washington Bridge), then stay in the right lane until you diverge onto the Palisades (Palisades Interstate Parkway). You go through New Jersey for a bit until the pavement changes. Then, you're in Rockland."

In this century, there's a sign that lets you know you're in New York State once again, (because the road follows the contours of the mighty Hudson River and its imposing bank of cliffs we call "palisades"), and through the state of New Jersey. There are no billboards or advertisements of any kind, and there never will be, because the highway is on federally protected land. You may thank President Theodore Roosevelt for that. It will also never be a commercial thoroughfare, because of the high amount of old stone overpasses that would knock the block off of any trucks or buses that missed a couple of small signs in warning of such a thing. And that's on a clear day.

At night, when the weather is rainy and the Hudson churns out a massive fog bank thicker than any smoke you've ever seen, there are no lights to guide you through the dips, twists, and turns the dark road takes. Federal parks prohibit the use of street lights to protect the land and the animals living there, but not any humans driving carelessly in the middle of the darkest night they never drove in before. Lost, yet? Good! Try this one on for size, as a common question Rocklanders are often asked: so, how do you commute to the city without taking a car? So glad you asked!

I can drive to a parking lot (or walk a mile to a bus stop that may or may not be marked), where I wait for the a New Jersey Transit train that makes me transfer through Seacacus Junction for another train that'll take me into the city (or I wait for the weekday-only commuter buses that go through Jersey's Lincoln Tunnel under the Hudson River to the Port Authority bus terminal), and that's only if it's weather-permitting on a workday during the week, with no transit strikes or retaliations by New Jersey for some New York-related offense that is totally geo-political, like the snafu that closed the GWB access roads for awhile, barring any other type of construction work that might be happening across any of the major NY-NJ conduits. 

Or, you could drive in-and-out of the city every day of your work life until you either retire or die first, and good luck with the cost increases of gas, tolls, parking lot fees, car insurance, and car maintenance. Lost, again? Good! Try fitting that into any casual conversation with some freaked-out office worker from anywhere else, competing and struggling in the biggest and most expensive American city we have, after their third or fourth drink, because even native New Yorkers from the city get glassy-eyed over it. And that's just the way we like it. Welcome to "The Happy Valley", one of the most beautiful spots in the entire lower Hudson Valley region. You made it! Now, go get yourself a drink. You earned it. But don't drive there. The state police are everywhere! Got ya!

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hudson_Valley#

Wild Things

My original "Friends of Animals" poster from the 70s.

A few years back, I went on a guided trip to Yellowstone called "Wolves, Bears, and Wild Things". Our intention as a group was to spot animals in the wild, but I didn't have quite the same touristy type of attitude. I don't see wildlife existing purely for my photographic pleasure, even though one of my greatest influences is nature. Surprisingly, I don't treat the world as if it exists to show itself for me only, and so I knew that our summer trip would not yield any wolf sightings because wolves do not hunt during the high heat of a summer's day, and only an idiot who knows nothing about animal behavior would expect that.

But I did see many beautiful things, and I came away with the lasting (and true) impression that the entire area can blow up at any time, because the park itself is one hugely active volcanic site: http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2010/07/yellowstone-national-park.html. As such, it really isn't fit for humans to live there, but there are many animals that exist free from the confinement of zoo life and our exclusive use. Bison roam freely like the moose do, and bears stick mostly to hills except during the park's busiest times, when people leave their trash everywhere. Oh, it doesn't matter that there are signs and trash can covers throughout the park: one bad person can temporarily collapse an entire ecosystem. 

Luckily for me, I'm a former Scout and the best hiker in my clan. I always pack in only what I can carry out myself, and that's something you can take to the bank. You'd certainly want me in the back country with you on any given day, because I can visually memorize any trail, especially the ones around Bear Mountain I grew up hiking, like the times when Dad was supposed to be carrying the maps, but forgot to do so. Trust me when I saw that me and my bros are happy he has the "Midas Touch" with money, which is much more of a sure thing.

The New York area has recently seen a great resurgence in the return of its' native wildlife, a place that includes rural settings, suburban green-ways, and urban jungles alike. It was noted with much amusement this spring, to the delight of every newscaster looking for a family-friendly story during the dinner hour. Who doesn't like bear cubs? Not me! But in every story lies a serious message; as soon as our animals return is as quickly they can disappear, if we don't make them welcome. That means you, happy camper! Garbage cans must have secure lids so that raccoons and little bears don't get into them, because not only is our food very bad for them to eat, little ones cannot climb out, and they will die in there without our help: http://www.dec.ny.gov/press/89917.html.

http://www.lohud.com/story/news/local/2015/05/20/bear-sightings-new-york-westchester-rockaway-yonkers-mountainkeeper/27682767/

Same thing goes for feral animals that have escaped from human homes. Cats must be caught, taken to rescue services and fixed against breeding, because domesticated animals do not breed well without our intervention. This past weekend, I caught up with our local Animal Control officer (Hi, Rich!), a great guy who voluntarily works part time for the county when he isn't working for us at Con Ed. We have laws on the books about dogs that get loose but not cats, which has led to their rampant, unchecked inbreeding. It's the cause of many unsuccessful litters that bear dead kittens. I found one on the lawn last year, and it totally freaked me out. R.I.P. beautiful orange and white kitty :( I named the spot "Kitty Korner" in memory of the kitten, and I place my recycle bins there every week in his (or her) honor.

I remember seeing a small calico kitten with her dark grey mate roaming around the neighborhood last year, too. They weren't fully grown last year when they bred for the first time, and this spring they are still breeding badly. One morning last week, I walked out onto the porch to find my neighbor holding a small dark grey kitten with one eye sealed completely shut, or perhaps she was born blind. The Calico mom I saw last year crept out from the bushes, when the kitten was put on the grass for her to grab, but she does not birth healthy litters. Cats are tame because we made them that way, and so it is our responsibility to care for them. Now that I know this pair breeds under a certain big old yellow house in the Hudson Valley, I'm totally on it, and you should be, too. 

We must take care of our animals. It's up to you to keep this biosphere healthy and functioning, because this is G-d's inheritance to us, as the gift of life for all time. You are actively living in this "Garden of Eden". Treat the life here with love and care.  

For New York City residents:

http://www.nycferalcat.org/

http://www.neighborhoodcats.org/

http://www.nyc.gov/html/doh/html/environmental/animals-tnr.shtml

http://feralcatfocus.org/

http://www.nycacc.org/CommFeralCats.htm, http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/16/nyregion/a-no-kill-approach-to-feral-cat-control.html?_r=0


For Rockland County residents:

http://www.alleycat.org/page.aspx?pid=712&gclid=COa37MLw5MUCFcITHwodDB8Ahg

http://www.everycatcounts.info/?gclid=COmM7dfw5MUCFdgPgQodnh8AjA 

http://www.hvhumane.org/pets-for-adoption/ 

http://www.hitor.org/ 

http://valleycottageanimalhospital.com/links-2/animal-shelters/ 

http://www.guardianangelcatrescue.com/feral_cats.php 

http://hudsonvalleynewsnetwork.com/2015/01/30/free-spayneuter-feral-cats-february-dcspca/ 

Linden's

Me and my lunch: a meatball sub and Linden's cookies (with "hat head").

Growing up in New York is really, really weird. I knew the food was great, my grandparents were really fun and cool, and my parents very well-educated. I also knew that our culture is pervasive among t.v., movies, and the radio, but... isn't yours, too? No?! Oh, sorry 'bout that.

My journey has taken me many places, and the more I travel, the more I notice people's reactions to me and my hometown, my unique last name and distinctive looks, my marked speech patterns and my wealth (and breadth) of knowledge. It's a gap that continues to widen out there in the world which is why, like so many of my childhood classmates, we find ourselves drawn back to what is possibly the most famous place on the planet.

Same deal with our food here, and my kind of cooking: the only thing I knew about Linden's cookies as a kid was that we got them for lunch, or as after-school snacks with whole milk, not that it was a small, local, world-power that began at the same time as their friends, the fine makers of "Hellman's Mayonnaise"*, which is the best mayonnaise on Earth. It's so good, I used to eat mayo sandwiches for lunch or right before dinner, if I was starving and the food smelled delicious. 

We can't wait to finally meet you. Bonjour, les amis!

http://www.lindencookies.com/pages/about-lindens

The key to coolness is in the ingredients: no bullshit necessary!

*http://www.hellmanns.com/home/about

Homecoming

Two doorways.

As I knew I would, I came home after many years away. They were good hard years of some fun, some heartache, some adventure, and some travel, with much added experience. I loved it, but it was time to go home, and I knew it. So one day, on the cusp of financial ruin, I gave in to what I knew to be true, cashed my last paycheck, packed what few bags I had left in the bare sublet room I slept in because the rest of my stuff was in storage, and moved to a spare room in my moms' apartment to weather the storm. It was rough seas all the way, but that's like any real passage of time: to stick with you it has to hurt a little bit and sometimes a lot, and so it did.

Lamplight at night.

But I'm here now, and very glad of it. I know this place like a seedling knows how to grow in soil ripe for the planting. I took to it and it has, in it's own turn, taken back to me. This is my territory and my kind of land, that of my ancestors, which stretches all the way up to Canada, and I plan to savor every bit of it, like the food here that feeds my soul, because I've been cooking and serving up versions of it with home ingredients all of my life, in preparation for this time period.

Blue light, yellow light.

Stay tuned for next week's feature that I alluded to last year (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2014/02/stay-tuned.html). I referred to it as obliquely and discreetly as I could, obliged as I was under certain legal circumstances with stringent conditions that had to be followed, lest I suffer the consequences that come from jumping the gun. I do not play a young man's game, my friends, and I am happy to report that particular storm has now passed, though I'm sure others will certainly follow suit, because our very human ups-and-downs are the stuff of life itself.

Curtain and window in mid-morning light.

"Bienvenue" to you, new to this here and now.
Welcome to the light that's always been.

Sky Lines

Intersecting Lines (Pearl River, NY. December 2014).

Last week I spotted a gorgeous crescent moon still hanging brightly in the full light of day. It was beautiful, until something else obscured the object of my original intentions: the many, many intersecting lines of a thousand or so airplane chemtrails that fill the sky every day in the tri-state area, spewing toxic waste high up in the atmosphere above us, which led me to another musing. Yes, I was safe down below, out of harm's way, but what do we do about our atmosphere? Who protects that, fragile as it is, and hard to reach, way out of our grasp. How do we clean it up? 

I trust that this daily missive reaches someone out there with the authority and courage to make the neccesary changes needed to protect life, fragile as it, as this pollution must surely reach us on the ground after falling from the sky above. That's the nature of my faith. 

Amen to you during this Advent season, a humble time of repentance and reflection during our hectic daily lives. May you look up into the light, and see the truth as it is written before your eyes, like lines drawn by the hand of G-d. This is not our coloring book to write upon, like irate children scrawling across a blank page.  

We belong to this earth and one another.

The First Day of Snow

We had our first snow day a week or so ago, right before Thanksgiving. It was awesome: the stores closed early, only a few people were out, and everything was covered with a pretty blanket of snow. There air is so clean after a snowfall, I just breathed it in, remembering childhood snow days past: "no school" announcements on the radio with a brief (but joyous) family freakout, pancakes and cartoons for breakfast with my bros, followed by snowmen and precariously-made snow tunnels outside with our snow dog "Snowflake", the cutest little girl Samoyed an Acadian kid could ever hope to have. 

If it was Saturday, my Dad might take us sledding at Rockland Lake, with hot chocolate and melting marshmallows at home later, around the big kitchen table my mother's cousin made for us, after removing layers and layers of heavily sodden snow gear. It still has the power to bring out the kid in me, and so it did. I padded around town in my red snow boots with a big smile on my face. Enjoy it while you can. Snow today is often gone tomorrow.

Early Morning Fog

6:30 a.m. - The Hudson River valley.

The Dragonfly

Hungry is the lone hunter; here sits "Brother Dragonfly".

I've always loved dragonflies. My middle brother hated them when we were kids because they're big and scary, but he's also highly allergic to bee stings, so pretty much all bugs are on his "no" list. But, I love them: their gossamer wings, their iridescent and sleekly bejeweled bodies, their swooping, precise aerobatics... I think they are so beautiful and strong. Many other cultures feel that way, too. 

The Dragonfly, up close: a study in beauty and aerodynamics.

Years ago, I was inspired to draft and draw a children's story about a dragonfly (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2012/09/the-isle-of-dragonfly-on-pubslush.html), using the noble, high-flying hunter as a symbol and metaphor that would also speak to an adults' poetic sensibilities. I usually see them flying and dipping high above my head, but the other afternoon, I was privileged (and very surprised) to see a young beauty perched on an old yellow house that sits high on a hill in the lower Hudson Valley. I consider it a very good sign on this year's last, warm 68° day in New York.  

So close! I hold my breath, and take another picture.

http://www.dragonfly-site.com/meaning-symbolize.html

Predator vs. Predator

Aha, Corvus! I see you, crow.

We've had a series of absolutely beautiful mornings with bright, warm sun, cooled by light breezes. Sometimes it's the perfect way to drink coffee and take a good look around, which was exactly what I did. 
I was not disappointed by my porch musings. Across the street, a dead pine among a stand of healthy trees serves as a watchtower for most of the birds that live nearby, the short list that I observed being this: cardinals, sparrows, mourning doves, blue jays, and a few powerful predators perched at the top. At first, a duo of large crows cawed and searched for food, while a few smaller birds clustered on the branches beneath them. But a feather I found a few days earlier was the harbinger of something new to the neighborhood.

New to the neighborhood.

To my surprise, the next morning when I opened the door, I was rewarded with the sight of a small red-tailed hawk at the top spot. 
I sat down to watch him engage his environment, and he was ruling well. A dove landed then quickly took off, then the crows circled nearby from atop a healthy pine, one braving the hawk's watchful gaze to land on a lower branch, only to take off quickly to report back to its' mate. 
I could tell the hawk was extremely aware of its' surroundings. 
Every time it swivelled its' head, the patch of feathers switched from white to brown, the color of the head feathers on the side. It's young and growing fast. I spotted a feather that still had some white downy chick feathers on it after I found a larger, more adult one. 

The last morning I saw it on top of the dead pine tree, I conspicuously took out my dark smart phone camera, pointed it right at the tree from a standing position and snapped a few pics, which sealed the deal that I already knew existed between us, about who was the bigger, smarter predator in the neighborhood. I haven't seen it since.