Podcasts about Adirondack

Time for the annual New Years Sessions where I'll give you a behind-the-scenes look at every episode from 2025 so you can check out ones you may have missed or give them a second listen.Tired of physically struggling on your hikes? Looking for help to improve your your fitness for hiking? Here are 2 ways I can help you do that:1.) Work with James 1-on-1 (online)Apply to work with directy with James 1-on-1 in his Seek To Do More program where he'll help you build the right kind of strength & conditioning for better hiking adventures, along with the nutrition and daily habits needed to support long term transformation. Book a call with James to see if it's the right fit for you HEREwww.seektodomore.com 2.) Join the next GREAT RANGE ATHLETE Team training programA 6-week online fitness program to help you imporve your strength and endurance for hiking mountains. Train alongside a likeminded team of fellow hikers who will give you the support, guidance, and accountability you need to succeed.Over 200 hikers worldwide have joined the Great Range Athlete team program with great sucesss from first time hikers to multi-round Adirondack 46'ers and everywhere inbetween. Plus, enjoy an Adirondack group hike at the end of the program with your coach and teammatesJoin the next team HEREwww.GreatRangeAthlete.comFollow on Instagram & Facebook:@46of46podcast@jamesappleton46Get my Adirondack hiking books:1.) The Adirondack 46 in 18 Hikes: The Complete Guide to Hiking the High Peaks 2.) Adirondack Campfire Stories: Tales and Folklore from Inside the Blue Line3.) Pick up my digital eBook "From 1-to-46" instantly HEREVisit my websites:www.46OUTDOORS.comwww.46OF46.com

Find today's articles at LightPollutionNews.com.Happy Holidays friends! It's our annual Holiday Potluck show! This is the show where guests return to discuss their favorite stories of 2025! We welcome back to the show:John Barentine, Dark Sky ConsultingYana Yakushina, LawyerDr. Mario Motta (absentia)Michael CalhounSteve MaricondaPatrick Sommer Article List: Citizen science illuminates the nature of city lights, Nature Cities.Personal night light exposure predicts incidence of cardiovascular diseases in >88,000 individuals, Jama Network.Light Pollution as Antichrist, Columba Silva, The Imaginative Conservative.Federation Chamber | 24/11/2025, Australian Parliament House Streaming Portal.Lincoln City Hopes to Become First on Oregon Coast Designated Dark Sky Community, Oregon Coast Beach Connection.Adirondack residents work to preserve dark skies, Holly Riddle, Adirondack Explorer.Hopewell Neighbors Work Together for Darker Skies, Carolyn Jones, Mercer Me.Dark Sky Week deemed dangerous, fails in North Dakota Senate, Jeff Beach, North Dakota Monitor.Send Feedback Text to the Show!Support the showA hearty thank you to all of our paid supporters out there. You make this show possible. For only the cost of one coffee each month you can help us to continue to grow. That's $3 a month. If you like what we're doing, if you think this adds value in any way, why not say thank you by becoming a supporter! Why Support Light Pollution News? Receive quarterly invite to join as live audience member for recordings with special Q&A session post recording with guests. Receive all of the news for that month via a special Supporter monthly mailer. Satisfaction that your support helps further critical discourse on this topic. About Light Pollution News: The path to sustainable starry night solutions begin with being a more informed you. Light Pollution, once thought to be solely detrimental to astronomers, has proven to be an impactful issue across many disciplines of society including ecology, crime, technology, health, and much more! But not all is lost! There are simple solutions that provide for big impacts. Each month, Bill McGeeney, is joined by upwards of three guests to help you grow your awareness and understanding of both the challenges and the road to recovering our disappearing nighttime ecosystem.

If you've ever chased a storm on your phone and wondered where all that snow actually lands, this episode is for you. Jane and Steve head west of the Blue Line to the Tug Hill Plateau—one of the snowiest corners of the East—and sit down with Snow Ridge co-owner and general manager Nick Mir to talk powder mornings, small-mountain grit, and why “Ice Coast” doesn't always apply.Nick shares what it's really like to run a fiercely independent ski area (yes… sometimes it's unclogging a septic line), how lake-effect bands can bury the hill while it's bone-dry 10 miles away, and how Snow Ridge balances old-school charm—like the legendary T-bar-served Snow Pocket—with smart upgrades behind the scenes.What you'll hear in this episodeWhy Tug Hill can be “nuking” at Snow Ridge while nearby towns stay dryThe unglamorous but essential realities of owning and operating a mom-and-pop ski mountainWhat makes a true powder morning at Snow Ridge so special, from hooting chairlifts to no lift linesRecent improvements, including expanded snowmaking and the return of North ChairBeloved Snow Ridge traditions like torchlight parades, pond skims, and the Christmas Eve food driveSnow Ridge is located in Turin, NY, about 35 minutes from Old Forge—close enough to feel connected to the Adirondack ski scene while offering a distinctly Tug Hill experience. Nick shares tips on nearby lodging, from classic motels to cabin rentals, and why booking early matters during big snow cycles.Resources:Learn more about Snow RidgeSnow Ridge Ski Resort: A Powder Lover's ParadiseSnow Ridge Spring FestHickory Ski CenterSnowologySnow Ridge Outdoor CollaborativeIndy PassProduced by NOVA

Assine a Brasil Paralelo: https://sitebp.la/bp-rasta-news ___________ SEXTA-FEIRA, ÀS 20:00 - Rasta News As velhas notícias de sempre, com um humor nunca dantes visto na história deste país, apresentado pelo Rasta, com o melhor do seu entendimento.

Assine a Brasil Paralelo: https://sitebp.la/bp-rasta-news ___________ SEXTA-FEIRA, ÀS 20:00 - Rasta News As velhas notícias de sempre, com um humor nunca dantes visto na história deste país, apresentado pelo Rasta, com o melhor do seu entendimento.

It's time for the annua Christmas Sessions here on The 46 of 46 Podcast.Every Christmas we put an Adirondack spin on an old Christmas classic. This year we'll hear the story of Van Hoevy the Snowman of Marcy Dam. A friend to everyone in the Adirondack High PeaksI've also added the other Christmas specials to this episode so you can enjoy the entire series which includes:- Marlowe the Blue Antlered Moose- How Crank the Adirondack Hermit Stole Christmas- The Night Before Christmas in the Adirondack MountainsMerry Christmas everyone!Tired of physically struggling on your hikes? Looking for help to improve your your fitness for hiking? Here are 2 ways I can help you do that:1.) Work with James 1-on-1 (online)Apply to work with directy with James 1-on-1 in his Seek To Do More program where he'll help you build the right kind of strength & conditioning for better hiking adventures, along with the nutrition and daily habits needed to support long term transformation. Book a call with James to see if it's the right fit for you HEREwww.seektodomore.com 2.) Join the next GREAT RANGE ATHLETE Team training programA 6-week online fitness program to help you imporve your strength and endurance for hiking mountains. Train alongside a likeminded team of fellow hikers who will give you the support, guidance, and accountability you need to succeed.Over 200 hikers worldwide have joined the Great Range Athlete team program with great sucesss from first time hikers to multi-round Adirondack 46'ers and everywhere inbetween. Plus, enjoy an Adirondack group hike at the end of the program with your coach and teammatesJoin the next team HEREwww.GreatRangeAthlete.comFollow on Instagram & Facebook:@46of46podcast@jamesappleton46Get my Adirondack hiking books:1.) The Adirondack 46 in 18 Hikes: The Complete Guide to Hiking the High Peaks 2.) Adirondack Campfire Stories: Tales and Folklore from Inside the Blue Line3.) Pick up my digital eBook "From 1-to-46" instantly HEREVisit my websites:www.46OUTDOORS.comwww.46OF46.com

(Dec 23, 2025)

(Dec 23, 2025) Long before European settlers came to the Adirondacks, indigenous people lived there for thousands of years. We hear from the authors of a new book about how archaeological evidence is reshaping what we know about indigenous Adirondack history. Also: Watertown residents are dealing with a boil-water order that is expected to last into Christmas due to turbidity in the city's water supply.

A woman walks away from toxic-tort law in Oakland, loads four Nigerian dwarf goats into a Honda Element, and drives 3,000 miles with her partner to a scruffy little farm in Thurman, NY. Two decades later, that leap of faith has become Nettle Meadow: a sanctuary for hundreds of animals and the home of Kunik, one of the most celebrated cheeses in America. In this episode, we sit down with Sheila Flanagan, CEO and co-founder of Nettle Meadow, to trace the journey from collapsing barns and ice storms to national cheese awards and the warm glow of the Hitching Post Tavern in Lake Luzerne. Sheila shares how she and her partner, Lorraine, learned cheesemaking by trial, error, and sheer stubbornness—and why the terroir of the Southern Adirondacks is baked into every wheel they produce.You'll hear about the goats who rode cross-country, the historic butter cellar that turned into an aging cave, the community that carried them through lean winters, and the tough choices they're facing now as they look for the right partner to help Nettle Meadow's next chapter unfold. If you've ever daydreamed about ditching a soul-crushing job for something wilder and more meaningful, this one's for you.What you'll hear in this episodeHow a burned-out toxic-tort lawyer in Oakland fell in love with a tiny goat farm listing and convinced her partner to move to Thurman, NY.The origin story of Kunik—why Sheila calls it “a buttery brie with a goat kick at the end,” and how Nigerian dwarf goats tricked them into thinking they were instant cheese geniuses.Growing from 36 goats to close to a thousand animals: hybrid “all-American” goats, Jersey cows, sheep, and a whole lot of retired and differently abled residents living their best lives.Why Adirondack terroir matters: goats munching nettles and raspberry leaf, loamy soil, and a 19th-century butter cellar that shaped the flavor of their cheeses.The brutal first winters—ice storms, deep snow, generators, and the moment Sheila almost put the farm back up for sale.How and why Nettle Meadow took on the historic Hitching Post Tavern near Lake George, and turned a dude-ranch roadhouse into an Adirondack cheese tavern and production hub.Tips for pairing Nettle Meadow cheeses with mac and cheese, salads, flatbreads, and more—plus how the menu gently converts “goat cheese skeptics.”Where to find Nettle Meadow cheeses across the country, from NYC specialty shops to regional grocers and national chains.Sheila's honest look at growth, finances, and why they're now seeking an investor to help sustain the mission—and possibly relocate the sanctuary closer to Lake Luzerne.Her advice for anyone dreaming of a big life change: what she'd do differently, and why she still says “go for it.”Resources:Learn more at www.nettlemeadow.comNettle Meadow Farm & Artisan CheeseHitching Post TavernToad Hill Maple FarmFriends Lake InnOscar's SmokehouseMartins LumberProduced by NOVA

This is the story of the Great Range Athlete BIG SLIDE Team and our recent team winter ike up Cascade Mountain in 60 mph winds. What a ride it was!Tired of physically struggling on your hikes? Looking for help to improve your your fitness for hiking? Here are 2 ways I can help you do that:1.) Work with James 1-on-1 (online)Apply to work with directy with James 1-on-1 in his Seek To Do More program where he'll help you build the right kind of strength & conditioning for better hiking adventures, along with the nutrition and daily habits needed to support long term transformation. Book a call with James to see if it's the right fit for you HEREwww.seektodomore.com 2.) Join the next GREAT RANGE ATHLETE Team training programA 6-week online fitness program to help you imporve your strength and endurance for hiking mountains. Train alongside a likeminded team of fellow hikers who will give you the support, guidance, and accountability you need to succeed.Over 200 hikers worldwide have joined the Great Range Athlete team program with great sucesss from first time hikers to multi-round Adirondack 46'ers and everywhere inbetween. Plus, enjoy an Adirondack group hike at the end of the program with your coach and teammatesJoin the next team HEREwww.GreatRangeAthlete.comFollow on Instagram & Facebook:@46of46podcast@jamesappleton46Get my Adirondack hiking books:1.) The Adirondack 46 in 18 Hikes: The Complete Guide to Hiking the High Peaks 2.) Adirondack Campfire Stories: Tales and Folklore from Inside the Blue Line3.) Pick up my digital eBook "From 1-to-46" instantly HEREVisit my websites:www.46OUTDOORS.comwww.46OF46.com

Brad and Bailey hopped back on the headsets to break down how their seasons went, what went wrong, what went right, and what we are looking forward to in the upcoming years. Brad shares his most recent tracking success in the Adirondacks. Stay on the lookout for some more podcast to come!STAGR GEAR- https://stagrgear.com/Use code: ABBFor 10% off your next order!!Links:Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/adirondackbucksandbeyondInstagram: https://www.instagram.com/adirondack_bucks_and_beyond/Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@adirondackbucksandbeyond7576

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1 Love, bastards, and what we leave behind. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Connected. The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake Prologue I have never been much for following instructions or doing what I'm told. In eighth grade, we were assigned to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however, was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my mother. In high school, we had to take an art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so I feel like I came out ahead on that one. In my last year of school, the final mathematics exam asked the following question: Determine the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines. Illustrate fully. While the other students slaved away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could use a little push. I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out. They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade. So, what was my problem, you might ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just outside a village called Good Hart. Chapter 1. It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though, I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing. At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber, I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors, leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort. That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so I wanted to get it done. The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the trees cast long shadows across the laneway. The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without heat for a night during a cold snap. I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke of humor and mischief. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I help?" Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look. "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma." I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately. "Let's try that again. What seems to be the problem?" "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it." I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look. "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and they weren't heating up worth a damn. "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what you will find when you look around." "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;" "Wilma, please." "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement, and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing it." On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on just about every surface of its walls. "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings are beautiful." Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her eyes as she replied. "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits. He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them, and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of introspection. "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can see." As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One, in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued. "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his finest work." I couldn't help but agree. "Who's the model? She's beautiful." "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course, of me." "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's palace." Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her response. "All of his other paintings were sold after he died. The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids when they have just lost their father?" "Do any of your children live nearby?" "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like, but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly. "We thought that our children would grow to love this area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas. Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's funeral. "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here, though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far away. "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do you have any children?" "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me. Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15 but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at 12." "Where are your parents?" "I don't honestly know. We each have a different father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us. "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas, and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year. Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter. "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess. So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college." Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had felt in a long time, maybe ever. "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see what I can do about getting you some heat." I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern and efficient. "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later this week." "What's all that going to cost?" "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it would be my pleasure to do this for you." "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis." It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living room reading an old paperback. "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement line for your radiator comes in." Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face. "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?" "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your Phillip." "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October night." "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my pleasure." I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty pleased to see me. I'm glad that someone was. I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry. "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she wouldn't listen." "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the youngest, James. "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them." "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back. Given 'em hell, Bro." The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein while they were gone. As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people problems, I guess. I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house, so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house. Certainly not me, anyway. "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is she?" He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the house. "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried about." "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her home." James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house, which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut. Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me. There was a nervous tension in the air. "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister." Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made people nervous to be around me. "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she seems to be having a good time." I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'. "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian, it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a night." Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the room with bowls now filled with potato chips. "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage girl home to party with us?" James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in disgust. He pointed over at Mary. "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're sixteen," he said before turning back to me. "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house." It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me, staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke. "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old enough to make my own choices, you know." "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that." "James is different. He isn't like the rest of them." "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there with them that you think is cute." After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary finally looked over at me. "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to do." And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem, but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess. "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so proud of you, and I just wish that was enough." We sat in silence for another minute before she replied. "I wish it was too." Chapter 2. It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up. "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line later this afternoon if that works for you." "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready for you when you get there." A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could swallow a boot. "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're too kind." "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get them?" "I used to have a young man up the way who would help me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty much on my own." "What happened to him? Did he move away?" "No, he still lives in the same place that he always has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was paying for his assistance." "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to you." Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee while she told me her story. "I think I told you the last time you were here, that most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin. The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island." "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer. "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you own?" "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto the lake, without even really trying." I let out a low whistle. "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand your family's interest." "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and infirm, though, to await my impending doom. "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've missed him these past five years. Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered that I was still there. "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake." "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had someday." "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience that kind of love as well?" "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love. But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've done." "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are all artists, and we are all worthy of love." With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze. "A penny for your thoughts?" I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at all three." Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened, and when I finished, she spoke. "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will be spending her time with me." It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock. By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary and started speaking. "There are three things that I know are true. "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way. We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved. Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an artist. You are an artist too. "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost. "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too. "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never let the bastards by choice win. "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's too cold for me to stand here waiting for you." With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door, Wilma turned to look back at me. "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck." Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?" "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you think it's my fault?" I sighed as I thought about my answer. "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really, maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you." Lane thought about my answer before he continued. "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home." I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed. As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line. "Dad! Help;" The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break during the fight. As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so proud of him that my heart almost ached. "Nice work, Son." He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will love us without conditions or end. "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family. Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?" With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence. I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead. A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house. Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him. When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the house. "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at before it swells up any further." Wilma looked at me with concern. "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while. My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you." A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the kitchen. "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but I don't think I have enough to feed everyone." I thought for a moment. "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can whip something up that would feed us all." Wilma looked at me with a sly smile. "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr. Crawford, are a catch." "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier catch, so I can get started on dinner." It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading inside. From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch, and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes. "You must be the father," said that same melodic voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul. "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother." "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays." "No," I replied more harshly than I intended. "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps." There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from surprise to curiosity. "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some options, once I have a better sense of what's going on." "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked over to the couch. "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I understood. Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease. I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her. "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make an even bigger ass of myself." Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven. To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

Assine a Brasil Paralelo: https://sitebp.la/bp-rasta-news ___________ SEXTA-FEIRA, ÀS 20:00 - Rasta News As velhas notícias de sempre, com um humor nunca dantes visto na história deste país, apresentado pelo Rasta, com o melhor do seu entendimento.

Assine a Brasil Paralelo: https://sitebp.la/bp-rasta-news ___________ SEXTA-FEIRA, ÀS 20:00 - Rasta News As velhas notícias de sempre, com um humor nunca dantes visto na história deste país, apresentado pelo Rasta, com o melhor do seu entendimento.

Assine a Brasil Paralelo: https://sitebp.la/bp-rasta-news ___________ SEXTA-FEIRA, ÀS 20:00 - Rasta News As velhas notícias de sempre, com um humor nunca dantes visto na história deste país, apresentado pelo Rasta, com o melhor do seu entendimento.

Where else can your morning class involve snowshoes, your lab take place in a 100-year-old white pine stand, and your campus stretch across 14,000 acres of Adirondack wilderness? Paul Smith's College is a place where learning happens in the field — sometimes literally — and that's precisely why we love it.This week on ADK Talks, we head to the shores of Lower St. Regis Lake with Dr. Brett McLeod, Dean of Faculty and Professor of Natural Resources, to explore what makes Paul Smith's unlike any other college in the country. From forestry and fish restoration to culinary arts, climate resilience, and the beloved Visitor Interpretive Center, the “College of the Adirondacks” blends outdoor tradition with forward-thinking science, community partnerships, and a whole lot of boots-on-the-ground experience.What you'll hear in this episodeHow a 19th-century wilderness hotel on Lower St. Regis Lake evolved into Paul Smith's College — and why forestry, hospitality, and the liberal arts still anchor its identity.What it means to have a campus where every classroom door opens directly into the forest — including wildlife labs, winter ecology lessons, and fieldwork 20 steps from the parking lot.The story behind Paul Smith's VIC: its origins with the APA, its role as a community hub, and why it's one of the most accessible entry points for visitors curious about the college.How students earn a real Adirondack advantage through internships, DEC partnerships, guest speakers, and a strong pipeline into regional conservation and recreation careers.A favorite tale of “Adirondack resilience in action”: draft horses and students hauling 20 tons of lime across the ice to restore remote brook trout habitat.A primer on modern forestry — long time horizons, carbon, wildlife, timber, and the art of thinking 100 years into the future.New initiatives that broaden the college's reach: artisan culinary training, specialized institutes, and programs like Battlefish Academy for veterans seeking a path into guiding and small business.How the Adirondack Watershed Institute works to protect lakes, prevent invasives, and educate boaters — and why firewood rules matter more than you think.A quick detour to a host favorite: the hike up St. Regis Mountain and its restored fire tower with views over the St. Regis Lakes chain.Resources:Paul Smith's CollegePaul Smith's College Visitor Interpretive Center (VIC)Adirondack Watershed InstituteSt. Regis Canoe AreaAdirondack Park AgencyProduced by NOVA

In September 2025 I officially completed a second round of the Adirondack 46 High Peaks. In this podcast I'll dive into the fresh perspectives these mountains offer that can only be learned through mutiple visits.Tired of physically struggling on your hikes? Looking for help to improve your your fitness for hiking? Here are 2 ways I can help you do that:1.) Work with James 1-on-1 (online)Apply to work with directy with James 1-on-1 in his Seek To Do More program where he'll help you build the right kind of strength & conditioning for better hiking adventures, along with the nutrition and daily habits needed to support long term transformation. Book a call with James to see if it's the right fit for you HEREwww.seektodomore.com 2.) Join the next GREAT RANGE ATHLETE Team training programA 6-week online fitness program to help you imporve your strength and endurance for hiking mountains. Train alongside a likeminded team of fellow hikers who will give you the support, guidance, and accountability you need to succeed.Over 200 hikers worldwide have joined the Great Range Athlete team program with great sucesss from first time hikers to multi-round Adirondack 46'ers and everywhere inbetween. Plus, enjoy an Adirondack group hike at the end of the program with your coach and teammatesJoin the next team HEREwww.GreatRangeAthlete.comFollow on Instagram & Facebook:@46of46podcast@jamesappleton46Get my Adirondack hiking books:1.) The Adirondack 46 in 18 Hikes: The Complete Guide to Hiking the High Peaks 2.) Adirondack Campfire Stories: Tales and Folklore from Inside the Blue Line3.) Pick up my digital eBook "From 1-to-46" instantly HEREVisit my websites:www.46OUTDOORS.comwww.46OF46.com

In this episode of ADK Talks, we climb aboard what we're calling the Holiday Express and take you on a whirlwind tour of the Adirondacks in winter. From Old Forge to Lake Placid, Tupper Lake to Ticonderoga and Lake George, we share our favorite ways to spend the holidays in the Park: where to ski, where to shop small, and where to find the kind of pie that could start a family rivalry.We talk through listener FAQs (“What is there to do if I'm up for Christmas? New Year's? MLK weekend?”) and give you our best practical tips—like why you should rent skis ahead of time and how to find events where your ticket or donation stays local.What you'll hear about:Holiday browsing in Old Forge & Inlet, from hardware-store gems to cozy local shops.A Blue Mountain Lake pairing: the ADKX gift shop and homemade diner comfort food.Classic films, live shows, and community energy at the Indian Lake Theater.Planning the perfect Gore Mountain ski day, plus North Creek and Chestertown stops.Winter fun at Ridin-Hy Ranch and the best comfort bites around Schroon Lake.Lake Placid's Holiday Village Stroll and the beloved Santa Sunday at Whiteface.Skating under the lights on the Lake Placid Olympic Oval.Saranac Lake's family-friendly North Country New Year festivities.Must-stop pies and pastries at the Noonmark Diner in Keene Valley.Tupper Lake's magical Wild Lights and evening wander at The Wild Center.Adirondack Coast highlights, including Rulf's Orchard and NewVida Preserve.Exploring Ticonderoga's Star Trek Set Tour and local holiday traditions.Lake George cruises, cheese and spirits, winter markets, and the New Year's polar plunge.Resources:Old Forge HardwareAdirondack Experience (ADKX) – Museum on Blue Mountain LakeIndian Lake Theater Indian Lake TheaterGore Mountain Ski Area, Gore MountainThe Wild Center – Wild LightsLake Placid Holiday Village StrollSanta Sunday at Whiteface MountainNorth Country New Year – Saranac LakeStar Trek Original Series Set Tour – TiconderogaNettle Meadow Farm & The Hitching Post TavernLake George Waterfront CruisesProduced by NOVA

Welcome to Episode 199 of Inside The Line: The Catskill Mountains Podcast! Lisa Morales aka Chaoticquixotic joins us to unpack her latest adventures roaming the Catskills and Adirondacks, sharing the kind of stories that remind you why we keep returning to the mountains. We also dive into a Utah dad who took a “family outing” to a… questionable level, an Adirondack rescue that proves Mother Nature always has the last word, and the first real snowfall that finally turned the mountains back into the magical snow globe we've been waiting for. Make sure to subscribe on your favorite platform, share the show, donate if you feel like it… or just keep tuning in. I'm just grateful you're here. And as always... VOLUNTEER!!!!Links for the Podcast: https://linktr.ee/ISLCatskillsPodcast, Donate a coffee to support the show! https://www.buymeacoffee.com/ITLCatskills, Like to be a sponsor or monthly supporter of the show? Go here! - https://www.buymeacoffee.com/ITLCatskills/membershipThanks to the sponsors of the show: Outdoor chronicles photography - https://www.outdoorchroniclesphotography.com/, Trailbound Project - https://www.trailboundproject.com/, Camp Catskill - https://campcatskill.co/, Another Summit - https://www.guardianrevival.org/programs/another-summitLinks: Chaoticquixotic, Rescue on Ampersand, Utah man faces charges, Forest Ranger Foundation, Chasing the gridVolunteer Opportunities: Trailhead stewards for 3500 Club -https://www.catskill3500club.org/trailhead-stewardship, Catskills Trail Crew - https://www.nynjtc.org/trailcrew/catskills-trail-crew, NYNJTC Volunteering - https://www.nynjtc.org/catskills, Catskill Center - https://catskillcenter.org/, Catskill Mountain Club - https://catskillmountainclub.org/about-us/, Catskill Mountainkeeper - https://www.catskillmountainkeeper.org/ Post Hike Brews and Bites - 1911 Sugarplum, Truss and Trussel#hiking #backpacking #46er #adirondacks #history #hikethehudson #hudsonvalleyhiking #NYC #history #husdonvalley #hikingNY #kaaterskill #bluehole #catskillhiking #visitcatskills #catskillstrails #catskillmountains #3500 #catskills #catskillpark #catskillshiker #catskillmountainsnewyork #hiking #catskill3500club #catskill3500 #hikethecatskills #hikehudson

(Dec 5, 2025) The North Star Health Alliance says delayed reimbursements from the state threaten patients and over 1,700 jobs; a new study from the Adirondack Land Trust is helping people with disabilities navigate which Adirondack trails are truly accessible; and it's a big weekend for holiday celebrations throughout the North Country, and we'll hear about one for kids in Parishville.

(Dec 5, 2025) Home health aides are in serious demand as Baby Boomers get older and more people want to age at home. We hear about what it's like to work as a home health aide, convincing people to accept help, and building close bonds with the people you serve. Also: A new study from the Adirondack Land Trust is helping people with disabilities navigate which Adirondack trails are truly accessible.

Assine a Brasil Paralelo: https://sitebp.la/bp-rasta-news ___________ SEXTA-FEIRA, ÀS 20:00 - Rasta News As velhas notícias de sempre, com um humor nunca dantes visto na história deste país, apresentado pelo Rasta, com o melhor do seu entendimento.

In this episode, we explore what it really means to eat locally in the Adirondacks — not just during summer's peak produce season, but all year long, even through deep winter. We sit down with Bella Susino, Program Leader of Adirondack Harvest, the regional initiative (housed within Cornell Cooperative Extension of Essex County) connecting people, farms, forests, and communities across the North Country.Bella takes us from the grassroots origins of Adirondack Harvest in the early 2000s to the vibrant, ever-growing local food scene of today. We talk drought, climate resiliency, winter markets, CSA culture, local economic impact, and why “buying local” is really an investment in your neighbors, community health, and even the ecosystem.Along the way, we get into farm-to-school programs, the challenges behind digital marketing for small farms, how restaurants can be better partners, and why Essex County remains the beating agricultural heart of the Adirondack Park.And yes — we also get a peek behind the scenes of the beloved Adirondack Harvest Festival, plus Bella's heartfelt ode to Raquette Lake and a gentle reminder that some backcountry treasures should stay off the map.What you'll hear in this episode:How Adirondack Harvest grew from grassroots farmland protection efforts into the region's most comprehensive local food network.Why Essex County is the agricultural “breadbasket” of the Adirondacks — and how drought and new weather patterns are reshaping farm life.Winter farmers markets: where to find them, what to expect, and how to discover year-round local products.The real economic impact of buying local — and why co-ops, farm stands, and direct-from-farm bulk buying matter.Bella's favorite success stories connecting farms to restaurants, schools, and hospitals (including seed potatoes, microgreens, and local food in the Saranac Lake Medical Center).New initiatives for 2026: cuisine trails, international food trails, increased digital help for farms, and expanded education efforts.The roots and evolution of the Adirondack Harvest Festival — from its Rutabaga Festival beginnings to 3,000-visitor celebrations today.Why Leave No Trace matters far beyond hiking… and what “old-world Adirondack living” really means.Resources:Adirondack HarvestCornell Cooperative Extension of Essex CountyEssex Food HubBig Slide BreweryKneading Change: How Triple Green Jade Farm is Rising TogetherLeave No Trace PrinciplesNori's Village MarketProduced by NOVA

(Nov 26, 2025) For some North Country communities, local food options are few and far between. This Thanksgiving, regional farms are boxing up fresh food for families in the isolated Adirondack town of Indian Lake. Also: Gov. Hochul approved amendments to the Adirondack State Land Master Plan, but they did not include a special provision for electric mobility devices in wilderness areas.

Eva Hallman interviews Indy Fuel goaltender Mitchell Weeks prior to the Nov. 21, 2025 game vs. Adirondack.

Highlights of the Indy Fuel's 2-1 victory over the Adirondack Thunder from Nov. 21, 2025. Andrew Smith on the broadcast.

Assine a Brasil Paralelo: https://sitebp.la/bp-rasta-news ___________ SEXTA-FEIRA, ÀS 20:00 - Rasta News As velhas notícias de sempre, com um humor nunca dantes visto na história deste país, apresentado pelo Rasta, com o melhor do seu entendimento.

Assine a Brasil Paralelo: https://sitebp.la/bp-rasta-news ___________ SEXTA-FEIRA, ÀS 20:00 - Rasta News As velhas notícias de sempre, com um humor nunca dantes visto na história deste país, apresentado pelo Rasta, com o melhor do seu entendimento.

What is going on everyone! Another episode in the books We sit down and talk about the Adirondack and the controversial signing of a former draft pick and the crimes he committed and was guilty of .We talk about the FPHL expanding and recent trades and FTO's Is the AHL the same league as it used to be?We talk bargain agreements And much more!! Thank you to our Sponsors Iron + steel threads Use code Gethepuckout to get 10% off your order Beans country store for all things fresh and amazing!  And Tangaroa Home Inspections 

Mark, Bob, Brian and Austin sit down and talk about their 2024 deer seasons, with some good lessons and takeaways for future seasons. They also talk about their trip down to the Pennsylvania Big Woods, and get Steve Sherk from Sherk's Guide Service on for a guest appearance to talk PA Big Woods hunting. Learn more about hunting deer, moose and more in the Big Woods, find informative articles and the best wool and gear at https://www.bigwoodsbucks.com Minus33 wool base layers and socks: https://alnk.to/aLIUpax Seek Outside Tents: Use code "BWB" for 10% off of your order at this link https://alnk.to/biuxP3W Big woods land and camps for sale: www.landandcamps.com Grayl water filter: https://alnk.to/4MBtYKl Save 20% on your OnX subscription with code 'BWB' https://www.onxmaps.com/hunt Hal and the Big Woods Bucks Team's Gear: https://www.bigwoodsbucks.com/Wool Hal's knife: Buck Knife 102: https://alnk.to/eDRDphL  

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In this episode, we crack open the ADK Talks mailbag — and you did not hold back. From the mysteries of the blue line to the origins of the word Adirondack, from Great Camps you can actually stay in to the surprisingly wholesome truth about nudists in the Adirondacks… you kept us laughing, thinking, and occasionally Googling just to make sure we weren't making things up.We share the questions that made us stop mid-sentence, the ones that sent us down rabbit holes through history, and the ones that reminded us why we love this wild, weird, wonderful park. Somewhere along the way, we talk about road signs that don't quite know where they are, a Westport chair that became a global icon, and a stream named after an abandoned pair of BVDs. (If that isn't peak Adirondack, we don't know what is.)It's curious, quirky, and just plain fun. It's a chance to explore the Adirondacks the way we love doing it: following your questions, wandering off trail now and then, and celebrating all the stories tucked into these 6 million acres.What you'll hear in this episode:What the blue line really is… and one sign that gets it hilariously wrongThe true meaning behind the name “Adirondack”The Westport chair that became a global iconLeave No Trace tips, the ADK editionA very local legend involving a pair of BVDsHow we actually find our guestsA surprisingly wholesome chat about nudists in the ADKHow to visit or stay at real Adirondack Great CampsResources:Great Camp SagamoreGreat Camp SantanoniWhite Pine CampThe PointLake KoraThe Hedges on Blue Mountain LakeCamp UncasTopridgeCamp Wild AirAdirondack Architectural Heritage (AARCH)Leave No Trace Center for Outdoor EthicsAdirondack Center for Loon ConservationProduced by NOVA

The title says it all. Get ready for an inspirational story of a man who just completed the Adirondack Great Range Traverse at 70 years old.10 Adirondack mountains, 8 High Peaks, 21 miles, 10k+ elevation gain. What a story this one is.Looking for help to improve your your fitness for hiking, nutrition, discipline, and daily habits?Apply to work with James 1-on-1 in his Seek To Do More coaching program at www.seektodomore.com Join the next GREAT RANGE ATHLETE Team and get in mountain-hiking shape alongside a likeminded group in just 6 weeks from your local gym or house. Join the team at www.greatrangeathlete.comFollow on Instagram & Facebook:@46of46podcast@jamesappleton46Get my books:1.) The Adirondack 46 in 18 Hikes: The Complete Guide to Hiking the High Peaks 2.) Adirondack Campfire Stories: Tales and Folklore from Inside the Blue LineVisit my other websites:www.46OUTDOORS.comwww.46OF46.com

From Great Pines on Fourth Lake to the rebirth of North Creek's Phoenix Inn, Weekender Hotels is rewriting the script on where (and how) we stay in the Adirondacks.In this episode of ADK Talks, we sit down with Keir Weimer, CEO of Weekender Hotels, whose mission is to breathe new life into classic Adirondack motels and resorts while keeping them rooted in place, history, and the outdoors.Keir shares how a 100-year-old, run-down waterfront resort on Fourth Lake became Great Pines—and the unlikely origin story of Weekender's growing portfolio of boutique adventure hotels stretching across the Adirondacks and the Northeast.We dig into his philosophy of adaptive reuse, why he wants guests out of their rooms and into the mountains, and what's in store for the former Phoenix Inn / Copperfield in North Creek as it transforms into a four-season basecamp for Gore Mountain and beyond.What you'll hear in this episode:How a real estate broker became a hotelier with the transformation of the old Northwoods Lodge into Great Pines Resort.Why Weekender Hotels focuses on reviving classic Adirondack motels instead of building new ones.The philosophy behind their three pillars: iconic locations, inspiring adventure, and modern, tech-friendly stays.What's ahead for North Creek's Phoenix Inn, including new restaurants, wellness spaces, and community membership options.How adaptive reuse keeps the Adirondack character alive—mixing nostalgia with sustainability.The role of local partnerships and tourism development in making projects like North Creek possible.Lessons Keir's learned growing a hospitality brand rooted in the outdoors.His advice for entrepreneurs chasing big ideas in small towns.Reflections on Adirondack heritage—from Great Camp Sagamore to today's “get outside” mindset.A few of Keir's favorite roadside treats and hidden-gem ice cream stops.Why the Adirondacks remain his go-to place for inspiration, adventure, and renewal.Resources:Weekender HotelsGreat Pines Resort – Fourth Lake, InletThe Alpine Lodge near Gore MountainTrailhead Lodge - Tupper LakePartner highlights: Gore Mountain · The Wild Center · Warren County TourismIce cream favorites: Northern Lights (Inlet) · Benny's (Old Forge) · Custard's Last Stand (Long Lake)Produced by NOVA

Mark, Bob, and Brian sit down with native Adirondacker Christian Bills to talk about still-hunting the Big Woods of the Southern Adirondacks. Mark, Bob, and Brian sit down with native Adirondacker Christian Bills to talk about still-hunting the Big Woods of the Southern Adirondacks. Learn more about hunting deer, moose and more in the Big Woods, find informative articles and the best wool and gear at https://www.bigwoodsbucks.com Minus33 wool base layers and socks: https://alnk.to/aLIUpax Seek Outside Tents: Use code "BWB10" for 10% off of your order at this link https://alnk.to/biuxP3W Big woods land and camps for sale: www.landandcamps.com Grayl water filter: https://alnk.to/4MBtYKl Save 20% on your OnX subscription with code 'BWB' https://www.onxmaps.com/hunt Hal and the Big Woods Bucks Team's Gear: https://www.bigwoodsbucks.com/Wool Hal's knife: Buck Knife 102: https://alnk.to/eDRDphL  

In 2010, 22-year-old Wesley Wamsganz left his job in Lake Placid and walked into the Adirondack High Peaks—without gear, food, or a known plan—and he never returned.And his body has never been found. Another tragic story from the ADK High Peaks and a family left without answers.If you have any information regarding the disappearance of Wesley Wamsganz, please contact the New York State Police Troop B in Ray Brook at (518) 897-2000.Looking for help to improve your your fitness for hiking, nutrition, discipline, and daily habits?Apply to work with James 1-on-1 in his Seek To Do More coaching program at www.seektodomore.com Join the next GREAT RANGE ATHLETE Team and get in mountain-hiking shape alongside a likeminded group in just 6 weeks from your local gym or house. Join the team at www.greatrangeathlete.comFollow on Instagram & Facebook:@46of46podcast@jamesappleton46Get my books:1.) The Adirondack 46 in 18 Hikes: The Complete Guide to Hiking the High Peaks 2.) Adirondack Campfire Stories: Tales and Folklore from Inside the Blue LineVisit my other websites:www.46OUTDOORS.comwww.46OF46.com

Welcome to Episode 195 of Inside The Line: The Catskill Mountains Podcast! On this episode, Tad and I kick off our shoes (literally) with author and barefoot badass Ken Posner to talk about his new book Chasing The Grid. We get into how this wild idea came about, what it's like to hike without shoes, and some of Ken's adventures beyond the Catskills. Plus, we check in on the saga of the immovable Adirondack moose, talk about Amendment 1 on the ballot, and—of course—recent rescues. Make sure to subscribe on your favorite platform, share the show, donate if you feel like it… or just keep tuning in. I'm just grateful you're here. And as always... VOLUNTEER!!!!Links for the Podcast: https://linktr.ee/ISLCatskillsPodcast, Donate a coffee to support the show! https://www.buymeacoffee.com/ITLCatskills, Like to be a sponsor or monthly supporter of the show? Go here! - https://www.buymeacoffee.com/ITLCatskills/membershipThanks to the sponsors of the show: Outdoor chronicles photography - https://www.outdoorchroniclesphotography.com/, Trailbound Project - https://www.trailboundproject.com/, Camp Catskill - https://campcatskill.co/, Another Summit - https://www.guardianrevival.org/programs/another-summitLinks: Chasing the Grid, Ken's Website, Ken's Instagram, Snow Leopard, Desert Solitaire, Briars and BrambleVolunteer Opportunities: Trailhead stewards for 3500 Club -https://www.catskill3500club.org/trailhead-stewardship, Catskills Trail Crew - https://www.nynjtc.org/trailcrew/catskills-trail-crew, NYNJTC Volunteering - https://www.nynjtc.org/catskills, Catskill Center - https://catskillcenter.org/, Catskill Mountain Club - https://catskillmountainclub.org/about-us/, Catskill Mountainkeeper - https://www.catskillmountainkeeper.org/ Post Hike Brews and Bites - Bread Alone, #420grid #kenposner #barefoot #grounding #barefoothiking #history #hikethehudson #hudsonvalleyhiking #NYC #history #husdonvalley #hikingNY #kaaterskill #bluehole #catskillhiking #visitcatskills #catskillstrails #catskillmountains #3500 #catskills #catskillpark #catskillshiker #catskillmountainsnewyork #hiking #catskill3500club #catskill3500 #hikethecatskills #hikehudson

(Nov 7, 2025) North Country Congresswoman Elise Stefanik announced her run for Governor of New York this morning; amid cuts to social safety net programs like SNAP, folks in the North Country are stretching their dollars even further; in today's North Country at Work story, we hear from a code enforcement officer who's responsible for a big chunk of Essex County; and John Warren checks on trail conditions ahead of a snowy Adirondack weekend. 

(Nov 4, 2025) We visit a small farm in Keeseville that's rethinking what it means to grow and share food. There are no employees, no price tags, and everything on the farm is offered as a gift to the local community. Also: On Election Day, we sum up the big races in the North Country and one big Adirondack ballot measure that the whole state will vote on.

The Adirondack Center for Writing and NCPR are teaming up with Caffe Lena in Saratoga to present the Howl Story Slam on November 12th @ 7:30 pm – 9:00 pm. The storytelling competition is open to all participants. Storytellers take the stage to tell a true story in under 5 minutes.

Mark, Bob, Brian and Austin sit down to talk about spooky, strange, and unexplained experiences in the Big Woods, just in time for Halloween.    Learn more about hunting deer, moose and more in the Big Woods, find informative articles and the best wool and gear at https://www.bigwoodsbucks.com   Minus33 wool base layers and socks: https://alnk.to/aLIUpax   Seek Outside Tents: Use code "BWB" for 10% off of your order at this link https://alnk.to/biuxP3W   Big woods land and camps for sale: www.landandcamps.com Grayl water filter: https://alnk.to/4MBtYKl   Save 20% on your OnX subscription with code 'BWB' https://www.onxmaps.com/hunt   Hal and the Big Woods Bucks Team's Gear: https://www.bigwoodsbucks.com/Wool   Hal's knife: Buck Knife 102: https://alnk.to/eDRDphL

In this episode, Mark, Bob, Brian and Austin sit down and talk about BWB's new partnership with Henry Repeating Arms and the guns we'll be coming out with later this year. Also, Dan Larsson from Skinner Sights hops on remotely from Montana to talk about hunting the Big Woods out west! Learn more about hunting deer, moose and more in the Big Woods, find informative articles and the best wool and gear at https://www.bigwoodsbucks.com Minus33 wool base layers and socks: https://alnk.to/aLIUpax Seek Outside Tents: Use code "BWB" for 10% off of your order at this link https://alnk.to/biuxP3W Big woods land and camps for sale: www.landandcamps.com Grayl water filter: https://alnk.to/4MBtYKl Save 20% on your OnX subscription with code 'BWB' https://www.onxmaps.com/hunt Hal and the Big Woods Bucks Team's Gear: https://www.bigwoodsbucks.com/Wool Hal's knife: Buck Knife 102: https://alnk.to/eDRDphL  

The October Sessions' 6th Annual Bigfoot in the Blue Line episode features Johnny from Adirondack Bigfoot where we get into all things bigfoot sightings inside the Adirondack Park.

(Oct 31, 2025) With food stamp checks expected to be withheld due to the federal government shutdown, low-income residents are a food pantry in St. Lawrence County are anxious about where their food will come from; Proposition 1 would fix a constitutional violation tied to an Olympic sports complex in Lake Placid and add 2,500 to the forest preserve in the Adirondacks; the City of Watertown's decades-long contract with National Grid is expiring; and John Warren has the Adirondack conditions ahead of the weekend.

Watch this episode on YouTube! https://youtu.be/Vv8fKQLmSaI These old school Adirondack legends are hard core hunters. They come from the days of carrying full tent camps miles and miles into the uncharted mountains of the ADK, locating and tracking down the biggest bucks in the region and carrying them out on their backs across the wildest, most untamed terrain. Their passion is unbounded, and their deer hunting skill is awe-inspiring. Listen to their stories, and learn from their many decades of experience. It's sure to up your big woods hunting game.

In 2012, 18-year-old Colin Gillis left a party and walked alone into the Adirondack night—but he was never seen again.  In a small town where whispers linger and secrets run deep, his family is still waiting for answers.How does someone vanish on a highway, in plain sight, with witnesses just minutes before? And why, all these years later, do rumors still suggest that people know more than they've said?Colin's family deserves closure. His community deserves the truth.If you have any information regarding the disappearance of Colin Gillis, please contact the New York State Police Troop B in Ray Brook at (518) 897-2000.Looking for help to improve your your fitness for hiking, nutrition, discipline, and daily habits?Apply to work with James 1-on-1 in his Seek To Do More coaching program at www.seektodomore.com Join the next GREAT RANGE ATHLETE Team and get in mountain-hiking shape alongside a likeminded group in just 6 weeks from your local gym or house. Join the team at www.greatrangeathlete.comFollow on Instagram & Facebook:@46of46podcast@jamesappleton46Get my books:1.) The Adirondack 46 in 18 Hikes: The Complete Guide to Hiking the High Peaks 2.) Adirondack Campfire Stories: Tales and Folklore from Inside the Blue LineVisit my other websites:www.46OUTDOORS.comwww.46OF46.com

Mason writes "I'm not quite sure how to start this other than with my first encounter. In the summer of 2013 or 2014, I went camping with my friend Perry and his father in upstate New York, we lived in Saranac Lake, which is 15 minutes down the road from Lake Placid where the 1980 miracle on ice occurred. Upstate New York is nothing like the city that the state is most famously known for, its mountainous, and covered in forests, and is also home to the Adirondack state park, where our little town was nestled. We had gone with his nearly estranged father to a camping ground near a lake, which one I cannot remember, as the area is littered with them. What I do remember however is Perry's father had stopped us setting up camp to tell us a scary story, ironically enough about Sasquatch. He told us a story about it taking food and attacking campers, but the two of us both teenagers, blew off his story. I for one have always had an interest in Bigfoot, but growing up, every adult in my life had talked down to me or made fun of this interest, causing me to in a sense disengage from them when they attempted to talk shop with me.  This camp ground was large, and had over 20 slots, and his father had splurged in an attempt to reconcile with Perry, opting to rent a site next to the lake. Between our campsite and every other was about 100 feet of thick woods, to allow privacy between the families camping. At the time I believe it was us, and two other families as it was nearing the end of summer, and they were a few sites away from us. The camping was fun, and nothing too exciting occurred other than the three of us learning to set up an over complicated bass pro tent for a small family. At around 10 o'clock that night give or take an hour we had been sitting around our campfire when Perry's father's demeanor changed. For most of this day we had all three been very excited and having fun, but at this point in the night he seemed to suddenly become very serious. He got us to clean up our campsite and pack up everything aside from a large cooler he had brought along. Then he had ushered us into the tent. Perry and I, both being 13 or 14, were still awake, laughing over dumb jokes and attempting not to wake Perry's father when we began to hear walking. At this time I had not been as well versed of the sounds of the woods as I would become later in life, but even then I could distinguish the sound of bipedal walking, especially when it sounded heavy. We heard something begin to approach our campsite, and at first I had wondered if it were a loon or heron which were all over the lake during the day. This however was quickly disproven when it approached our tent. Perry's face suddenly became filled with fear, fear which matched the sudden sinking feeling growing in my chest and stomach. I had turned slightly to my left, onto my back, as I was closest to the side this unknown had approached, and something inside me demanded I not have my back to whatever this was. We sat there for what felt like forever, but could only have been a minute, when the side of the tent began to push in slowly, what was pushing it in has never left me. What I can only describe as a poorly outlined hand had pushed in the side of the tent. The tent wall had bulged inwards a good five or six inches and was starting to stretch as far inward as it could before the tent began to bend. The hand itself reminded me of my fathers hand, he is a man of 6 feet and over 250 pounds, and had hands that remind me of the cartoon character wreck it Ralph, or more accurately like a baseball glove. What shocked me most of all was that this hand seemed to be double or triple the size of my father's hands.  I believe if it were not for what happened next, it may have kept moving its hand further. Perry's father actively spoke in his sleep, a quirk of his that I at the time did not know. He had said something quiet, but just loud enough that it caused this hand to pull away. It was at this moment that the air began to feel electrified, like we had done something wrong, and the fear in my body then and even now rewriting this spiked. The woods had gone deadly silent, the only sound we could hear was the water from the lake make ten feet from our tent.  We froze, Perry and I had lain as flat as possible to avoid bringing attention to ourselves, and were doing our best to slow our breathing, to keep quiet. Perry's father however had mumbled something else, and Perry decided he would attempt to wake him. It half worked, as his father seemed to hear Perry whispering to him, because the next thing I knew his father chuckled and said "You're trying to scare me for the story aren't you? Not gonna work" and moments later, his father was once again asleep. As he spoke, we heard and felt the steps from earlier walk away from us, further into our campsite. We had pitched our tent on the edge of the site because a large picnic table sat in the center, this table is where we left our cooler. I mention this because you could hear the wood suddenly creaking as if something heavy was leaned on it or sat on it. Following this was the sound of the cooler opening, and the sound of plastic bags and cans being sorted through.  Perry and I held our breath, terrified. At the time I refused to believe it was Bigfoot, because I did not want what was happening to ruin my enjoyment of the subject.  We listened to it for quite some time, I believe four or five minutes, rummaging through the cooler, before we heard the cooler close, and the steps begin to move away. The next thing we heard was something entering the water, and the sound of something swimming away.  We stayed awake after that, or more accurately I did, Perry eventually got to sleep, I can only imagine he was exhausted from the terror we had felt. I, in my infinite wisdom of a brazen 13 or 14 year old, waited for sunrise to exit the tent, where I found our cooler still on the table but moved, and many of the items we had brought in the cooler strewn about the site. I did not see tracks, as the ground here was too hard, but what I did notice was that the cooler felt oily on the handles, like someone who had washed their hands in seed oils had touched it, or someone who had done an oil change had just manhandled the cooler. It also smelled slightly of mildew, or more accurately it smelled like stale air.  When Perry woke and so did his father, Perry apparently had decided to not talk about what had happened, and his father thought I was trying to scare him for as he put it "payback for yesterdays story". Suffice to say, I had grown a pair of eyes in the back of my head that night, which would keep me aware in the woods for years to come. My second encounter is extremely brief, and at the time I was convinced by my mother that it was simply foxes attempting to mate. For you if you want to see where this one occurred, we lived at  220 Riverside Drive, Saranac Lake New York. Down the road from my old home was thick woods that went on fire miles, which are still there. My home was just up the road from it. I know this had occurred in 2014 because my father had given me an IPad he no longer wanted for my birthday which was in March of that year. I had been up late watching YouTube, and enjoying some pirated shows on the site, and when I say late I mean 1 or 2 AM late.  I had always been spooked by sounds I'd never heard before, but never as afraid as what this would do to me.  I had just decided I needed to sleep when my dog Lakota, a Keeshond I just recently adopted began to whine. His cage was in my room. For context, this home was three stories tall, but built on an a steep hill. We had gotten this home from a family friend who had been building it for himself, but decided he didn't want it when he found a "better property". My room was on the "ground floor". I put this in quotations because my room and the entire left half of the ground floor sat 10 feet above the driveway. The driveway, was about 40 or 50 feet long, extending past our house to a garage which is built into the hill, the hill itself was covered in thick woods and it was maybe 70 feet between our house and the people behind it. The driveway itself also opened a path up behind the garage, up into the woods.  So my room is about 10 feet above the driveway, but directly beside it, and I have a single window here. I had the window partly cracked, and my room was pretty quiet, I was trying not to wake my mother upstairs because her room was directly above mine and she could be very upset if I was too loud and woke her up. I was relaxed and enjoying myself as I had said before when a sound I can only describe as a bloody scream exploded up from the driveway. It was both deep and high pitched, and vibrated the glass in the windows, my TV and my entire body. I was instantly overcome with the deepest fear I have ever felt, and I threw the iPad down. Normally if I heard something that scared me I would just close the window and my bedroom door and hide under the covers, but this filled me with so much terror I threw my iPad, left my dog behind and went running into the hall. As soon as I made it into the hall, I could hear something in the distance answer back. I too began screaming, only instead of a guttural two toned shrieking I began screaming for my mother. She came rushing down the stairs, I can only assume she too was awoken by these sounds. She however was angry with me. According to her that was foxes sending out a mating call. I had told her I don't believe her and her response still sticks with me as an oddly funny reaction to such a terrifying moment. "What do you want me to do? Go outside and shoot it? I'm not doing that!"  I believe my panic had sent the screamer away from our home, because I never heard that sound again after the initial scream and answer from down the road.  For years I just accepted my mother's reality, because I didn't know what else it could be, until I was listening to your show. I'm not sure what episode it was but I know the sound. The moment I heard it I had a full blown panic attack, and was brought right back to that night. Every time I hear that sound I go back, not as panicked as before thankfully, but that sound will haunt me for the rest of my life. It is only thanks to you that I know what it was now. The audio I think of sounds feminine almost, like a banshee almost, and is followed by a deep call at the end. I believe it may have been on a recent episode. Now for my final encounter or rather what I'd refer to as the most terrifying 3 months of my life.  I moved to Virginia in 2016, and have lived here since then. It was last year, 2024, when I had lost my job in retail. I had lost my grandmother who had been there my whole life, she had been there for me when I lost my sister in 2009 and even been there holding one of my mothers legs when I was born. This loss had hit me hard and I had lost the passion I had for my job and most things around me. It had been my spouse Lynn's suggestion that I go into something new, something that got me outside, to help me find my passion for work again. So I applied to FedEX Ground in Winchester Virginia, and to my delight I got the job fairly quickly. I was trained, and put into my own truck within a month and a half of getting the gig. My route was Luray Virginia, specifically the area around Highway US-211 East, called Fairview. This area is mostly hills, woods, farms, pastures, and creeks. This is about as rural as you can get, internet vanishes here, your phone loses signal, and most people you speak to is related to five others here. I loved my route, except for three places on it. To start was Piney Mountain Road. Piney Mountain goes up to a small paved circle where houses have mailboxes. The houses these boxes belong to were each up a steep mountain whose roads were carved out of the mud and dirt between trees, and every driveway was a challenge: the worst of all was at the top of the mountain, where a house had an inclined driveway. This driveway had no good turn arounds aside from a small patch of dirt that sat precariously over a small drop of about 70 feet onto a slope with a slight incline of 80°. I would have to do an eleven point turn to turn my vehicle around and then pray to god my brakes didn't give out as I delivered these peoples packages. Well the more I delivered to them, the more I felt like someone was going to come out of the woods and attack me in the truck.  Every time I delivered to this home I was filled with dread to the point I once just left their boxes in the driveway and nearly killed myself flying down the mountain. There was one night however, when I was out extremely late delivering, that I arrived at the paved circle at the bottom of the mountain, and decided I was never driving up there again. I parked and was on the phone with my spouse, with an earbud in one ear. I was delivering to the only house at the bottom before I was to go up the mountain, when I began to hear nearly every sound I've ever heard you play on the podcast start up that mountain, I heard arguing samurai chatter, I heard howling, screaming, I heard branches and trees being torn apart, and I flew into my truck, leaving their packages in a drop box that belonged their neighbors and I left in tears. Next, would be Morning Star Road or as google calls it "Jewell Hollow Road." Not much happened here aside from two things. I saw a distant figure up on a hill one day for maybe a moment that was man shaped and black, and an old woman who told me and I quote her directly "the boogers don't like you speeding around here." To finish out I would have to drive up a road directly behind the Shenandoah national park HQ, East Rocky Branch. This road went far back into the woods, surround by it really, on the right side of the road was a 10 foot drop into a ditch with a river at the center, and on the left was a hill connected to a small mountain. I drove this entire road, delivering boxes to every house, except for the ones at the ends. Every time I would drive down this road I would get an odd feeling, like I was being watched. I had chalked it up to paranoia; because I had been listening to your shows episodes I'd downloaded on the app, I just had become a true member and not an Apple podcast listener anymore. For months I was just calling it paranoia, denying the occasional stick break, the woods going silent, or the feeling of being watched. There was even a point when I had gone a different road this occurred so I assumed I had just begun overthinking, until the last two months I worked for FedEX. I had a house I delivered to at the end, which had a large cleared yard with trees surrounding it. There was a large opening about maybe 40 feet wide that looked all the way to a small waterfall about 200 feet from where I'd park in their gravel driveway. I had met the family who lived here a few times, and the father was a good 6'5 maybe 6'6. This is important because I would often see the father about halfway back towards this waterfall, and he would stand beside a tree in this clear view in order to talk with me as I delivered packages, mainly to tell me where to place them. It was November, and I was arriving in their driveway on a day they must not have been home, because their car that usually blocked me from doing an easy turn around in this driveway was gone. So I parked sideways in the driveway, and began to take their package out. I hadn't noticed it yet, but the woods were silent aside from the occasional gust of wind. The package was quite heavy; and I had been spouting some expletives as I was not in the best of shape, but I eventually got it on their porch. Once I did, I turned around and looked back in the clearing. What I saw fills me with dread to this day. "

A routine deer hunt. An Army veteran in the woods. A strange sound in the distance. When the group returned to their cars, Tom Messick was gone—and what happened next has haunted the Adirondacks ever since.If you have any information regarding the disappearance of Tom Messick Sr, please contact the New York State Police Troop B in Ray Brook at (518) 897-2000.Looking for help to improve your your fitness for hiking, nutrition, discipline, and daily habits?Apply to work with James 1-on-1 in his Seek To Do More coaching program at www.seektodomore.com Join the next GREAT RANGE ATHLETE Team and get in mountain-hiking shape alongside a likeminded group in just 6 weeks from your local gym or house. Join the team at www.greatrangeathlete.comFollow on Instagram & Facebook:@46of46podcast@jamesappleton46Get my books:1.) The Adirondack 46 in 18 Hikes: The Complete Guide to Hiking the High Peaks 2.) Adirondack Campfire Stories: Tales and Folklore from Inside the Blue LineVisit my other websites:www.46OUTDOORS.comwww.46OF46.com

New episode of the Adirondack Hunt Podcast is up! In this episode, Mark, Brian, Bob, and Austin discuss how to pick a good spot to set up a remote tent camping site, including doing some advance e-scouting with onX Hunt ahead of time. They are also joined by guest Ryan Sapena of Seek Outside to hear about the history of Seek Outside and details on their product line. Minus33 wool base layers and socks: https://alnk.to/aLIUpax   Seek Outside Tents: Use code "BWB" for 10% off of your order at this link https://alnk.to/biuxP3W   Big woods land and camps for sale: www.landandcamps.com   Grayl water filter: https://alnk.to/4MBtYKl   Save 20% on your OnX subscription with code ‘BWB' https://www.onxmaps.com/hunt   Hal and the Big Woods Bucks Team's Gear: https://www.bigwoodsbucks.com/Wool   Hal's knife: Buck Knife 102: https://alnk.to/eDRDphL