After a great 70-degree day on Monday when many of the OMOTM got outside and got to work in the warm fresh air doing stuff that our bodies were complaining about on Tuesday morning, April 1, we woke up to 30-degree temps and wind. But we made it to Mrs. K's Kitchen in Middleburgh on time after chewing down some Ibuprofen tablets.
I am not kidding about the Ibuprofen tablets; old guys just sometimes don't seem to understand that we can’t do today what we did effortlessly yesterday. What do you mean I can't dig five little two-foot-deep post holes and put the fence posts in them in two hours? I probably won't even break a sweat.
Oh, wait. You mean the holes must all be the same depth? Because, if they are not, then the rails that fit into the holes in the end posts won't be the same height above the ground and the whole fence will really look stupid as the horizontal rails go up and down from post to post.
Rocks. I have hundreds, maybe thousands, of rocks lurking just one inch below the crab grass I call my lawn. I call my lawn a 20 mph lawn, which means if you drive by my house at 20 mph or faster and glance over at my lawn, it looks pretty good.
My neighbors all have 2 mph lawns with real grass and no crab grass. That’s OK because, once I get my wonderfully attractive split rail fence in place, I’ll be the envy of the neighborhood. My curb appeal will skyrocket.
Back to the rocks. Who knew they were there? Okay, one inch down, only 23 inches to go! I need something to help me get rid of the rocks, some of which are more like boulders.
I know what I’ll do — I’ll ask my friends, the OMOTM. They know everything. Sure enough, they did.
The only problem was, they all started talking at once, and loudly. For all of us OFs who wear hearing aids, this means only one thing. You just hear a bunch of noise.
I understood enough to realize I needed a few more tools. Just my trusty shovel was not going to do the job.
Two tools in particular are absolutely required. The first is a post-hole digger; the second is sort of a two-for-one tool with one end being flat and round like a 2- or 3-inch silver-dollar pancake. The other end is like a pry bar to help break up the soil and loosen up the rocks so the post hole digger can pick them up.
This pry bar is made of iron and around an inch or a little bigger in diameter. It is also over six feet long and weighs 5,000 pounds! You have to use two hands to raise it up before slamming it down into the hole. It takes about 1,000 slams per one foot of hole plus wiggling it around to really loosen the rocks and dirt so you can bend over and pick up the post-hole digger to help remove all this stuff from your two-foot hole. One inch at a time.
It wasn’t long before I was thinking about how deep do I really have to make this hole? Would 20 inches down be enough? How about 18 inches? By the way, once you start with the first 24-inch post hole, they all must be the same depth. And straight. And plumb, no fair having the post leaning this way or that way.
It also helps to have the holes in the post facing the rails so you have someplace to put the rails into the posts! Also helps to have the posts located 10 feet apart if you have 10-foot rails, otherwise — whoops.
Then I find out that, after I dig down two feet and have removed the last of the loose dirt and rocks, this part requires you to get down on your hands and knees and reach down into the hole and use your hands to get it all out.
After all that, guess what? Now they want you to put about one-and-a-half inches of small pea-size gravel down the hole to help drain rain water and snowmelt away from the post so it won’t rot away over time. After I just took all those *#!@$&^ rocks out in the first place!
Finally, I am ready to set the first of five posts of my wonderful split-rail fence. I make sure it is plumb with my level — did I mention you need a level? Yup, you do, and some sort of a measuring tape is critical to this operation as well.
Now you can shovel the dirt back into the hole and, using the end of that heavy, long iron bar that has the round flat silver dollar, you start pounding the dirt down all around the post. All two feet of it.
This is also approximately 1,000 times you will pound the dirt back in place. I did it! I got one post done, only four more to go!
And one more tool is the most important of all: You must have another person to help you! Preferably, this person will be younger, tireless, and in shape. Not an OF!
I didn’t make it. I got four done, I have one more to go. Really tired. Exhausted. Time for a cold beer.
The OMOTM who made it to Mrs. K's for breakfast the next day were Harold Guest, Wally Guest, George Washburn, Wm. Lichliter, Roger Shafer, Roland Tozer, Frank A. Fuss, Mark Traver, Glenn Patterson, Joe Rack, Ken Parkes, Jim Austin, Chuck Batcher, Russ Pokorny, Warren Willsey, Pastor Jay Francis, Lou Schenck, Jerry Cross, John Jaz, Herb Bahrmann, John Dab, Paul Guiton, Bob Donnelly, Dave Hodges, Elwood Vanerbuilt, and me.
MIDDLEBURGH — The OMOTM traveled to the Middleburgh Diner on kind of a gray chilly morning, March 25, in search of a good hot cup of coffee and, in my case, a sausage omelette, home fries, and an English muffin. Tuesdays are hard on my diet.
Before I get to talking about Tuesday morning’s conversations, I have to mention an occurrence that happened last week at the Chuck Wagon Diner.
Three nice ladies arrived and seated themselves in an empty booth at the end of the room the OMOTM were in. Who were they? Why were they here? What’s going on? Were any or all of them related to any of the OMOTM?
The reason I didn’t mention this last week was because I felt I needed some answers first. It turns out that each of them is the great-granddaughter of three different very famous women: Anne, Belle, and Calamity.
One of the great-grandmothers was a sharpshooter extraordinaire and toured with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show. That was Anne Oakley.
Another great-grandmother was Belle Starr, an outlaw in her own right, who also knew and hid Frank and Jesse James and the Younger gang from the law, at her farm.
The third and last great-grandmother in this trio was Calamity Jane, who was an adventurer roaming the old west. She wore men’s clothing, swore just like the men in the U.S. Army that she was a scout for, and could drink them under the table. She worked with the Pony Express and she met and knew Wild Bill Hickok who himself was a spy and scout and a sharpshooter for the Union Army during the Civil War.
I wasn't able to gather much additional information regarding these three ladies but, if any of their ancestral lineage has survived in them to this day, then the OMOTM should know and take note of the background these women possess, whose great-grandmothers could out-ride, out-shoot, and at least one of them could out-drink us all.
It is my belief we should keep a sharp eye out for any strangers from the distaff side who may be the advance scouts for somebody’s wild west show. Who knows? I say, “Keep those flintlocks ready to repel the invasion of the distaff Army!”
Classic convertible coming soon
No advance distaff scouts were sighted this week at the Middleburgh Diner. One OF who just returned, (a bit early), from a quick get-warm vacation to the sunny south land is now all excited and is now impatiently counting the days to early April when he will drive with another OF to Virginia to pick up a classic convertible sports car and drive it back to the Hilltowns.
I am looking forward to that classic car as well because that particular OF is the man I carpool with. With any luck, he will let me drive it once, very slowly, in the empty parking lot of some shopping center. Remember that? Teaching our kids how to park in those parking lots?
Rising prices
Once again, the conversations turned to the cost of things today and of all the rules we have and the hoops we must jump through in today’s society versus yesterday’s. One OF talked about the cost of the windows he just had installed in his modest home to replace the older ones that had had their time in the sun long enough.
This house is an older ranch-style with a walk-out basement. He asked us to guess the cost. It was more than half the cost of my first home, which also was an older ranch-style house. Just to replace the windows!
I’m not suggesting that someone saw him coming. There were quite a few windows all around the house, which included two sliding glass doors on two levels. We all agreed that today’s modern, high quality windows and doors with a high “R” insulating factor are not the cheapest things you can have installed.
The labor alone to remove all the old windows and doors and install the new requires a large crew and special tools and equipment to say nothing about the cost of new windows themselves. But it does get your attention. Be prepared to take a deep breath or two.
We have mentioned before, you can’t expect to get today’s service and products at yesterday’s prices.
Opening camps
With the coming of warmer weather, the conversation turned to the lowering of our fuel bill for heating our homes, which led to talk about opening up the various camps and summer places.
One OF mentioned the issues he has getting heating oil to his camp. In the beginning, these camps were unheated summertime-only places. We have talked about how they are much more than a July and August place now. Now they need heat.
This OF’s camp is located across a small single-lane bridge not much longer than my car. Sort of a homemade bridge made of wood from back in the day. Oil delivery trucks can’t and won’t cross it. Way too small. The truck would crash down into the small creek under it as soon as the front wheels got on the bridge.
Those OFs who didn’t crash on the way to the Middleburgh Diner were Harold Guest, Walley Guest, Ed Goff, George Washburn, Wm. Lichliter, Frank A. Fuss, Miner Stevens, Pastor Jay Francis, Jim Gardner, Herb Bahrmann, Jack Norray, Jerry Cross, Dick Dexter, Lou Schenck, Warren Willsey, Chuck Batcher, Russ Pokorny, and me.
DELANSON — A taste of spring! It may only be one day, but a very good taste it is, blue sky, nearly 70 degrees, it might even reach and beat the record of 70 degrees. Then colder tomorrow, but the trend is for the temperatures to keep getting warmer.
Now that we have daylight saving, the days are obviously lighter longer but the sunrise suffered a setback. Even with that setback, we shall enjoy the rest of the good news regarding the weather.
A pretty sunrise was happening just as we arrived at Gibby's Diner on March 11. I knew it was going to be a happy breakfast for at least one OF when I saw a brand new, and very clean, totally electric, bright red car pull up and park, front and center, like he owned the place. A great day to drive your new car on clear, clean, and dry roads.
When he came in, we acknowledged his good looking new car. He said thanks, then he said something about the GPS in the car and his fingers not hitting the right buttons. The first thing that came to my mind was, “Why are you messing with the GPS? The OMOTM have been going to the same diners for quite a while and none of us have ever gotten lost.”
Of course, I knew why, because I would do the same thing if I had a new car that had new toys in it. Gotta check the stuff out. The OF knows perfectly well how to get to Gibby’s Diner, but does the GPS know? That’s the question.
Let’s set this thing up and see if it takes me the same way I travel. If it passes that test, then maybe I’ll trust it to guide me to someplace I haven’t visited before. Maybe.
Of course, this led our table into a rather extended discussion of our adventures involving our respective GPSs. Most of these stories were humorous, involving the old computer saying, “Garbage in equals garbage out.”
Also a lack of a clear understanding of how much information is required, in what order, on which menu page. For instance, you just can’t put an address for 123 Main St., Albany. On some GPSs, you must put in the state or you may be getting directions for Albany, Georgia or Albany, Washington — there are lots of places named Albany in the USA.
On my GPS, it doesn’t want to know the city, just the state. And, if I input both, it just stops working altogether and I have to back out of where I am.
Usually we all agreed that most of the time we just turned it off and started over again while trying desperately to remember where it was when the fatal mistake was committed.
Then there are the cell phones. They have GPS built in and cars now come equipped with GPS, which is as common as the steering wheel. The full color display screen is bigger than my first black-and-white TV.
And they talk to each other! I think you can just talk to your cellphone GPS and ask it how to get someplace and, of course, it will show and tell you everything you need to know on its own screen.
Someone else on their computer located anywhere in the world can send the info to your cell. Your cell phone will give the information to your car’s GPS system, and then, if you have a car that drives itself, you can just recline your seat, fluff your pillow, and tell your GPS to wake you upon arrival.
Of course, that computer could have just communicated directly with your car. At about that point in the conversation, I started to concentrate on eating my breakfast of ham and eggs.
This stuff really is great. One of the OFs at the table told the story of his GPS informing him of an accident ahead and of a detour he could take to avoid it. He followed the advice of the GPS, and found himself traveling along a parallel road to the road he was on.
When he looked over, he saw the ambulance just arriving at the accident. His GPS obviously got the same message at the same time as the first responders. Amazing.
I had two similar experiences with my earlier GPS — mine was not built into the car. It started to suggest I take the next exit, and it suggested this several times.
Back then, it didn’t talk to me, just suggested taking the next exit. It knew where I was, and knew the next exit number and, since I had programmed it as to where I was going, it knew how to get me there. Of course, I ignored all the suggestions and breezed right on by the exit and then read an overhead sign that told me of an accident ahead.
Too late. I was soon stuck in a traffic jam for miles! The second time this same suggestion came to me months later, I paid attention and got off and did not end up in a traffic jam.
More GPS stories next week, one of which involves the classic line, “You mean there was no there, there?”
This week, we were there there at Gibby’s Diner, with or without GPS help, and those present were Wally Guest, Harold Guest, Ed Goff, Frank A. Fuss, George Washburn, Wm Lichliter, Jamey Darrah, Marty Herzog, Russ Pokorny, Jim Gardner, Warren Willsey, Mark Traver, Joe Rack, Roland Tozer, Pastor Jay Francis, John Williams, Lou Schenck, Gerry Cross, Herb Bahrmann, Jack Norray, John Jaz, Paul Guiton, John Dab, Elwood Vanderbilt, Dave Hodgetts, Bob Donnelly, Jake Herzog, and me.
SCHOHARIE — The Old Men of the Mountain met at the Your Way Café in Schoharie on March 4 with gray skies and temperatures climbing into the upper 40s. Tomorrow it may reach 50 degrees while it rains most of the day.
Every day that it doesn't snow is a good day at this stage of the winter. I have even heard from some of our OFs in Florida talking about returning soon. I had a couple of red-wing blackbirds at my feeders this weekend. That's a good sign. No robins yet.
We enjoyed the return of one of our OFs who didn't fly south but has been away for a while. Sometimes, when the snow and ice and zero-degree temperatures and darkness and the wind and Father Time all kind of combine to tell us something that sounds a lot like, “Hey OMOTM, this just might be a good time to stay home for a while,” we should listen.
We didn’t arrive at this stage in our journey just to slip and fall and break a hip or catch the flu or COVID. Or, should we say, let the flu or COVID catch us. Just last week, I mentioned one of our OFs was back after he had slipped on the ice and broke his leg. It happens so fast.
Remember a couple weeks ago when I was considering asking a younger OF to pick me up and drive to the OMOTM breakfast because of the ice and snow in my driveway? Well, a package was delivered to my house this weekend and I went to pick it up.
I took one step on that icy driveway and down I went down in a flash, and I knew that ice was there! It just takes a little longer for some of us to learn things. I learned two things: Ice can be really slippery and it is hard!
A fun story overheard at one of the tables was about one of our OFs who was in the hospital as a kid. He was recounting the story of the food being served.
He said the food was all right; it was just that he didn’t like some of it, like spinach. He also said, if you wanted seconds, you first had to eat everything on your plate. That sound familiar to anyone?
Well, he said there was one overweight kid there that liked everything. So our OF, and others, would give him the food they didn’t like and then present their clean plates for seconds of what they did like.
How long have we all been finding ways around the rules? From hiding the peas under the lip of our plates at home to fooling the hospital with our clean plates?
A long time, I suspect, for all of us in one form or another, and no, I will not give out any personal examples. However, if any OF wishes to confess to a thing or two, you know where I sit on any given Tuesday.
Fat Tuesday
March 4 was also Fat Tuesday, otherwise known as Mardi Gras. Mardi Gras is the French name for the festive day celebrated in France on Shrove Tuesday, which is the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday, which marks the close of the pre-Lenten carnival season.
The “fat” comes from the custom of using all the fats in the home before Lent in preparation for fasting and abstinence. Mardi Gras is a Christian tradition celebrated worldwide with the first celebration in America taking place in Mobile, Alabama in 1703.
It wasn't until 1831 that it really heated up and got going. New Orleans is the place to be for the biggest celebration in the United States today. Although it is still a huge event in Mobile with dozens of parades and balls every year.
Mr. Google also told me about the beads. There are three colors: gold, green, and purple. They represent power, faith, and justice and are commonly distributed throughout the carnival, usually tossed from the floats.
A special kind of cake is consumed during the carnival. It is called a king cake. It is circular, sweet, and there is a gift of a small toy or a tiny plastic baby Jesus hidden inside. Whoever finds this gift inside their piece of king cake officially becomes “King for a Day” and must also supply the season’s next king cake, or host the next party!
In addition, I learned about the masks that are worn. Wearing masks is a traditional part of Mardi Gras. There are several reasons people wear these masks. Not at all surprising, is that some of those reasons have their roots in religion.
Originally, masks were also worn so that people of all classes could mingle freely. The servants, employees, slaves, everyone, had the day off to celebrate. Everyone was equal behind those masks. Cool idea.
The three classes of OMOTM (old, older, oldest) present on Tuesday and not wearing masks while enjoying breakfast at the Your Way Café in Schoharie were Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Ed Goff, Glenn Patterson, Mark Traver, Joe Rack, Miner Stevens, Frank A. Fuss, Roland Tozer, Marty Herzog, Wm Lichliter, George Washburn, Warren Willsey, Russ Pokorny, Jim Gardner, Pastor Jay Francis, Gary Burghoff, Jamey Darrah, Jack Norray, Gerry Cross, Dick Dexter, John Jazz, Henry Whipple, Lou Schenck, Herb Bahrmann, Bob Donnelly, Dave Hodgetts, John Dab, Paul Guiton, Dave Wood, and me.
MIDDLEBURGH — Cold. Colder. Coldest. Windy. Windier. Windiest.
A small group of OMOTM arrived Tuesday morning, Feb. 18, at the Middleburgh Diner. The winter is taking its toll.
Between the single-digit temperatures, the 60+ miles-per-hour wind, some ice and snow, Florida’s promise of warm weather, and doctor appointments, you know what you get? A modest number of OFs showing up for breakfast today.
Even I was tempted to stay home on Tuesday morning. Those thoughts started to enter my mind on Monday — with the temps remaining in the single digits, the wind howling, it gets going pretty fast at the south end of a frozen north-south lake. Rule #1: Don’t live at the south end of a north-south lake on a windy day.
I was in no mood to go outside and snowblow my driveway. We didn’t get much snow from the last big snowstorm that under-performed again. The approximately two inches of snow that did arrive was horizontal what with the wind and all. I don’t know where the snow finally came to rest, but it wasn’t in my driveway.
Even if I did go out and use the snowblower on what little ice and snow there was, with the wind blowing, the driveway would just drift over again in short order. Which leads me to Rule # 2: Don’t have an east-west driveway at the end of a north-south lake
I car-pool with another OF and it was my turn to drive this week so I decided to see how my car would handle the snow-packed driveway that I had failed to clear after the last two-inch blizzard.
I started to email him to ask if he would pick me up this week even though it was my turn to drive. I can do that because Frank is way younger than I and young guys always like to show that nothing stops them and they always like to help the old guys out.
They also don't miss the opportunity to tell us it would be “no problem” and it would be “his pleasure” to come get me in his big four-wheel-drive pickup that I need a stepladder to climb into (as compared to my 10-year-old two-wheel-drive Honda CRV. He would be happy to pick me up, “anytime.”
Anyway, I decided to see how my car would perform, so I stopped writing the email to go and check it out. It was at this time that my 4 foot, 11 inch vertically challenged daughter informed me that I wasn't going anywhere.
She told me that the garage door was frozen shut! It wouldn’t open. Rule # 3: Don’t have your garage door facing north into the wind at the south end of a north-south frozen lake.
Well! Now the shoe is on the other foot! I am the father, I am Pop, I am the hero, I can do anything, and I have, many times. Once again, it is time to saddle up and ride to the rescue. Usually I have my trusty companion with me, but that roll of duct tape was frozen solid in my unheated garage.
My other daughter gave me a birthday card last year that says, “There's Nothing that Dad and Duct Tape Can’t Fix.”
One of my grandsons gave me a baseball hat that reads, “DUCT TAPE DOUG” across the front.
Ah yes, the respect that flows from our children and grandchildren, the younger generation, to the OMOTM types, the older generation, just makes the goose bumps jump out all over the place! Good thing it is always accompanied with a lot of love.
So out into the cold garage I went. I first confirmed that the door was, indeed, frozen shut. Sometimes kids are mistaken.
I then set about scientifically fixing the problem, which involved vigorously kicking the bottom of the door while simultaneously clicking the electric garage door opener. It worked.
So now that the door was open, I got in the car and drove out the driveway and turned around and drove back in, no problem. Even the small pile of snow and ice at the end of the driveway left by the town snowplow proved to be just a speed bump.
I unsaddled my horse, rubbed him down, gave him his feed bag, and went back into the house and deleted the email to the OF asking for help. That really means I closed the garage door and went into the house, bragging that I fixed the frozen door.
So I remain the hero that can fix anything. The OF will have to tell me how old I am another day. I then sat down and rubbed my toes on my right foot because they were a little sore from kicking the door.
Oh, before I go, if you really want to know what the OMOTM talked about other than the cold and wind? There was an extended conversation all about car heaters. Imagine that.
Do you know the Nash, made by American Motors, was the last car manufacturer to still offer the car-heater as an option? It was standard equipment for all the other cars by that time.
The limited number of OFs who decided to make it to breakfast this week were: Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Ed Goff who had to leave early to take his grandson to work (another hero in action), Frank A. Fuss, Jamey Darrah, Wm Lichliter, Pastor Jay Francis, Warren Willsey, Gerry Cross, Jack Norray, Dick Dexter, John Jaz, Herb Bahrmann, and me.
DUANESBURG — We always look forward to the fine service and great food we enjoy at each and every one of the cafés and diners and the one kitchen we travel to on succeeding Tuesdays. Chris’s Chuck Wagon Diner in Duanesburg where we found ourselves this week, on Feb. 11, is no exception.
Right off the bat, we are in a good mood as the days are getting longer.
The days may be getting a little longer but it is still cold and has been for quite a while. The lakes and ponds are frozen. In fact, the ice on Warner’s Lake (after checking) was determined to be more than thick enough to safely hold the motorcycles, with their studded tires, for some races out on the ice.
First, the snow was cleared away and a race track was created and then the fun began. A nice crowd of both spectators and contestants watched from shore and from out on the ice as well. The parking lot at The Maple On The Lake restaurant was pretty full of pickups and trailers and customers.
Motorcycles were not the only things running around on Saturday. There was no shortage of snowmobiles, ATVs, and cars, all out there sliding around having a good time. Even ice fishermen were out there. I don't know how successful they were, but they were there. A good time was had by all.
Adult accomplishments
Near the end of last week’s column, I mentioned the our own OF, Mark Traver, was the man who played the role of Revolutionary War hero Timothy Murphy, greeting hikers at the top of Vroman’s Nose all dressed up in buckskins, coonskin hat, moccasins, and carrying his vintage “long rifle.”
That prompted our scribe emeritus, John Williams, to drop me a note saying he remembered those days and enjoyed the picture of Mark as Tim. It also stirred some memories of when he was a member of the Village Volunteers Fife and Drum Corps for many years. They even formed a militia that marched with the corps. (John served as president of both.) They went all over the area performing.
That got me to thinking: What about what the OMOTM did as young adults that today's readers of this column might find interesting and may even cause them to mutter, “I'll be damned, that’s pretty cool.”
Y’all got to remember this is the bunch of OFs with many who still go riding on their motorcycles. Maybe not racing on the ice this weekend, but definitely not spending their time sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch.
I asked a few of them at breakfast on Tuesday about what they might have done in their adult life that might surprise a few people. One long-time OF told me he was still a member of a bagpiper’s organization that performs all over and in parades. As the years go by, as has been mentioned before, parts of our bodies sort of wear out a little, so he is not as active today as he once was.
Another OF was proud to recall his active volunteer time spent working on the final section of the “Long Path,” which is a hiking trail stretching from the George Washington Bridge in New York City to the Mohawk River after passing through the Schoharie Valley, including Vroman’s Nose and several Hilltown communities such as Middleburgh and Cotton Hill, before entering the state lands in Berne, and then following the Helderberg ridge.
Another OF spoke of teaching adults how to swim at one of the public baths in downtown Albany. He also mentioned, with a certain amount of pride and satisfaction, his work as a volunteer in the heart rehabilitation program at a hospital in North Carolina.
So many connections
I find it amazing to see how seemingly totally separate and distinct events can touch so many of us in big and small ways. To recount my own recent convoluted journey of how things can touch us in unexpected ways, I am interested in learning about early American history and the area where I live.
I went to a lecture on the last glacier age and how it affected the Hudson River School of Art. That's where I learned about Vroman’s Nose and the striations left behind by the glaciers 10,000 years ago. I just had to go see them for myself, so I did.
Turns out that a Vroman, Colonel Peter Vroman, was commanding the forces at what we now call the Old Stone Fort in Middleburgh. He and our hero, Tim Murphy, of the Battle of Saratoga fame and future resident in the Schoharie Valley, fought together, repelling the British and Indians in their attack on the fort. There is a museum now at the Old Storm Fort that is a bucket list item for me this summer.
Tim Murphy was part of the famed Morgan’s Riflemen during the war. After the war, General Daniel Morgan built a grist mill near Winchester, Pennsylvania where one of our own OMOTM members grew up, knowing the family and the mill very well. In fact, our OF was a member of the Morgan's Riflemen Corps and participated in many re-enactment events. He owns his own “long rifle“ and period military uniform.
So many connections to so many things right here in the Hilltowns and the OMOTM. I find it fascinating, and I have the feeling that I haven’t even scratched the surface.
Those OMOTM who made it to breakfast on Tuesday are: Harold Guest (Long Path), Wally Guest, Hon. Albert E. Raymond, Frank A. Fuss, Wm Lichliter (Morgan’s rifleman), Pastor Jay Francis, George Washburn, John R. Williams (scribe emeritus and fife & drum), Roger Shafer, Mark Traver, Joe Rack, Lou Schenck (bagpiper), Jamie Darrah, Warren Willsey, Paul Whitbeck, Marty Herzog, Jack Norray, John Jaz, Herb Bahrman, Dick Dexter, Gerry Cross, Paul Guiton, Elwood Vanderbilt, Bob Donnelly, Dave Hodgetts, John Dab, and me.
— Photo by Brandie Spohn
Mark Traver, one of the Old Men of the Mountain, plays the role of Revolutionary War hero Tim Murphy, greeting hikers at the top of Vroman’s Nose in Schoharie County.
DELANSON — On Feb. 5, the OMOTM headed for Gibby’s Diner at 10040 Duanesburg Road, which is Route 7 in Quaker Street, which is almost part of Delanson, which is almost part of Duanesburg. Y’all got all that? Yes, there will be a test.
And we got there on time again. We are always on time for breakfast, no matter which diner we are at that morning.
As I was among the first to walk into “our” room, I took the time to observe which OF went to what table and once there, which chair he occupied. Like I suggested a week or two ago, all you would have to do is tell any one of us which diner we are at, blindfold us at the entrance, and we could walk to our regular table and sit in our regular chair without bumping into anything.
I move around sometimes; it’s my job. As I sat at the table on Tuesday, the conversation mentioned a particular OF that we didn’t see come in, and we all looked at the table where he always sits! Sure enough, he was not there.
So, not only does the individual OMOTM know where he is going, so does everyone else! We even park our cars and pickups in the same place or area each week.
One of our OFs bought a new all-electric car a few weeks ago and it is still sitting in his garage with little or no miles on it yet. Why is that, you ask?
His answer was that he didn’t want to get it all dirty with the snow and slush and salt and sand that is on the roads. He will wait until the roads are clear, clean, and dry before he takes it out. We didn’t blame him, because we all remember how we treated our own new cars.
Then he told us how he was headed to court because of a speeding ticket he got. He then received all kinds of advice as to how to plead; did he have a lawyer? How fast was he going?
He did say he wasn't going that much over the limit and was hoping he could plead guilty to a lesser charge as he has a perfectly clean license. I’ll let you know.
He also got a jury-duty summons. He went as he was supposed to, and, when asked if he could be fair and impartial, he told the judge he would try, but he did feel that the defendant was guilty. He was dismissed.
This started a whole round of humorous jury-duty stories. One of the best of them again occurred when the judge asked the same question about being capable of being fair and impartial.
At the end of the OF’s rather lengthy answer, both the defense attorney and the prosecution attorney emphatically said they did not want our OF on the jury. The judge agreed and dismissed him.
Our OF then proudly asked the rest of us around the table, “How often do you think that happens, when both attorneys and the judge all agree that they don't want you on the jury?”
But getting back to the OF with the new electric car and the speeding ticket, he just wasn’t having a very good week. In addition to those issues, he put one brand new expensive leather winter glove on the table next to himself. Just one. Not a pair.
Of course, it took no time at all for someone to ask the question, “What happened to the other glove?”
Now that is a rather simple, straightforward question. It could have been answered (and should have been) with three words, “I lost it.”
Fresh from hearing, and obviously inspired by, the previous OF’s lengthy story about getting dismissed from jury duty, we got the whole story. Just about dating back to birth of this particular cow, buffalo, deer, or whatever it was, maybe a moose or elk. (Elk gloves would be cool, hard to find this side of the Mississippi.)
Sadly, our OF only got to wear them for part of one day before he lost one.
Remember when our mothers would sew a string on our mittens with the other end sewed to our coat when we were little so we wouldn't lose them? We are not little anymore.
We are the famous, renowned Old Men of the Mountain! We do not lose one glove, and, if we do, we make up a tall tale about how we heroically lost it while saving a damsel in distress in the tower surrounded by a moat full of alligators!
Hero comes to life
Just a note to flesh out last week’s column regarding Revolutionary War hero Mr. Timothy Murphy.
Our own member, Mark Traver, was a member of the Vroman’s Nose Preservation Corps and said the corps used to have an annual hike up the Nose in September when “Tim” would show up to greet the visitors at the top.
Mark pulled double duty as he posed as Tim Murphy in a period outfit with his vintage long rifle. He sent me a couple pictures.
This morning’s attendance does not include one member who is out there somewhere looking for his lost glove: Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Ed Goff, George Washburn, Wm Lichliter, Frank A. Fuss, Jamey Darrah, Jim Gardner, Russ Pokorny, Marty Herzog, Glenn (spelled with two “n’s”) Patterson, Roger Shafer, Joe Rack, Pastor Jay Francis, Mark “Tim Murphy” Traver, Lou Schenck, Gerry Cross, Jack Norray, John Jaz, Dick Dexter, John Dab, Paul Guiton, Henry Whipple, Dave Hodgetts, Elwood Vanderbilt, Bob Donnelly, Herb Bahrmann, and me.
— Photo by Sergeant Bender
A monument to Timothy Murphy stands in the Middleburgh Cemetery.
SCHOHARIE — The weatherman said there would be a short snow squall sweeping through at the exact time, 6:30 to 7 a.m. on Jan. 28, that the OMOTM would be driving to the Your Way Café in Schoharie. The weatherman was right, and the OMOTM were on their way. A little snow squall doesn’t even slow us down!
Our Scribe Emeritus, John Williams, was slowed down this past week and it was reported he spent a short amount of time in the hospital getting checked out. I think he spent about as much time in the hospital as it took that quickie snow squall to blow through.
He was heard to say something to the effect of, “All I did was sleep, and when I got home I was exhausted!”
That sounds about like our Scribe.
I have a whole bunch of good topics to write about this week. They range from jury duty stories, to a new electric-car purchase, to finally cutting the cable, to heated winter gloves, to one OF who just bought a nice pair of winter gloves and promptly lost one of them the first day he had them. I think one OF knew all about the lost glove but was waiting to see if a reward was being offered.
However, the star topic of the morning was all about a man called Timothy Murphy, a man from way back in the days of the Revolutionary War.
I was reading about something totally unrelated to Mr. Murphy when I had reason to check something out, so naturally, I googled it. In the process of that, I ran across Mr. Timothy Murphy.
The headline about him started off with, “Revolutionary War Hero.” Turns out, good ol’ Tim was an “expert marksman,” which is defined as being “able to hit a seven inch target at 250 yards.”
When the Revolutionary War started, Tim and his brother enlisted with the Northumberland County Riflemen and they saw action in the Siege of Boston, the Battle of Long Island, and “skirmishing in Winchester,” Pennsylvania.
Tim was promoted to sergeant in the Continental Army’s 12th Pennsylvania Regiment and fought at the battles of Trenton and Princeton. Because of his skill as an expert rifleman, Tim joined the newly formed Morgan’s Riflemen.
Subsequently, he was one of 500 hand-picked men to go with General Daniel Morgan to upstate New York to help stop General John Burgoyne at the battles around Saratoga.
Benedict Arnold, well before he became a traitor, is said to have pointed out English Brigadier-General Simon Fraser to General Morgan and said that he, Fraser, was worth a regiment. At that point, General Morgan called on Murphy to do his job and take Fraser out, whereupon Murphy climbed a tree, and at the extreme distance of 300 yards, shot and killed Brigadier-General Fraser while he was on his horse. Murphy took out Fraser's chief aide-de-camp as well.
Timothy Murphy was a major player in the lesser known, but important to the OMOTM, Battle of Middle Fort in the Schoharie Valley in 1780 (now called the Old Stone Fort in Middletown). On Oct 17th, British, Tory, and Indian forces led by Sir John Johnson and Chief Joseph Brant attacked the fort with Murphy being credited with being essential to the defense of the fort.
Allow me to quote from Wikipedia about a local hero that virtually all of the OMOTM knew about except me. But I do now!
“Having already been admired as a hero of the Battle of Saratoga, he was able to largely partake in repelling attackers and leaving the residents unharmed. As the story goes, Murphy fired upon British forces that were coming to discuss the rebel surrender of the fort.
“Refusing to be taken prisoner, Murphy continued firing upon them, disregarding orders of a superior. This action led to the decision of the British command to back off of the fort and continue onward. Much of the folklore surrounding Murphy comes from his ability as a rifleman, and his dedication as a patriot.”
This is just another true story about the fabulous history of our wonderful country that surrounds all of us that live, work, and play in the mountains and Hilltowns of the Hudson River Valley. Without the Timothy Murphys of our land, there would be no George Washington or Abraham Lincoln for us to honor.
I have previously mentioned that there are many surnames of current Hilltown residents on many of those headstones that date to the Revolutionary times. These markers may be found in the many family plots and cemeteries throughout the Hilltowns, and some of those families are currently represented among the OMOTM who get together each week for breakfast.
Some OMOTM roots run very deep and travel a long way back in time.
Speaking of breakfast, the following OMOTM made it through the snow squall to the Your Way Café where everyone except me and maybe one or two others already knew all about Mr. Timothy Murphy. They are: Mr. Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Hon Albert E. Raymond, Frank A. Fuss, Roland Tozer, George Washburn, Wm Lichliter, Joe Rack, Roger Shafer, Mark Traver, Russ Pokorny, Jim Gardner, Glen Patterson, Lou Schenck, John Jaz, Jack Norray, Gerry Cross, Herb Bahrmann, John Dab, Paul Guiton, Elwood Vanderbilt, Bob Donnelly, Dave Hodgetts, Jamey Darrah, and me.
— Photo from Mike McCagg of BOCES
Alyssa Lawyer, Mrs. K’s granddaughter, is studying culinary arts at BOCES so that she can eventually run the family business in Middleburgh. “I plan to go to work for my grandmother’s restaurant — Mrs. K’s Kitchen — on Main Street. One day, I hope to take it over,” she said. The Old Men of the Mountain had breakfast at Mrs. K’s on Jan. 21 as part of their regular rotation.
MIDDLEBURGH — “How far below zero was the temperature at your house?” This was the prevailing question that opened most of the conversations around the tables at Mrs. K's Kitchen on this very cold Tuesday morning, Jan. 21.
Of course there was one OF who insisted that this wasn’t cold. The rest of his sentence started with, “I remember when, back in ’35, when it was minus 10 degrees for a month!” And the tall tales began again around the tables. The OMOTM are really good at this form of entertainment.
It also led to some age-old questions, such as, “Why is it that my snowblower starts with one pull when there is no snow on the driveway, and then my arm will fall off before it starts up on a cold snowy morning?”
Another question about the relative merits of using dry gas in a snowblower resulted in a rather complicated bunch of answers until some OFs mentioned that you should also have regular gas in combination with the dry gas. That led to a discussion of what ratio of dry gas to regular gas, etc., etc.
Here in the mountains and Hilltowns outside of the valley, the OMOTM enjoy the popular driving pastime of trying to avoid hitting things, like deer. One OF told the story of how this past week, while driving down in the flatlands, in the suburb of Guilderland, heading west just past the only stoplight and gas station, he managed to lose the game in a rather spectacular fashion.
He hit not one, but two deer at the same time! A buck and a doe.
The buck bounced off his fender and landed on its back in the middle of his hood, slid off onto the ground, got up, looked around for the doe. She had also bounced off the fender but did not fly upside down to land somewhere on his car; instead, she just had the wind knocked out of her.
She fell down, got her breath back, and continued running off between two houses. The buck saw her and was last seen chasing after her. Our OF was now shaking his head as he examined his beat up fender and dented hood.
He was heard to mutter, “I wasn’t expecting that to happen in a residential neighborhood.” (Having grown up in Delmar and Slingerlands, I could have told him a few stories, especially if some of your neighbors had an apple tree!)
Getting back to the conversations about cold weather, a few sorta related topics ensued. Thermostats and heating systems was one of these topics. When I moved into my house, I was impressed by the heating system that the previous owners had installed.
The house came with a high efficiency (plus 95 percent) liquefied petroleum gas boiler using both hot-water baseboard and radiant heating systems. I have heating zones, which I really like.
I can keep the two small guest bedrooms very cool in the winter, and my bedroom is also cool. In the loft where my computer is located, I keep it nice and warm as well as the main rooms downstairs. Programmable thermostats control these zones.
It is not a big house, just a bunch of smaller rooms that are the result of adding this or that over the years from when the house started out its life as a small two-bedroom camp on Warner’s Lake in 1952.
I have these wiz-bang thermostats that I have no idea how to program, so I am constantly adjusting them trying to save money. Looking at my latest heating bill, my efforts are not working. Not even close. With all this great equipment, my heating bills should make me the envy of the neighborhood. Nope.
Most of the rest of my OMOTM friends are in the same place as me. I think most of them have older thermostats and just leave them alone. Good idea, I’ll get there shortly, just as soon as I forget that I used to be smart about these things. At the rate I’m going, that should be sometime next week.
Silver King
A few months ago I wrote a column that involved an old farm tractor that had three wheels and was called a Silver King. One of the OMOTM, Joe Rack, gave me a very nice detailed metal image of the Silver King about two inches long by one and a half inches high.
It is like something you might put on the refrigerator door except it is not a magnet. It looks like it may have been made to hold the keys to the tractor. (I don't even know if they used keys in those days. I’ll ask.)
Anyway, I have it. Now I am wondering if Joe was just showing me what the three-wheeled Silver King looked like, or if he meant for me to keep it.
I can just imagine how he might have felt when I walked away with it. Probably thinking or muttering out loud, “How the hell did that happen? I was just showing him what that tractor he wrote about looked like, and he kept it!’”
Joe, I promise, I'll be at the Your Way Cafe next week and give it back to you if I did make a huge mistake.
Those OMOTM who didn't make a mistake about getting together at Mrs. K’s Kitchen were: Wally Guest, Harold Guest, Ed Goff, Hon. Albert E. Raymond, Jamey Darrah, Michael Kruzinski, Roland Tozer, Frank A. Fuss, Mark Traver, Joe Rack, Glenn Patterson, Wm Lichliter, George Washburn, John Jaz, Gerry Cross, Jack Norray, Herb Bahrmann, Dick Dexter, Lou Schenck, John Williams, Russ Pokorny, Warren Willsey, Jim Gardner, Bob Donnelly, Elwood Vandererbilt, Dave Hodgetts, John Dab, Paul Guiton, and me.
MIDDLEBURGH — The OMOTM traveled to the Middleburgh Diner on Jan. 14 and I enjoyed my waffle with one egg over easy and two link sausages and plenty of good hot coffee. I waited a whole week for that waffle, and it did not disappoint. Ordering the waffle did start another conversation about “real” maple syrup and the “other” maple syrup.
That conversation started me thinking about asking one of the proprietors of one of the several establishments here in the Hilltown area that make, or rather, produce “real” maple syrup to join the OMOTM for a free breakfast and give us a short talk on how the process works.
Just for my own information, I asked my old friend, Mr. Google, what do you call a place that makes maple syrup. To quote Mr. Google, “A place that makes maple syrup is called a sugar house, sugar shack, or sugar cabin. The process of making maple syrup is called sugaring.”
I know that early each spring, this industry gets its act together and goes to work and that several of them are open to the public for tours or at least encourage the public to visit to learn about the maple-syrup-making process and by the way, they will even sell you some new maple syrup fresh from their own “sugar shack.”
I even thought I might revive an old OMOTM custom of an occasional field trip, and visit the sugar shack of our speaker when it is in operation this spring. We shall see.
The Beer Fridge
A topic of refrigerators came up at one of the tables. Not new ones. Old ones that still work but are no longer able to handle the requirements of a growing family or maybe it is just time for a model that has an ice maker.
I don’t mean just four or five ice cube trays that don’t even match, I mean a real ice-cube maker, or how about a cold-water dispenser, or maybe you are tired of looking at that 25-year-old avocado-colored refrigerator that just keeps working and will not die.
Maybe you would just settle for a new frost-free refrigerator, painted in a new modern color, that you don’t have to manually defrost anymore.
Whatever the reason, you now have an old refrigerator that still runs and you just can’t bring yourself to throw it out. What to do with it?
Give it to the kids? That's a good idea. But sometimes they are not too excited about your 25-year-old avocado refrigerator that once held baby pictures of them, held on the door with magnets. Don’t get mad or upset with your daughter or daughter-in-law when you find out that they are not bashful about expressing their negative opinion, in a polite way, of course.
So, in the meantime, the old fridge has been relegated to the garage and somehow, some way, magically and thoroughly mysteriously, a six-pack of beer has appeared inside, and it is cold! Soon after, a couple six-packs of soda and three more six-packs of beer are in there to replace the original six-pack that didn’t last long.
Thus, The Beer Refrigerator is born! Soon that extra milk is there. Leftover turkey from Thanksgiving finds its way to the Beer Fridge in the garage. Some frozen food also arrives in the top freezer.
When you can't find it, or any food item for that matter, someone is going to use the new household phrase, “Did you check the beer fridge in the garage?”
Now, some beer refrigerators are found in the basement next to the workshop or washer and drier, where, if you are exceptionally lucky, the colors match!
Now that old refrigerator you couldn’t give away, has once again risen in stature to the prominence it once held, albeit, it is now in the basement or garage. It is indispensable! You can’t live without the old beer fridge. Then, the inevitable happens, it dies. Finally.
It is now a crisis! You are not going to buy another new refrigerator. The new one is still new. But you have to act promptly. Maybe someone, who doesn’t know the value of a beer refrigerator, has an old, perfectly good refrigerator they want to get rid of fast.
Just give them a couple of bucks and go take it off their hands and put it right where your old beer fridge was. Who cares if the door opens the other way? You can fix that. Yeah, I know, the color is wrong, but nobody cares! It’s a beer refrigerator! We are back in business. Life is good.
I did a quick survey of the OFs present at the Middleburgh Diner on Tuesday morning to see how many had a beer refrigerator. I was surprised to find the ratio was around 60 percent to 40 percent against having a beer refrigerator.
I was expecting a ratio of about 80 percent to 20 percent in favor of having a beer refrigerator. Could this be a phenomenon that we age out of? Could be. Food for thought. Another column, another time. I'll ask my friend, Mr. Google; he knows everything. I'll let you know.
All this talk about beer has made me thirsty. I think I’ll go out to the garage and open the beer fridge and see if I can find a beer behind the extra milk, lettuce, potatoes, soda, etc. Those OMOTM joining in this discussion Tuesday morning were: Harold Guest, Wally Guest, Ed Goff, Hon Albert Raymond, Roland Tozer, Frank A. Fuss, Marty Herzog, Jamey Darrah, Wm Lichliter, George Washburn, Russ Pokorny, Frank Burns, Jack Norray, Herb Bahrmann, Gerry Cross, John Jazz, Dick Dexter, Lou Schenck, and me.