But what about "The Woods," a place I've alluded to in every story? "M" talks of this magical place often, and last summer, I had the privilege of sharing four full weeks with her there. It was an incredible time for the two of us, and my role quickly evolved from caregiver and companion to that of an old, trusted friend. It's amazing what a change in setting can do for a relationship!
"M" had spent much of her childhood, at least in the warmer months, at her family's "camp" in the Central Adirondacks of New York State. This pattern continued into her adulthood, as she brought the next generation of the family to the site to spend their summers, and it lives on today with the third generation enjoying quality time there.
I didn't even know what an Adirondack Camp was when I was first asked by "M"s daughter to come up and help out with her Mom. My mind immediately went to images of tents, but as hearty as "M" is for her age, I couldn't possibly imagine her sleeping in a canvas shelter under the stars!
On my first trip up to "The Woods," I was full of both relief and reverence. The "camp" consisted of a series of buildings that were built a century ago. Nestled under the wings of even older Adirondack Pine Trees, the camp sat sheltered and secluded on the side of a pristine lake. Modern day codes and regulations would never allow for such structures to be constructed so close to one of these lakes, but a hundred years ago, there were no such restrictions.
When "M"s Grandfather had purchased the property, there were very few people in the area. The ones that did make residence there were either local loggers or hunters, and the only access to the area was by train. Gradually, some well-off and quite insightful New York City families discovered the serene setting, and were able to provide the funds to construct magical mountain hideaways. To my knowledge, "M"s family was one of the first.
The first thing that struck me about the camp was how quiet it was. It was build on forty plus acres, and the nearest road was miles away. Instead of lawnmowers, weed-wackers and the various other power equipment that typically mark a summer day, here in "The Woods" was only the occasional call of a loon. It was marvelous, and I looked forward to the solitude and silence.
I couldn't have been more wrong. You see, the camp was built on a lake that belonged to a connected chain of waterways, and over the past half century had become a summer vacation getaway for many people from various urban areas. Very few of the original camps remained, replaced by five-star resorts and a multitude of bungalow cottages that were continually occupied. Not only was the area now full of city-weary folks who craved the fresh mountain air, but it was also over-run with their various water toys, most common of which were the jet ski and pontoon "party" boat. Long about late afternoon on a typical day, but more frequently on the weekends, vacationers would parade their water craft, some not-so-quietly, up and down the lake.
Of course, there were the old-timers, like "M"s family. They were content to enjoy the lake via canoe and kayak, and other such boats that did not need loud, powerful engines to propel them. Many were fisherman, who sat quietly on the edges of the lake patiently waiting for a bite, and if lucky, a catch. But there weren't very many of the original camps left, and the area had become a summer-time vacation mecca exemplified by its HIGH NOISE LEVEL!
But not on a rainy day, which were surprisingly frequent in the Adirondacks. On such occasions, the noise level came to a complete halt, with not a motor boat to be heard. It was an amazing transformation, and one that was most welcome for "M" and me.
You see, the rainy days gave us a chance to talk. Just talk. Although some of the camps (luckily ours was in this category) were equipped with electric and rudimentary plumbing, there were none of the usual media distractions that one would have in their own home. No computers, television, Internet, Play-stations, and various other electronic devices designed to continually entertain. "M" was much like her daughter, who preferred more of the back-to-basics type of activity, and could be content just spending an entire day reading, writing, playing card games, enjoying nature, and chatting.
Days such as these were the ones that I remember the most, for they enabled me to really learn about "M"s remarkable life. If the forecast was for a full day of rain, all the better. We would start our morning with a simple breakfast, followed by casual conversation and the enchanting sound of raindrops on the rooftop. After lunch, we would have tea, and that's when the real conversation began to take place. Sitting on very basic wooden chairs that were hand-crafted over a hundred years ago, "M" and I would talk about anything and everything that came to mind. And with "M"s Dementia playing a huge factor, I never knew what our conversations would entail.
Sometimes, it was as simple as discussing the daily routine of a songbird. "M" loved all types of animals, but especially birds, and between the water fowl and tree-dwellers, there were many species to talk about. The Woods were also home to very happy squirrels and chipmunks, among other animals who preferred to make their presence known at night, such as the raccoons, possums, and skunks. And the loons. Those darned loons. Every day at 3am the loons would proudly and loudly serenade us with their tune. For such a beautiful bird, I have to admit that their vocal talents did not exactly match their appearance. What a unique, and piercing, sound!
Other times, "M" and I would talk about her flying days, when she taught Naval cadets how to fly during World War II. This period of "M"s life was quite influenced by "the bad man" who was trying to take over the world, and in the process was destroying much of it. She spoke of him often, but I would always try to steer the conversation away from anything that had to do with Adolf Hitler.
Most often, probably triggered by our setting, "M" would talk about her childhood memories of "The Woods." And there were many. It was very clear that her time spent in these serene surroundings were some of the best times in her life, so I would make sure to ask as many questions as possible about life in the camp when she was younger.
One of her favorite memories was the weekly arrival at the camp of the "Pickle Boat." Once a week, sometimes more often if needed, a well stocked motorized boat would make its way to all of the camps bordering the lakes. In this way, residents could purchase all of the supplies they would need to get by during the rest of the week. I would imagine this included pickles, but I still have not found out the reason for the boat's name. I'll be going up to "The Woods" again in a few weeks, so I promise to find out the origin of the term "Pickle Boat" and share it with you.
The children in the camp, which included "M", her two older sisters and brother, as well as many cousins and other extended family members, were most excited by the boat's arrival each week. Along with the regular cargo, the Pickle Boat's captain would include an array of candy for the children. "M" always had a big smile on her face when she described this part of the story.
There was also the Mail Boat, another weekly visitor to the camps. While not as exciting to the children as the Pickle Boat, it was an important and much-needed means for the adults in the camp to communicate with friends and family back in "the city." During my first week in the Woods, I was lucky enough to see the Mail Boat, which was still operational a century later. Although "M"s family did not use the service anymore, the beautiful little craft would meander its way up and down the shores of the lake, and I found it fascinating. Needless to say, with the wonder of a child, I would rush out to see it, capturing as many photos as I could with my camera phone.
"M"s memories also included winters spent in the "The Woods," including one very special family trip at Christmas time. I couldn't even imagine a winter day in the camp, even though each building was equipped with at least one working fireplace. The dwellings were so far removed from "civilization," and even today, a novice visitor like me felt like I was driving into the most isolated spot in all of New England when I drove down the camp's dirt "driveway." I'm not so sure my car's tires are looking forward to the return trip next month, so I'll have to do some preparation before I go.
As "M" described the winter months spent in the camp with her family, her eyes would get misty and her voice became filled with what clearly seemed like a longing for a simpler time and place. I could only imagine what such an experience would be like, but amazingly, despite how many decades ago it was, "M"s recollections were clear as a bell. She could describe the family Christmas tree as if it were only yesterday! This was probably helped by the fact that the camp contained much of the original furnishings from when it first became operational a hundred years ago. Hand-built wooden tables, chairs, a writing desk, and various other decorations filled the dwelling, along with a high chair that sat distinctively in the corner of the main living area. When I asked "M" about the chair, she was happy to tell its' story. Not only had she and her sisters used it, but so had her children, and their children afterwards. Just hearing her talk about it filled me with wonder as well.
The thing that struck me most was the mantel above the fireplace. There were not many things on it, but what was there was a complete mystery to me. Various pieces of something that looked like wood, all different shapes and sizes, decorated with colorful carvings and drawings. Some of them looked as though they had been drawn by children, with names, dates, and simple scenes depicted on them, but others seemed like works of art. The etchings were quite intricate, and I was very impressed at not only their quality, but by how they had held up over time.
"What is that?" I asked "M" early in my stay. "My older sister made it," she explained, a sense of pride in her voice. "She was very good at art!" Indeed, the drawings were quite good, especially being done on an odd-shaped piece of wood. "M" would then describe the attributes of her other older sister, who was good at decorating and arranging furnishings. "M" would then put herself down, saying that she wasn't very good at the typical things a woman should be good at, like cooking. "I can't cook either," I would tell her, trying to empathize. She smiled knowingly at that statement, saying, "See? No wonder you and I are friends!"
When I asked "M"s daughter what the wood-like artwork actually was, she told me that they were pieces of fungus that had grown on some of the property's trees. In fact, they could be found throughout the entire Adirondack region. FUNGUS? Really? I would never have guessed that, but again, I was a newcomer to life in "The Woods."
After that, I embarked on a personal mission. I had to have my own fungus! Rain or shine, I would search for the perfect piece. A rustic memento. Something that would connect me to "The Woods" that "M" so loved. It took some time, and I searched the grounds diligently whenever I was not with "M". But as hard as I looked, I could not find any fungus that resembled the ones on "M"s mantel.
Finally, I found my tree. A glorious giant that, if it could talk, would tell stories older than "M"s. And there on its bark, were several pieces of fine-looking fungi. I had to have one! Detaching them from the tree looked simple enough at first glance. I would just gently wiggle them until they snapped off from the bark. No way. They were attached like glue. Now I felt badly about trying to remove them from their natural habitat. But not badly enough. I still had to have one! No matter what angle I approached the fungus from, it was not budging. A true woods dweller would have at least a pocket knife on them at all times, but all I could come up with was my car key.
And so I started cutting the base of the fungus with my key. It was a slow process, but I was determined. That was another thing "M" and I had in common. When we set our minds to achieving a certain task, there was no stopping us. Complete focus. I chipped and carved, and carved and chipped, all very gently so as not to damage my precious prize, and eventually my efforts paid off. The fungus cleanly broke off from the tree! I had it!
I rushed back to the cabin, fungus in hand, eager to show "M" my prize. "You got one!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Yes I did. A good sized one too. I couldn't have been more proud. Now I had a blank fungal canvas on which to construct my very own work of art! I had brought crayons with me (coloring is a GREAT activity on a rainy day), so I at least had something to work with. Plus, I had my car key, which I now knew was an excellent carving tool in a pinch.
I worked on that Fungus for close to a week, and of course will attach a photo of the finished product. "M" loved it. And I did too, although we both agreed that drawing and etching were another talent that neither of us possessed. It didn't matter, though. What was important was how much fun it was to do it. "M" would watch me work on it with great interest, and often declare, "Isn't this fun!"' It was fun! I've experienced a lot of things in my life, but never the carving of a fungus.
The fungus wasn't the only treasure I brought back from my time with "M" in her beloved "Woods". More valuable are the memories of our conversations, the chats we had over a cup of tea, a two-hour discussion triggered by the song of a bird or the sound of the rain. These were the memories that were irreplaceable, and I began to understand why "M"s recollections of the times she spent at the camp were so special.
It was truly a magical place. Full of wonder and mystery. Being able to share time with "M" in this tranquil setting was something that I will treasure forever. "The Woods" were now not just a part of "M"s past, they were a part of our friendship, a connection that transcends the role of caregiver. I could not have been more grateful for this opportunity.
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