Archive » October 2023 » Columns

by John R. Williams

Tuesday, the 17th of October, is a day to remember; somewhere, here in our little space on the planet, the Old Men of the Mountain met at the Chuck Wagon Diner in Princetown — now that is an event to remember.

An old thought was that, when traveling, you should eat where the trucks are or the most cars are and supposedly the traveler would find the best meal at the best price. One OF thought this would be a good truism to go by.

Only at one stop, where there were not only the most trucks but one heck of a lot of cars, the OF figured this should be a great place to stop and eat. The OF and his family went in only to find out it was a topless place, a couple of steps beyond Hooters. Live and learn.

Another OF asked if they didn’t have signs advertising that they were that type of restaurant. The reply was, not that the OF noticed; if there were any, the OF missed them.

Just like the truck drivers miss the warning signs for the Glenville Bridge that keeps getting whacked. Yeah or the bridge in Schoharie County with the really sharp S turn in and out of the bridge on Junction Road in Esperance — with all kinds of signs, an OF added.

 

Applejack

Along with apple season comes cider time. The OFs talked earlier about drunken animals; now is the time to talk about people getting snookered on the same stuff, hard cider.

One OF talked about making what he called “applejack.” The OF said that he pressed apples from an old, uncared-for orchard on the farm; he pressed the apples, good and bad, worms and all.

The OF claimed the squeezing from these apples made pretty good cider. Some of the squeezing was placed in a barrel and out of this barrel was a copper tube with a spigot on the end.

The barrel was filled with apple juice, kept outdoors, and allowed to freeze. Later in the winter, when it was frozen basically solid, the liquid in the center of the barrel was drained off.

This liquid looked just like water, the OF said, but drinking too much of it could cause blindness. The OF called it great stuff. Old Man of the Mountain Brew — it is recommended not to try this at home. One reason is the OF may have been making the whole thing up and the white lightening that came out was pure poison.

 

Night challenges

The OMOTM noted that, in many cases, the Bible hits the nail right on the head. Verses in the Bible that mention “your old men will dream, dreams” is right on.

The OFs were talking about how, the older they get, the more they sleep, really sleep, although a couple of OFs mentioned they find it harder to get to sleep as they have gotten older.

However, the conversation centered now on what is meant by older; real OFs can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. The column has had the topic of dreams in it before but this one is on sleeping and dreams and how, when age is up there, a nap turns into a sleep of an hour plus.

Along with a high number in age comes a certain amount of 24/7 hurts; when in a deep sleep, these are not noticed. Sometimes, as one OF put it, the hurt will wake him up out of a deep sleep.

But most of the time, when sleeping, the pain is gone so getting up in the morning is put off until it is absolutely necessary to use the john, and that may be nine o’clock in the morning.

One OF said that sometimes it is the dream that wakes him up, and he can’t get back to sleep because he does not want to fall back into the same dream. There was a lot of agreement on this one.

 

Bath or shower

This scribe warned that he was not going to be able to make this past Tuesday’s breakfast either and was going to use old notes but thought other notes were better and so used them. 

At one point, the OFs discussed whether it was better to bathe or shower. Some said: Why bother, take some soap and jump in the creek.

That is OK in the summertime but, in winter, not so much.

Most of the OFs shower, and didn’t think it mattered much either way but getting in and out of the tub at the age of some OFs was an effort.

One OF said he thinks the shower is best because, as the dirt and grime washes off, it goes down the drain; in the tub, as the grime is scrubbed off, the OF is sitting there in the germ-filled water, soaking in it.

Another OF claimed the shower stall is easier to clean than the ring around the tub. Yet one said there is nothing more relaxing than soaking in the tub, and adding more hot water as the water cools down.

Another said he thought toilet time was a waste of time; this OF wanted to get in, get clean, get out, get dressed, and be on his way — this OF said he had things to do.

Another OF claimed he had some Chinese friends tell him that Americans spend too much time in the shower and washing off all the bacteria on the body, much of which is there to protect the body; that is why you (meaning the OF) spend so much at the pharmacy, trying to replace it and get all these allergies and colds. Who knows, they may be right.

All the well-scrubbed Old Men of the Mountain either by shower or bath made it to the Chuck Wagon in Princetown and all those perfumed OFs were: Bill Lichliter, George Washburn, Miner Stevens, Glenn Patterson, Mark Traver, Joe Rack, Jake Herzog, Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Jack Norray, Lou Schenck, Dick Dexter, Herb Bahrmann, Paul Bahrmann, Ted Feurer, Jake Lederman, Rev Jay Francis, Elwood Vanderbilt, Bob Donnelly, Dave Hodgetts, John Dab, Rick LaGrange, Ed Goff, Paul Guiton, Doug Marshall, Frank Dees, Pete Whitbeck, Doug Lonnstrom, and not me.

Post date: 
October 30, 2023

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by John R. Williams

On Tuesday, Oct. 10, the Old Men of the Mountain met at Gibby’s Diner in Quaker Street.

Unfortunately, this scribe was unable to attend due to unalterable foreseen circumstances; however, the names were taken as usual to protect the innocent. The report is using unused notes from previous meetings, as nothing new was reported.

Interesting notes are noted in a little notebook brought to the breakfast so this scribe is able to jog his memory when putting this report together. Sometimes the notes are noted but the content is not for a family paper so the scribe often wonders why they were even noted.

This first noted subject comes up quite often and that is driving, and comments the OFs make about how they drive and what the OFs do in certain situations. Some of the comments are information on road conditions, and this is helpful to the rest of the group.

Some are just how one OF style of driving is compared to another’s — the other OFs could care less because with their ages the habits of driving are well cast. The warnings and driving conditions are a different story.

At times, who makes the better driver has been brought up. Is it those who learn in the country, or those who learn in the city?

The basic conclusion is that those who learn in the city make better drivers than the good old country boys on their country roads where the only things they have to dodge are the deer, turkeys, and other animals that wander onto the road

In the city, the hazards, the OFs feel, are much greater; the alertness picks up, watching red lights, dodging drunks, cats, dogs, and with their faces in the phone, people doing their wandering onto the streets.

Who knows what might be jumping out onto the streets from between parked cars, maneuvering down the street with sirens wailing from all directions trying to make room for them?

As one OF said, there is no comparison. The OF added: Now, if you need a young driver to handle a car going into a turn at 100 miles an hour, let your country boy do that.

 

Leaf peekers and blinding lights

The note in the book says leaf peekers. This relates in a way to drivers, but this pastime seems to belong to us — the OFs.

The older generation is out there with the color and the nostalgia of fall, the aroma, the fresh air with lower humidity and taking it all in by poking along at a snail’s pace, while people with things to do and places to go are piling up behind us and (as the OFs chug along in their vintage cars that look brand new) are going nuts.

The OFs have discussed this many times and it is the new white lights on cars coming toward you at night. The OMOTM are beginning to find out these lights are preventing a lot of people from driving at night, and the age of the populace is not confined to OFs.

These lights, in many instances, are way too bright and flood the oncoming cars inside them with light that is blinding. The driver cannot see until that vehicle has passed.

As one OF put it, it is not all white lights that do this, but enough to make it very uncomfortable to drive at night. This was mentioned again and again. Enough of that.

 

Winter prep

Around this time of year, there is the talk of what kind of winter is ahead of the OFs. There are those OFs who have stored their wood now for the winter and hope it is enough, while some think the winter is going to be mild.

The OFs hate to think what the price of wood and fuel oil will be this winter with how prices for everything seem to be going up and up. If it is a hard winter, one OF said, and they need wood in early spring, it is going to be nothing but junk wood and cost an arm and leg, plus your firstborn.

One OF commented on pricing by saying you think prices are high now? Wait until all these strikes are settled, and if inflation is not in check – wow! Companies are not philanthropists; they are just going to pass the extra costs on to the rest of us.

This OF thinks it is just one great big spiraling cycle, not only here but world-wide. Again, enough of that; it is what it is and unfortunately the poor are in a hole they can’t get out of and it will be getting deeper.

 

Suburban deer

There is a recent note and this scribe can’t remember if the saved information was used or not; it is not checked off. (Use the note, draw a line through it and shout done!)

This note was on deer. One OF mentioned that, if the deer hunters are going to hunt deer, they don’t need to go into the hills and out in the country; the deer are in the suburbs.

One OF mentioned, and a few more joined in, in agreement, the deer gather in the suburbs in herds. The problem now is the houses are so close, and there are so many developments it is against the law to shoot.

A week or so ago, one OF said deer can read and, when hunting season starts with a roar of the shotgun, the deer head for posted land. However, these animals are smarter than that — they head for the burbs and stay there.

Those Old Men of the Mountain who made it to Gibby’s Diner in Quaker Street and were glad the early morning light is still around so they don’t have to battle the white lights, were: Bill Lichliter, George Washburn, Glenn Patterson, Mark Traver, Joe Rack, Jake Herzog, Marty Herzog, Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Jack Norray, Lou Schenck, Dick Dexter, Herb Bahrmann, Jake Lederman, Wayne Gaul, Warren Willsey, Russ Pokorny, Paul Whitbeck, Pete Whitbeck, Roland Tozer, Frank Dees, Doug Marshall, Paul Guiton, Ed Goff, Rick LaGrange, John Dab, Dave Hodgetts, Bob Donnelly, Elwood Vanderbilt, and not me.

Post date: 
October 20, 2023

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by Dennis Sullivan

— The Crucifixion by Pietro Perugino, circa 1482

“Father, forgive them, they know not what they do,” said Jesus Christ before he died.

The act of forgiveness — of one person forgiving another — is fraught with psychological tension and contradictions that are constantly fed by a reservoir of competing and antagonistic emotions because forgiving someone goes against the two automatic response mechanisms we have as human beings to survive — fight and flight.

That is, when we feel threatened or pained by some harm, our sympathetic nervous system triggers a stress response that readies us to attack or flee the source of harm.

But forgiveness, as a way to deal with a harm-done, does not permit the “victim” to make war on the “perpetrator,” to take the wrongdoer down a peg to satisfy an eye-for-an-eye tooth-for-a-tooth payback ethic; thus, with forgiveness, the first of the two automatic response mechanisms — fight — is dismantled.

Nor does forgiveness allow the person who has been harmed to avoid dealing with the situation by fleeing. Physical and mental escape are ruled out because such tacks hinder healing, keep the harmed person — the victim or survivor — from moving on with life, from getting back (hopefully) to where things once were.

Anyone who looks into the issues related to forgiveness soon sees the daunting complexity involved; there’s a million permutations: For example, should a person forgive a wrongdoer who will not accept responsibility for his act and refuses to apologize?

And what of a courtroom situation when the wrongdoer, now a defendant, passes by the table where the victim is seated and casts a leering smirk his way, translated as: Why are you making such a big deal of this? Does such behavior lessen the chance of forgiveness?

For Christians, of course, these kinds of questions are moot — especially with respect to the fight response — because one of the fundamental tenets of their religion is: When someone harms you, you turn the other cheek, you do not do to them what they did to you. Indeed, their Scriptures say a person must forgive a wrongdoer seventy times seven times.

The architect of that code, Jesus Christ, after being whipped, beaten, mocked, spit upon, and crucified on a cross — in a state-sanctioned execution — said, as he was about to expire, “Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.” (Luke 23: 34) There was to be no retribution for what they did.

During the years he preached to the multitudes who came to hear him, over and over he said love is the only way to respond to a harm-done and then, when he himself was subject to ignominious pain — bodily torture — he practiced what he taught. He forgave the vigilantes.

And because he acted so under those circumstances, many Christians say he was a god, which some people say is true of Nelson Mandala who, after being locked in a prison for 27 years, forgave the robbers of his freedom, setting up in 1996 a Truth and Reconciliation Commission to help South Africa’s communities deal peaceably with those who committed grave crimes against their friends and neighbors.

As a concept and as a practice, forgiveness comes into play when one person has been harmed by another. And the harm might range from a spiteful husband making cutting remarks to his wife, all the way to a stranger on the street hitting a passerby on the head and taking his wallet.

And with respect to the latter, it may not be just the bop on the head and stolen wallet that’s at stake because the victim might have lost his eyesight, been forced to leave his job, and even seek public assistance; in such cases, forgiveness must deal with not only the original harm but also the suffering that accrues and takes over a person life.

People have divergent views on how to handle such matters; the 45th president of the United States said his MO is: “If someone screws you, screw them back 10 times harder.”

There’s a perverse kind of pleasure involved in such behavior — physically and metaphorically — as the overlord mouths words from the retributivist’s handbook while beating upon his mark, “Here, take this, you sonuvabitch; see how that feels. There’s plenty more where that came from and I know where you live.”

The avenger who gives issue to that kind of rage could be the wife mentioned above deeply hurt by her husband’s slings but, because of a power imbalance, goes after him in indirect passive-aggressive — but no less-lethal — ways.

In her much-lauded “Anger and Forgiveness: Resentment, Generosity, Justice” the University of Chicago philosopher Martha Nussbaum says she cannot fathom the payoff people get from unleashing retributive, revenge-fueled feelings on another. “Why would an intelligent person,” she says, “think that inflicting pain on the offender assuages or cancels her own pain? There seems to be some type of magical thinking going on.”

But the thinking is not magical at all, it reflects the sophisticated logic of an ethic of justice based on the equalization of loss, a desserts-based justice; the real magical thinkers are those who compartmentalize the event by pushing out of consciousness their rage, resentment, and scorn, hoping to find some peace of mind that day.

However, the research of Everett Worthington, a psychologist at Virginia Commonwealth University, shows that people who compartmentalize hurt begin to exhibit the same neuro-cardio symptoms people under great stress have. His conclusion: “Unforgiveness” has no redeeming psychological, medical, social, or economic benefits.

Those who choose to forgive, therefore, come from the other side of the room, having made a commitment to confront the violent feelings associated with retribution — rage, scorn, and hate — wanting at all costs not to revictimize themselves by letting such poison infiltrate their blood.

The ancient Greek word for forgiveness, aphiemi (ἀφίημι), means: letting go; giving up; handing over; getting rid of; sending away; leaving alone — all of which speak to how to dissolve revenge-based feelings that maim consciousness. But letting go does not mean condoning, excusing, forgetting, minimizing, or taking any other path that denies the effect of a harm on one’s life.

What it does mean is that the forgiver must descend into the inferno of his psyche’s id and there face the vortex of rage-filled feelings that encourage, activate, and reward retaliatory behavior. It’s a war against the demons of fight and flight.

To start with, the person who forgives must acknowledge the extent of his hurt as well as the source. His inner-dialogue might be, “My body aches; my mind is riddled with rage, revenge and fear; and that person over there caused it.” It’s an internalized victim impact statement that seeks to be shared with the rest of the world.

A 1988 survey by Gallup found that nearly every respondent said it was important for people to forgive, but most said it could not be done alone, and traditional devotional prayers seem to help little.

It seems odd in a way but many who suffer a harm — whether they call themselves victim or survivor — choose to meet with the person who harmed them in a safe milieu like Victim-Offender Mediation or some other restorative justice practice — and our married couple above might seek out a therapist to help them free themselves from a revenge-fueled feedback loop they’ve imprisoned themselves in.

The Enlightenment poet Alexander Pope is the one responsible for the oft-quoted “To err is human, to forgive is divine,” which is misinterpreted in so many ways.

There is no God or any other divinity involved in forgiveness; it’s a pained and hurt human soul digging deep within — hopefully with the aid of a supportive community — to find the strength to refrain from doing unto others what they did unto him.

Post date: 
October 19, 2023

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by John R. Williams

Early morning mist, sun coming up, some color on the trees — it is mornings like this that keep those Old Men of the Mountain (who stay here) hanging around in the Northeast. It is days like this that seem to be the magnet that keeps them here. On this past Tuesday morning, the OMOTM traveled to the Your Way Café in Schoharie to have breakfast and share stories.

All the OMOTM are grateful, and happy that little Charlotte Sena was located safe and sound. Like almost everyone, including the OMOTM and the governor, who said it, it is a parent’s worst nightmare when this type of event occurs.

The minds start thinking of all the struggles and fears the one taken must be going through. The OMOTM wondered if these types of heinous actions are more prevalent now or is it the availability of instant news and so much of it.

If some important official or celebrity has a fart caught crosswise now the whole world knows as it happens. However, in this case, that might have been a good thing because everyone was on the alert.

One OF suggested that, after the scare, when all the commotion settles down, what a story this young lady has for show and tell along with being a great spokesperson for traveling in pairs and being aware of your surroundings. This story being elucidated by a peer will have the attention of all those around the same age taking real notice, more so than if it came from a book or an adult.

 

Out of cacophony: A deal

It has been mentioned before how just regular conversation among the OMOTM turns into much more than that.

Tuesday morning, the OFs were discussing a combination of completely unrelated topics at the same time: motorcycles, motorcycles with sidecars, the weather, picking raspberries, apple-picking time and cider-making, pears, rabbits climbing trees, making wine, and grapes — all at the same time.

One would think that among all this chatter it would just go on, but no.

One OF picked up on the chatter that another OF had about a Harley that he would like to sell, but he also had a small wine-making plant with all the equipment that he would like to get rid of because it is hardly used and practically brand new.

Another OF at the same table rents wine-making equipment to make wine. Bingo!

Now a discussion on where it is, how big, and the OF saying, “I will need my truck.”

All the particulars of a transaction were discussed and then the OF said, “While you are there you can take a look at the Harley.”

This suited that OF fine because even in the fog and mist the OF interested in the wine-making equipment arrived at the Your Way Café on his motorcycle.

 

Sidecars aren’t cute

The OFs also received a lesson on motorcycles with sidecars. Though they look cute, and are seen in the movies as just that, cute, the OFs found out they are not that easy to drive, and they are not that cute.

One OF said he learned the hard way — they are hard to maneuver especially with no one in the sidecar. This OF said he learned that when driving a motorcycle with a sidecar to put sandbags in the sidecar to keep it down.

Some TV shows use the cycles with the sidecar: the “Two Fat Ladies” cooking show, “Death in Paradise,” and “As Time Goes By” to mention a few.

 

Drunk cows

Then, on top of this, the OFs who had farms discussed farms that had orchards and not letting cows in the orchards this time of year because they will just munch on the fallen apples and get tipsy as the apples ferment in the fourth stomach.

Apple acidosis can be a serious condition among not only cows but other animals that munch on this type of fallen delight. Moose, deer, and pigs are a few that can become “drunk” when over indulging. This overindulging can even cause death in the animal when it becomes severe.

One OF said that their whole herd became “drunk” because they indulged. The OF said the father told his sons to clear the orchard of dropped apples and put them in burlap sacks so they could press them into cider later on.

The boys did as they were told but all they did was drag the bags of apples to the hedgerow and put them on the other side. The cows could reach over the hedgerow and just eat from the sacks like hay in the manger. All the cows became “drunk.”

Like people who drink too much, the cows mooed with rolling eyes, and they all wobbled when they walked — some more so than others. Come milking time, they were all staggering at the gate, leaning into each other, and still mooing.

The lead cow upon entering the barn could not find her station; all the others then became disoriented and were mooing and milling about, while pooping all over the place.

The father while witnessing all this was going berserk, hollering and shouting “What the x#%#X is the matter with these @#&X#@ cows?”

He’d whack this cow then that one on the rump, continually ranting and raving, and all he got was stupid moos from the cows.

The upshot from all this was they could not ship their milk for three days, and it took two days to clean the barn.

Even though the boys the OF was talking about did not use their heads, the OF offered that the boys never dreamed this would happen, and didn’t even know it could.

It pointed out a fact this OF has heard over and over: Generally mistakes are not the fault of the mistake-maker, but the fault lies in the communicator failing to communicate.

Those Old Men of the Mountain not failing to make it to the Your Way Café in Schoharie were: Rick LaGrange, Ed Goff, Ted Feurer, Jake Lederman, Roger Shafer, Doug Marshall, Wally Guest, Harold Guest, Joe Rack, Mark Traver, Marty Herzog, Paul Whitbeck, Lou Schenck, Jack Norray, Herb Bahrmann, Dick Dexter, Duncan Bellinger, Rev. Jay Francis, Paul Guiton and guest Linda, and me.

Post date: 
October 14, 2023

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by Mike Nardacci

— Photo by Mike Nardacci
A boulder freshly broken from the bedrock of Stark’s Knob shows tiny pits called vesicles where bubbles escaped from the lava when it was still molten.

The rocky promontory known as “Stark’s Knob” rises a short distance north of the village of Schuylerville and when the leaves are off the trees its summit affords a panoramic view of the Hudson River.

Though its human history is but the wink of an eye compared to its geologic past, it played a pivotal role in the American Revolution. From its summit, the rebelling colonists observed British ships moving up and down the river.

Under the command of New Hampshire General John Stark, they moved cannon and other armaments to a flat area between the Knob and the Hudson River to prevent British troops from escaping after the battle of Saratoga.

But the Knob is also widely known as “the Schuylerville volcano,” and though it is not now erupting, the name conjures up visions of fiery fountains of lava and plumes of sulphurous smoke spilling out over the landscape.

But it was never a volcano and it did not originate in its present location. However — it is made of lava that has solidified in the form of bulbous mounds called “pillows,” and an unweathered chunk of its bedrock shows holes called “vesicles,” which are the remains of bubbles of escaping gasses.

Such “pillows” are forming today from fissures in the waters off the Big Island of Hawai’i as lava is ejected from fractures in the ocean floor. Curiously, some of the rocks in Stark’s Knob have been found to contain tiny fossils of shallow-water dwelling snails that lived in the Ordovician period, some 450 million years ago.

 

Clues to the past

Exposures of bedrock that have not vanished under the thick foliage that covers much of the Knob show the rounded, humpy “pillows” and in them and in their fossils lie the keys to understanding the Knob’s formation.

Some 450 million years ago during the Ordovician Period, the landmass that would someday be North America lay bordering a vast body of water known as the Iapetus Ocean, the name of which derives from Greek mythology.

Iapetus was a member of the race of giants called Titans and was known as the father of Atlas. The Iapetus long ago vanished as the plates of the Earth were beginning to assemble themselves into the supercontinent Pangaea, which millions of years later broke apart giving birth to a new ocean: the Atlantic.

In the mid-Ordovician Period — roughly 450 million years ago — the east coast of the United States corresponded roughly to today’s Hudson Valley and off that coast lay an arc of islands similar to those that make up Japan.

As the landmass that would become Africa closed in on the coast in a sliding, scraping motion known as a “transform fault,” those islands got caught up in the crunch and were plastered onto the coast. This action resulted in massive earthquakes and submarine fissures extruding lava — hence the formation of the lava making up Stark’s Knob.

As a result of the chaos, huge slabs of terrain were pushed westward, and the solidified mass of igneous rock that would be known as Stark’s Knob was pushed into its present position from the region that would become Vermont.

To use an obscure term that might be the $2,000 answer on Jeopardy — the solidified lava mass making up Stark’s Knob is allochthonous (al-LOCH-thon-ous), which the Dictionary of Geologic Terms defines as “Said of rocks or materials formed elsewhere than in their present place.”

New York state contains within its borders geologic phenomena that make the teaching of geology here the envy of those in many other states. New York has:

— The vast eroded sedimentary rock layers that constitute the Allegheny Plateau, containing fossils that are the keys to understanding Paleozoic life;

— Billion-year-old-plus rocks in Southeastern New York, Manhattan, and the Adirondacks, providing evidence of great upheavals in the Earth’s crust;

— Hundreds of square miles of karst terrain, laced with caves, underground streams, and springs;

— Dinosaur fossils in the rocks that border New Jersey; and

— Perhaps — perhaps — beneath the lofty and mysterious Adirondacks lies a “hot spot”: a plume reaching down into Earth’s mantle that might in some far future break the surface and produce a series of real volcanoes like those in Iceland.

And overlooking the Hudson just north of the village of Schuylerville lies a mass of solidified lava called Stark’s Knob, providing evidence of the titanic forces that drive Earth’s plates and quite literally move mountains.

Post date: 
October 12, 2023

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by John Rowen

If a person plans a fishing trip and it is rainy, rainy, rainy locally, it might be tempting to cancel the trip and sit on the couch.

However, my wife, Dorothy, and I discovered this past Friday that it’s better to just go and see what will happen. It was rainy and gray in our neighborhood. There had been so much rain that it appeared the trout streams would be too high.

Our plan to fish the Catskills looked to us like it could be a rain-out, after we heard a weather forecast that suggested New York City and the southern part of the state would be swamped.

But after renewing our fishing licenses, we decided to head out anyway and see what the conditions were like. We stopped at the Guilderland Public Library and took advantage of the library’s ability to renew or issue fishing licenses. We also saw the new coffee shop in the library, which looks appealing.

As we drove south, the rain tapered off. By the time we got to Stamford, New York, in Delaware County, the rain had stopped, and the sky was partly sunny. Water in the trout stream was on the higher side but not a raging torrent.

The plan for this trip was to fish for trout with dry flies. Conventional fishing wisdom is that dry fly fishing greatly limits angling success, as fish consume most of their food below the surface.

When fishing below the surface, with a nymph, wet fly, or streamer pattern, the fish takes the fly with a varying degree of firmness. Sometimes, it’s a solid hit, as might occur when fishing with bait or a lure; other times, it’s a whisper of a strike.

If fish are rising to flies, dry fly fishing can be more rewarding as the angler feels and sees the strike.

Before going to the stream, we stood on a local bridge over it and watched to see if fish were rising. On the upstream side, the water was as flat as glass. For the first few minutes, it was the same way on the downstream side.

But then we saw a small ring of a rise. Looking down into the brownish water, a nice-sized trout was sinking back down after rising to a fly. Then it came up again.

As I kept looking, suddenly I could see fish that were not previously visible, a flotilla of them. They seemed to fade into view the way a ghost might in a haunted house.

It appeared the fish were rising to nearly invisible flies, flies that were so small they would make a BB look gigantic. But we cast to them anyway. Sadly, no fish took our offerings.

Nevertheless, it was a great day on the water. The weather was nicer than it was in Guilderland. We got to see autumn wildflowers, such as several kinds of asters and several stands of wild sunflowers. On distant hills, we saw that leaves were starting to change.

If you head out this week or next, the sights may be different. The flowers may be past their prime, or leaves might be fading. But you could very well see something equally delightful. And who knows, if you fish subsurface — or bigger insects are coming off the water — you might catch fish!

Post date: 
October 9, 2023

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by Frank L. Palmeri

Though I buy online like everyone else, I try to shop locally whenever I can. I like the idea of supporting my friends and neighbors. When they do good, their business does good.

When a business does good, it pays taxes that benefit us all. Truly, supporting local business is the way to go. Unless you have what happened to me recently, where you are forced to look elsewhere.

I’m lucky to have a carport to park my truck in. My large two-car garage is filled with my wife’s car, our motorcycles, and a lot of other stuff. So the carport works great to keep the truck out of the weather.

The only thing is, it is kind of narrow. And the truck mirrors stick out a lot. Can you guess where this is going?

I banged up my mirrors while backing up a couple of times, such that they needed to be replaced. I back up successfully 999 out of 1,000 times, but it’s that one time that is the problem.

I went to my local Ford dealer to order new parts. Because I do so much car and motorcycle work myself, I’m rarely at the dealership.

As I waited, I looked in the waiting room. It was filled with people sitting, staring at their phones in a daze, while a TV blasted up in the corner. Old crumpled magazines spilled over the low-slung tables.

There were plenty of vending machines, but I didn’t see any free coffee. The mood was, shall we say, pensive? All I know is, I’m glad I can do most of the work on my own vehicles.

My truck is a 2015 F150. Pretty common, as far as trucks go (the F150 has been the number-one selling vehicle in this country for over 40 years). That’s why I was surprised at how long it was taking to get me a price for new mirrors.

Truck mirrors just stick out so far. I know I’m not the only one who has to replace them. You would think they’d just be there in stock, ready to go. No biggie.

When the guy finally came back with the quote, even he was in shock.

“I don’t know what’s going on with these mirrors, but here’s the quote,” he said, as he handed me the computer printout.

Are you sitting down? The left-hand mirror was $400. And the right-hand mirror was $800. And these prices didn’t even include installation!

As I was in shock myself, my jaw literally hanging open, the first thing that came to my mind was not why are these mirrors so damn expensive, but rather, why was the right one twice the cost of the left one?

“Oh, I can explain that,” the counter guy said. “It’s because the right-side mirror has the temperature sender.

 OK, but still, this is for a pickup truck, right? It’s not like this is the temperature sender on the Voyager I and II spacecraft that, as you read this, are heading out into interstellar space at about 38,000 miles per hour. I mean, give me a break, these are only mirrors for a pickup truck.

So I told the parts guy I’d get back to him and went home empty handed. Again, I’m all about supporting local businesses, I really am. But I’m not about getting ripped off, either.

The prices I was quoted were just so egregious I had to figure something else out. Especially since my truck is due for its annual safety inspection soon.

A quick search on eBay found a listing from a company with a 99-percent approval rating. Of course, approval ratings can be faked, but at least it’s something.

This listing showed a pair of mirrors for my exact model and year of F150. The price? It was $112 for the pair, with free shipping. Yes. I put in my order, and a week later the mailman, bless his soul, lugged a large box up to my front porch.

Then I waited for it to finally stop raining. It’s been that kind of year. When it did, it took me all of a half-hour to remove the old mirrors and install the new ones.

These replacement mirrors look and function exactly like the original. So, as long as I pay better attention when I back up into tight spaces, I should be fine.

So consider: $1,200 at the dealer for two truck mirrors, and that price is without the installation labor charge, versus $112 from eBay that only took me a half-hour to install. Mama mia!

Note that I’m so busy in retirement having fun and finally getting to do things I never had time for before, that I even called my insurance agent to see if I could just put in a claim for replacing the mirrors. I mean, I’m paying the premiums; isn’t that what insurance is for?

He said because each mirror had been damaged at different times, it would be considered two separate “collisions,” each with a $500 deductible, and my rates would most likely go up as well. Yikes!

I’m used to working on cars, motorcycles, and just about everything else. I can’t do everything, but I have the tools and, most times, the patience to at least try.

So this fiasco actually worked out quite well for me. I was able to find the mirrors I needed online, and was able to install them myself, saving over $1,000.

But what if this had happened to, say, a single mother, or someone who doesn’t have the tools, the space, or the experience to work on their own vehicle? That is a lot of money they’d be out. That’s not good.

I don’t know what is going on at my local Ford dealer to result in these mirrors getting marked up so, so much. As I said, I do as much as I can myself, so I’m rarely at a car dealership parts counter or service counter.

But, if this is what it’s like having a dealership work on your vehicle, I guess I’ll be holding on to my tools a little while longer.

Supporting local business is great, but your local business has to support you as well.

Post date: 
October 9, 2023

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by John R. Williams

The magic of Tuesday draws the Old Men of the Mountain out of the mountains and to the restaurant of the day for breakfast. On Tuesday, Sept. 26, Mrs. K’s restaurant in Middleburgh was the draw. Some of the breakfasts the OFs pack away on Tuesday are such that they must be the only meal of the day.

The good ole US of A is a big country. It is the fourth largest country in the world behind Russia, Canada, and China, and yet many of the OFs have traveled the breadth and depth of it. Tuesday morning, there was much discussion on the people, some places, and the atmosphere of different locals, from here in the Northeast, to the tropical weather of the Deep South. It is different where’er you go.

If one leaves by plane, in a matter of a few hours in the USA, the OFs mentioned leaving one area in mukluks and mackinaw, then getting off in sunglasses and shorts. Of course, the reverse of this is true.

The OFs who travel north and south noticed the biggest change in the weather; those who go east and west not so much. Those traveling top to bottom experience the change more because the north-south latitudes are greater than the east-west latitudes. Key West is much closer to the equator than the tip of California. Texas and Arizona are getting down there.

One OF mentioned that a relative of his who lives in Texas now, but who occasionally comes to the OMOTM breakfast, said they are getting excited down there because a cold front is coming through. It is going to get down to 96 degrees.

As the OFs discussed their travels hither and yon, the names of places and what it was like in other states was mentioned quite often. The OFs discussed travels in our huge country like all they are doing is going to the store for a loaf of bread not realizing that some of our states are larger than many countries.

Looking at Canada, the same thing happens. You can hop in a car, plan a trip, and go from one coast to the other, from Halifax to Ketchikan, British Columbia, Canada. All the OF would need is money for gas, food, and lodging, that is a 6,500-mile trip.

One OF took his kids out of the Berne-Knox-Westerlo school for awhile, and traveled from Maine down the east coast to Florida, across the bottom of the country up the west coast to Washington, and then across the top back to Township, Knox, New York. Needless to say, the OMOTM are a well traveled group.

One OF mentioned that in our country he found he has trouble understanding some of the people when he travels or stays South, particularly in Louisiana when he gets in Cajun country. Another OF used to travel to Cajun country all the time and he even played the Cajun accordion with groups in Cajun country.

One OF told of an experience his family had in traveling. This OF has an aversion to snakes; the OF definitely does not like them. On the trip, one of the parks they stopped at had a serpentarium (a snake house) and the kids wanted to see it.

The OMOTM said no way would they stop now. He was hoping they might forget about stopping on the way back, but they did not. The OF said he only purchased tickets for the family excluding him. He told them he would wait in the car.

The kids told the dad that, when they went in, all the harmless snakes were loose and crawling on the floor, some of which were pretty big, according to the kids. The OF said, if he went in there, he would have fainted on the spot. Some of the OFs think that this approach would be a surprise to many visitors, not only this OF.

 

Fall predictions

The OFs, as an aged group, talked about the weather (again) but this time in relation to the type of fall we will have this year because of the unusually wet summer, and all the lush foliage. The OFs say this year they have no idea what it will be like.

Some thought that the leaves have produced all the sugar the plants are going to need and the leaves will just dry up and fall off. Others think that, if we have a good cold snap, and some bright sunny days, the carpet of colors is going to be great.

While another OF said he is just going to wait and see. He thinks it is just going to be the same as all other falls. Some spots will be bright; in some areas, the colors will just be dull as always.

To this OF, predicting the fall is just like predicting how much snow we will get. The OF said he will see what the Farmers’ Almanac says. That book is usually a pretty good guide.

 

Condolences

It’s time again when the Old Men of the Mountain offer their condolences and prayers to the family of a long-time, faithful Old Man of the Mountain who passed away on Sept. 26, Harold Grippen. Harold was 93 earth-years old when entering into the body of Old Men of the Mountain and their own private cloud in heaven. Our sympathy and condolences are extended to Harold’s family.

Those Old Men of the Mountain still roaming the third rock from the sun met at Mrs. K’s Restaurant, were: Joe Rack, Pete Whitbeck, Bill Lichliter, Roger Shafer, Rick LaGrange, Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Doug Marshall, Kevin McDonald, Ken Parks, Jake Lederman, Ted Feurer, Roland Tozer, Marty Herzog, Jake Herzog, Duncan Bellinger, Herb Bahrmann, Lou Schenck, Jack Norray, Dick Dexter, Elwood Vanderbilt, Dave Hodgetts, Bob Donnelly, Paul Guiton, John Dab, and me.

Post date: 
October 9, 2023

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by Michael Seinberg

I read, with some interest, that the idea of allowing folks in our little village to keep chickens has been brought back from the dead [“Altamont considers allowing hens,” The Altamont Enterprise, Sept. 7, 2023]. However, I was struck by the level of regulation these innocent fowl will have to live under.

It appears that you can keep no more than six hens for noncommercial use (professional chickens such as chicken accountants, chicken doctors, and chicken mechanics are prohibited). Your yard has to be at least .23 acres in size and you’d have to get a permit every single year, put up with inspections by the building department, and no roosters are allowed. No conjugal visits whatsoever, so chances are we’re going to have some lovelorn hens in our midst.

Finally, there are a bunch of other rules on the size of the run, location, setback, views, and so on. All in all, chickens in Altamont will be very, very regulated.

Meanwhile, we don’t regulate developers nearly enough. At this moment, we’re issuing variances left and right for proposed developments in the village and town of Guilderland. What gives? I mean we’re going to regulate chickens up to, and including their sex lives, but land developers pretty much can do whatever they want? Something’s amiss here, folks.

Chickens produce high quality protein in the form of eggs, make very nice pets, I’m told, and even go so far as to eat ticks, reducing a serious health hazard that climate change and non-stop development has caused.

Currently, according to the state’s Department of Health, we have ticks in our midst that transmit Lyme disease, anaplasmosis and ehrlichiosis, babesiosis, Powassan virus (POW), and Rocky Mountain spotted fever (tick-borne typhus fever). None of these are diseases you want and neither do your kids, pets, neighbors, and anyone else with a pulse. To their benefit, and ours, chickens can eat up to 80 ticks per hour.

And developers? They are ticks. By allowing developers to destroy every square inch of greenspace in our midst, we’re screwing up the environment and putting wildlife, like deer that carry ticks, into our backyards. I’ve seen deer all over the village, in yards, nibbling shrubs, wandering up streets, and why is that? Because there are now houses where once there were woods. Imagine that. And let’s not even get into the increasing bear sightings.

Every time we allow a developer to run full tilt through our green space and leave destruction, cheap construction, and environmental damage in their wake, we’re allowing the ticks even more access to our tender bodies. It’s almost as if developers are themselves, a form of human tick. 

They lurk around and attach themselves to our villages, towns, and counties, sucking out the lifeblood in pursuit of fast profits. In so doing, they infect and sicken their hosts, reducing the quality of life and leaving the damaged and diminished bodies for all the residents to contend with.

Higher taxes, bigger water bills, more stress on the wells, more wildlife in the yard, and more ticks all thanks to our human ticks. Why don’t chickens eat developers too? Seriously, I wouldn’t want to sicken an innocent chicken. So could we at least stick to our zoning rules when it comes to development?

And just so it doesn’t sound like I’m ranting in the wilderness, we now have on the table a proposal for an industrial storage facility right next to the Watervliet Reservoir in Guilderland. Seriously? Does the phrase “poisoned water supply” only pop up in my mind? 

These human ticks want to locate so close to the water that all they need is one oil leak or faulty gas tank on a truck and you’ll be able to light your drinking water. At the very least, the fact that the zoning and planning committees are even listening to this environmentally suicidal proposal tells you all you need to know about what really matters in Builderland. Money.

Folks, if we’re going to regulate chickens but allow human ticks to destroy our environment for money, then maybe we’re regulating the wrong things. Of course, a radioactive leak that causes chickens to grow to 60 feet in height might just change the calculus a bit.

Michael Seinberg concedes he has been watching too many science fiction movies and attending too many protest rallies; the two finally collided.

Post date: 
October 9, 2023

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by Michael Seinberg

I read, with some interest, that the idea of allowing folks in our little village to keep chickens has been brought back from the dead [“Altamont considers allowing hens,” The Altamont Enterprise, Sept. 7, 2023]. However, I was struck by the level of regulation these innocent fowl will have to live under.

It appears that you can keep no more than six hens for noncommercial use (professional chickens such as chicken accountants, chicken doctors, and chicken mechanics are prohibited). Your yard has to be at least .23 acres in size and you’d have to get a permit every single year, put up with inspections by the building department, and no roosters are allowed. No conjugal visits whatsoever, so chances are we’re going to have some lovelorn hens in our midst.

Finally, there are a bunch of other rules on the size of the run, location, setback, views, and so on. All in all, chickens in Altamont will be very, very regulated.

Meanwhile, we don’t regulate developers nearly enough. At this moment, we’re issuing variances left and right for proposed developments in the village and town of Guilderland. What gives? I mean we’re going to regulate chickens up to, and including their sex lives, but land developers pretty much can do whatever they want? Something’s amiss here, folks.

Chickens produce high quality protein in the form of eggs, make very nice pets, I’m told, and even go so far as to eat ticks, reducing a serious health hazard that climate change and non-stop development has caused.

Currently, according to the state’s Department of Health, we have ticks in our midst that transmit Lyme disease, anaplasmosis and ehrlichiosis, babesiosis, Powassan virus (POW), and Rocky Mountain spotted fever (tick-borne typhus fever). None of these are diseases you want and neither do your kids, pets, neighbors, and anyone else with a pulse. To their benefit, and ours, chickens can eat up to 80 ticks per hour.

And developers? They are ticks. By allowing developers to destroy every square inch of greenspace in our midst, we’re screwing up the environment and putting wildlife, like deer that carry ticks, into our backyards. I’ve seen deer all over the village, in yards, nibbling shrubs, wandering up streets, and why is that? Because there are now houses where once there were woods. Imagine that. And let’s not even get into the increasing bear sightings.

Every time we allow a developer to run full tilt through our green space and leave destruction, cheap construction, and environmental damage in their wake, we’re allowing the ticks even more access to our tender bodies. It’s almost as if developers are themselves, a form of human tick. 

They lurk around and attach themselves to our villages, towns, and counties, sucking out the lifeblood in pursuit of fast profits. In so doing, they infect and sicken their hosts, reducing the quality of life and leaving the damaged and diminished bodies for all the residents to contend with.

Higher taxes, bigger water bills, more stress on the wells, more wildlife in the yard, and more ticks all thanks to our human ticks. Why don’t chickens eat developers too? Seriously, I wouldn’t want to sicken an innocent chicken. So could we at least stick to our zoning rules when it comes to development?

And just so it doesn’t sound like I’m ranting in the wilderness, we now have on the table a proposal for an industrial storage facility right next to the Watervliet Reservoir in Guilderland. Seriously? Does the phrase “poisoned water supply” only pop up in my mind? 

These human ticks want to locate so close to the water that all they need is one oil leak or faulty gas tank on a truck and you’ll be able to light your drinking water. At the very least, the fact that the zoning and planning committees are even listening to this environmentally suicidal proposal tells you all you need to know about what really matters in Builderland. Money.

Folks, if we’re going to regulate chickens but allow human ticks to destroy our environment for money, then maybe we’re regulating the wrong things. Of course, a radioactive leak that causes chickens to grow to 60 feet in height might just change the calculus a bit.

Michael Seinberg concedes he has been watching too many science fiction movies and attending too many protest rallies; the two finally collided.

Post date: 
October 4, 2023

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by Mary Ellen Johnson

— Photo from the Guilderland Historical Society

A notice in the July 18, 1862 edition of the Albany Evening Journal reported that Prospect Hill Cemetery had appointed “a committee to solicit subscriptions for the purpose of erecting a suitable monument to be placed in said plot off ground.” The cemetery had set aside land for the burial site of any soldiers in the County of Albany. Once erected, names were inscribed on the lower part of the monument which still stands today although the bronze eagle has long since disappeared.

“Started for Dixie” recorded Abram Carhart in his new diary on March 16, 1863. A fever had prevented him from leaving Albany with his regiment, the 177th New York State Volunteers, on Dec. 16, 1862.

After the regiment’s arrival on Jan. 11, the men had been assigned to the Army of the Gulf, one regiment of the 20,000 soldiers under the command of General Nathanial Banks. Carhart would eventually join them, his diary giving us a vivid picture of how grueling, dangerous, and yet boring it could be for an individual soldier on campaign.

Abram Carhart, the son of Sanford and Sophie Carhart, grew up on a family farm likely located on (West Old) State Road and attended the local one-room school. Methodism, thriving in Guilderland at this time, attracted young Carhart who became a member of the State Road Bible Class and formally committed to the Methodist Episcopal faith.

Carhart was eager to volunteer when the Civil War broke out but his mother’s objections kept him in Albany, serving in the 10th New York Militia. However, in September 1862, the 10th Militia became the 177th New York State Volunteers, a nine-month regiment.

Civil War volunteer regiments, raised by the individual states, served for varying amounts of time up to three years. Each regiment was made up of 10 companies of 100 men each. Usually the volunteer regiments included many men from the same area who knew each other before joining so that there were several men from Guilderland serving with Abram Carhart who was assigned to Co. C.

After several medical extensions, Carhart was finally sent to New York City, reporting to Governors Island where his life as a soldier really began. His days were taken up with drills and picket duties with a bit of free time for religious services and letter-writing.

Soon to ship out to New Orleans, on April 6 he wrote, “changed drawers and stockings,” the first of three mentions of changing his drawers during the four months his diary covers.

On April 8, he put out to sea, destination New Orleans. About 75 miles from shore, a brig collided with the ship he was on, forcing its return to Governors Island.

Three days later, Carhart again sailed. In spite of some rough seas and sea sickness, he noted when Cape Hatteras was passed.

Big excitement came when a rebel blockade runner was fired upon and captured, carrying 22 bales of cotton, probably heading to England. Sailing past the Florida coast, Carhart was fascinated with the lush green vegetation along the shore.

At last, the Mississippi was reached April 21, his ship arriving at New Orleans the next day. Not immediately being sent to report to his regiment, he took the opportunity to “change shirt, drawers & stockings last night.”

He noted that the Provost Guard was “arresting a good many deserters” and that “the cake ladies were drove out for bringing liquor to the soldiers.”

A few days after his arrival, Carhart joined his regiment at Camp Bonnet Carre where he found fellow Guilderland farmboy Peter Ogsbury sick, but the rest were well. Whenever he encountered someone he had previously known from home, he noted it in his diary.

That day, he “wrote home to Ma,” and probably the news of Ogsbury and the rest would have been included. Since arriving at Governors Island, Carhart penned many letters during his service, having already written seven, as noted in his diary.

The U.S. Post Office with the Union Army did an amazing job of carrying mail and packages back and forth, even during campaigns, although it sometimes took time. Even during the campaign against Port Hudson, a package even arrived for Carhart.

Because almost all Union soldiers had attended at least one-room schools, except for many immigrants, they were literate to some degree and their surviving letters and diaries provide the troops’ view of the war.

Shortly after his arrival, Carhart and the others in his regiment were “mustered in for pay.” A regiment would stand at attention while attendance was taken, the list sent to Washington, and eventually the men received their monthly pay of $13.

Using information from Carhart’s diary, it appears there was an underground economy in which the men borrowed, loaned, sold, or purchased from each other between pay days. Carhart loaned Abram Bradt 10 cents and Billy Tygert 25 cents and repaid $2 to P.J. Ogsbury and money owed to Henry Swan.

Carhart sold 50 cents worth of tobacco to A. Fox who “promised to pay when in camp” and a few days later sold 50 cents worth of tobacco to Billy, with an illegible last name, who also would pay back in camp.

 

Breaking Confederate

hold on the Mississippi

The 177th had joined thousands of other soldiers seeking to break the Confederate hold on the Mississippi. To do so meant Union troops must take the two well-fortified points on the river, Port Hudson, a few miles north of New Orleans, fortified by dug breastworks and a battery of artillery, while 242 miles to the north was Vicksburg, the Confederate’s most powerful stronghold on the Mississippi.

General Grant’s army was slowly working its way toward Vicksburg and then besieging it. Simultaneously, General Banks was attempting to capture Port Hudson. Much action lay ahead for the 177th.

Once back in his regiment, Carhart almost immediately went into alert when at midnight everyone was called out and “formed a line of battle.” Apparently a false alarm, later the next day he was on guard duty, the first of many times when he “felt a sample of southern mosquitoes while on picket.”

Soon orders came to leave camp. Carhart and his company steamed upriver to Davis Plantation where they had breakfast coffee, next marched eight miles until dinner, then 12 miles to McGills Ferry.

The next night, soldiers were called into a battle line, Carhart having picket duty. May 10 and 11 were quiet days, but the next day several of them were fired on by rebels, “one man wounded & four men hit.”

Departing from McGill’s Ferry, the men marched four miles through dust and swamps 12 miles until eating a dinner of “chicken, geese and such as we could get.” Along the route, the Union soldiers were foraging, helping themselves to whatever they could gather up along her way.

The next day, four companies were sent out, “capturing in all about a dozen horses, a lot of cotton, a hogshead of molasses & a lot of sugar.” Stripping families of their livestock and food supplies along the line of march was common, resorted to by both Yankees and Confederates.

Having been on picket duty under the threat of attack, once off duty Carhart returned to camp, still with enough energy to sell tobacco to two comrades for 50 cents each. Finally, they left McGill Ferry at midnight, marched until seven the next morning, having covered 22 miles in seven hours.

After a rest until 4 p.m., the regiment marched about 12 miles until 11 p.m., receiving their first ration of whiskey, often given out to Union soldiers from the Commissary before or after a particularly demanding time. A day later, the men reached Baton Rouge.

Resting a day, Banks’s men crossed the river, marching 17 miles north toward Port Hudson. Then they marched from 10 a.m. until 6 p.m., forced to “lay down for the night on the wet ground for it had rained for a while.”

The next day, Co. C was detailed to build a bridge that took all day, then marched about one-and-a-half miles after forming a line of battle. Leaving their encampment the next day, the men encountered an enemy fort.

They were ordered to march on the double quick across a field about a mile under rebel fire the entire time. The Union soldiers withdrew to the river to communicate with Union gunboats there, but when they returned, the Confederates “had got the range, wounding three with one man in Co. H having to have his leg taken off.” They returned to a camp about two miles from Port Hudson.

A welcome day of rest was followed by a frontal charge on Port Hudson. The 177th was ordered to support the 21st Indiana Battery, an artillery unit with 20-pound mortars. “In the forenoon,” Carhart wrote, “Companies F & H were detailed as skirmishers & Co C was left with the battery while the rest of the regiment went to the center to support the charge.”

The attack was a failure. Port Hudson remained in Confederate hands. Back in camp, Carhart received two letters and another ration of whiskey.

One day, Co. C went out as skirmishers, the next on picket duty, happy the next day to be relieved by the 6th Wisconsin. A few quiet days then several companies of the 177th including Co. C were ordered out to build breastworks.

That meant digging trenches, a project that kept them busy for several days including “planting” mortars. After several days of hard labor, Carhart noted, ”finished the rifle pits today.” This was followed by another day of picket duty within 600 yards of the rebel fortifications, shooting 15 rounds.

On June 14, Banks ordered another frontal attack that again was a futile assault. Carhart’s terse entry read, “rec’d marching orders at last night about one o’clock to go to the left, left camp about 3 o’clock — got to the left about 5 o’clock. — shot and shell came rather close for comfort, so moved a little farther and waited for orders.”

Again, the frontal assault proved futile.

The following days were quiet with picket duty a regular chore. Once the person who was supposed to relieve Carhart failed to show so he ended up on duty for 48 hours.

Other days, Carhart was in the rifle pits, once spending all day there in extreme heat, expecting to be ordered to charge. Twenty men in his regiment had heat stroke.

Mail came in, including a letter from Henry Comstock and his mother. Another day, she had sent him  “The Advocate,” possibly a religious publication, letters from his family and a package from Uncle Perry containing “cake, smoke(d) beef, currants & plum sauce.”

The early days of July brought daily rifl-pit duty in the midst of what are constant references to the extreme heat. The 7th must have been a quiet day because Carhart, Jesse Dennison, and James Beckwith went down to the Mississippi to bathe.

Carhart must have lost his footing or stepped into a deep area, because he never resurfaced. When his two traumatized and grief-stricken companions returned to camp they found cheers and celebration going on.

Port Hudson had surrendered on top of the news from upriver that Grant had taken Vicksburg on July 4th. The Mississippi had become a Union waterway and the Confederacy was split in half.

 

Buried at

Prospect Hill

Later someone wrote in different handwriting in Carhart’s diary for July 7th, “Abram M. Carhart was dronded.” His body was retrieved the next day and he was buried.

The Albany Evening Journal in its July 30 edition carried the tiny notice, “177th Recovered The body of young Carhart, a member of the 177th Regiment, who was drowned on the 7th inst, near Port Hudson, while bathing in the Mississippi river, was recovered on the 8th and was properly interred.”

In nine months, the 177th lost nine men and officers, killed or mortally wounded, while 152 officers and men died of disease. Was Carhart part of that statistic or just overlooked?

In the meantime Carhart’s family brought back his body and placed him in the family plot at Prospect Hill Cemetery in Guilderland.

It has been estimated that there were 620,000 casualties from both sides in the Civil War, although some modern researchers think the number should be higher. Each of these was an individual tragedy for family members, but at least the Carhart family could bring their loved one home to be buried here, unlike the thousands who were in unmarked graves or nameless in national cemeteries.

Note: The author thanks Tom Capuano for help in interpreting some difficult handwriting in Abram Carhat’s diary.

Post date: 
October 2, 2023

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