Posts Tagged → Summer
A Day for Mourning…Doves
Satiricist + pianist + comedian-ist + mathematician-ist + Harvard-ist from a long distant past when a degree from racist + fakist + indoctrinationist Harvard used to mean something Tom Lehrer died the other day. He was 97 years old, and apparently laughing and humor were good for him, gave him longevity. Or maybe long life was due to him not having kids. Or being married…
Tom Lehrer’s silly music was a fixture on a radio show I was fixated on as a kid, from age nine to probably nineteen, called the Doctor Demento Show. This very silly, often demented, and highly entertaining show was the audio version of Mad Magazine, also a fixture of my mis-spent youth. My youth happened at a time when kids did actually read things to entertain ourselves. There were no videos, no constant and endless television shows, or, the horror, mind-evaporating video games. Mad Magazine was low brow humor, and forcefully informed two generations of American boys about the man-eating birds, killer bees, and fake female breasts available for only ninety-nine cents.
Aside from being chock full of hilarious and acidly cruel parody, long before Hollywooders started taking themselves seriously, Mad Magazine also had ads for mail order “variety” stores. For a pittance, these stores would sell kids fake vomit that was sure to make your mom jump sky high when strategically placed on her mother’s Persian rug. Also sold were palm buzzers, whoopie cushions sure to embarrass your mother’s friends over for tea, and toothpicks soaked in nitroglycerin.
Toothpicks soaked in nitroglycerin, you ask?
Yes, America was once such a cool and free country that little kids could buy through the mail from demented strangers things soaked in genuine high explosive in order to terrorize family pets and grandpas smoking their pipes or cigars. These explosive toothpick slivers came in an innocuous, small, round steel tin, and their gist was for demented youngsters to slip one into the end of a cigarette, cigar, or the stem of grandpa’s pipe, and then sit back and mock the unfortunate recipient of the inevitable explosion. Just the touch of a match or lighter flame was needed to set them off. They were truly explosive.
For one summer I did indeed use these things against my dad and my Papa Morris, to my great mirth and to their unforgiving unhappiness. But I also received my just punishment one day as I was running around in our yard, as mindless summer-minded boys used to do, and damned if the mere friction of my leg movement did not set off that whole tin of explosive toothpicks in my pocket. The loud report sounded like a gunshot, and the immediate pain was real. So I dropped to the ground, yelling “I’m hit, I’m hit!”
Not until I realized not another soul was anywhere near me or our home or our twenty-five acres surrounded by unbroken farmland and forest did I begin to explore the perfectly round hole in my pants. I had not received friendly fire from a neighbor kid, nor had my dad finally tried to take me out. So the cause had to be closer to home, like what the hell was I carrying in my pocket.
My thigh skin was badly bruised, already discolored and puffed up from the injury. And then I found it, the bottom half of the steel tin. Lodged halfway through the fabric in the pocket of my dungarees, it had been driven with great force against my body. Its lid had also been blown off with great force, through the fabric of my dungarees, and was lying somewhere out on our “lawn” as war shrapnel.
For decades I kept that little tin bottom in a small cedar box where I kept other childhood keepsakes, like old stone Indian arrowheads and beads I found in the tilled fields around our home. This little round piece of non-descript light-blue metal symbolized to me all that a boyhood in America used to be or could be: Free, foolish, exploratory, mischievous, silly, dumb, and filled with painful and sometimes near-death learning experiences. In a word, awesome.
Poor kids today have no idea how much fun we kids of yesteryear had. Yes, we had the Doctor Demento radio show, Tom Lehrer songs, and the scandalously mature kid reading material, Mad Magazine. But we also had access to small amounts of explosives, and dirt bikes, and often firearms. And whatever we did that did not permanently maim or kill us made us stronger and more interested in chemistry than any kind of textbook or classroom experiment could achieve. (I once blew off my eyebrows and eyelashes, the huge fireball also leaving my face an unnatural and alarming red color. Upon arriving at home late for dinner, my mother merely tossed my plate of food in front of me, wordless and by then immune to frighteneing answers and smart enough to no longer ask what the hell happened to you).
So, back to Mad Magazine, its crazy ads, and the related Doctor Demento Show, described on complete bullsh*t weakipedia as “Barret Eugene Hansen (born April 2, 1941),[1] also known professionally as Dr. Demento, is an American radio broadcaster and record collector specializing in novelty songs, comedy, and unusual recordings from the dawn of the phonograph to present. Hansen created the Demento persona in 1970 while working at KPPC-FM in Pasadena, California.”
From 1971 until, yes, college, I listened to the Doctor Demento Show. As a kid this was done quietly at night with the crusty old 1960s radio in my bedroom, after my parents had declared “lights out.” In high school, I listened to the radio show along with one or two other misfits also disinclined to be serious about homework. We sat there in silence, occasionally laughing hysterically. In college, I was joined by even more misfits, but by then we also had beer, hard alcohol, and would sing along together to our favorite silly songs spun by Doctor Demento.
Songs like Fish Heads, and of course every single song by Tom Lehrer.
Tom Lehrer’s songs were a mainstay of every Doctor Demento show, and sometimes his funny lyrics were woven into a Mad Magazine article. Adults found his song about pollution poignant and timely, as everyone knew by then that just about every summer the Cuyahoga River would actually catch on fire because of the wild amounts of combustible pollution dumped into it by unchecked industry (note to today’s young people: Water is not supposed to burn). Whereas urbanites, already surrounded by pollution, warped by it, dying early from it, creating it, and imagining themselves immune to it, were much more entertained by Lehrer’s song Poisoning Pigeons in the Park.
Because who the hell doesn’t hate urban pigeons?
Tom Lehrer, comedian, humorist, satiricist, and core of the beloved Doctor Dementow Show
My Eighth Grade school portrait, alarmingly alike to Mad Magazine’s Alfred E. Neumann, of What, Me Worry? fame.
Don’t leave your records in the sun and other solid life tips
John Hartford played every instrument I could imagine – fiddle, guitar, banjo, harmonica, spoons, sticks, rocks, fence posts, and he played them all well. He was a 20th century artist from the days of the American frontier, or maybe the 1850s traveling circuses, with his crumpled top hat and tatty clothing. Only occasionally obliquely bawdy, most of his songs were silly and clean fun, done in the folk music style that every American enjoys on a sweaty summer day. Summer time is the time to forget all of your anxieties and frustrations, and let traveling entertainers like John Hartford make you laugh with gusto.
Golly, we are just about in summer time, aren’t we? Time for the Artists’ Fair (or is it the Artisans’ Fairies?) in State College, with non-fraudulent all natural ice cream from PSU’s The Creamery. Hot and sweaty guaranteed in the heart of summer. Time to start planning your summer trips, if you have not already done so. And if you find hotels full or too expensive, there is always the local county fair to fall back on, or The Grange Fair in Centre Hall.
Ahhhh, the Grange Fair in Centre Hall, a family staple of ours….My sister puked on one of those big spinny roundy roundy pill-shaped rides that make me sick just to watch, and her vomit hit everyone locked in the cage with her, as well as the many innocent bystanders running for cover. I have not been back to the Grange Fair since that Great Vomit Assassination On The Grassy Knoll in 1977. But I hear the fair is still great. John Hartford could have written a funny song about that vomit event.
Anyhow, John Hartford performed many silly songs, including my favorite, Don’t Leave Your Records in the Sun. For you young people, a record is a round shiny object we used to listen to for entertainment. Now I think you can find videos online of people eating them for entertainment. But they did make pleasing sounds, including music, and if played slowly backwards you might hear Satan’s voice saying something almost on the tip of your tongue. They sure were a lot more entertaining than the chip embedded in your skull these days. And if you left them in the sun, as John Hartford warned us not to do, they would in fact get warped, and they would skip and repeat and make all kinds of annoying sounds.
I have recently learned another piece of useful folk wisdom that John Hartford should have sung about: Don’t leave your butternut squash anywhere you don’t want them to die and make a mess. Because when a butternut squash dies, it takes the surrounding environment with it.
Some of my prized butternut squash (I grow them in my summer garden and eat them all year long; the Princess of Patience savors the seeds roasted with salt) were stored up high on a pine board shelf in a cold guest bedroom hardly used during the winter. I put them there in January, thinking I would pull one down as needed, but last week, when I went to get one, all I found were these horrible science experiments gone wrong. I think the best thing is to keep your prized squashes on a metal rack in the basement for maybe a month or two at longest, after they are picked in late October. Then you have to skin them and cut them up and freeze them in plastic bags.
Or if you have a warped sense of humor, you can deliberately let your butternut squashes die badly, and make a Rumble video about it. Maybe a video of some circus geek eating these dead squashes with a side of crushed record. You would probably get a million hits and become a famous influencer.
Dear John Hartford, we miss you. I saw him at his last performance in State College, when he was in the throes of cancer. I heard he wanted to write a silly song about that, too. Don’t do that, is my advice.
Don’t leave your records in the sun or your butternut squash on a board, shelf, or really anywhere
Kinda proud to say “I made that!”
No, you cannot even make a tea from this horror. Throw it away
It’s summer, have fun
Good antidote to miserable politics, your garden. On the left are cut up peaches from one of our trees, destined for the chest freezer. On the right are a potful of ripe tomatoes and basil, plucked from the garden this evening and destined to become a delicious red sauce.
Cucumbers and tomatoes and a pile of peaches came in from the back yard tonight.
I agree with you, politics is sucking all the air and happiness out of people. Whether you live in Ireland, where the government is clearly working overtime against the vast majority of the citizens who live and come from the Emerald Isle, or you live in America, where the government is clearly working overtime against the interests of all of the people who grew up here or who immigrated here legally, it is evident that democratic processes in every single democratic nation were used to achieve undemocratic outcomes that favor big money interests.
If you like your democracy, and you want to keep your democracy, it is now clear that you will not be allowed to have democracy unless you become just as ruthless as the evil people who are ripping you off.
Wasn’t the whole purpose of representative government to avoid physical violence for political control, and use voting as a substitute? For the better of us all? I guess that attempted murder of President Trump opened a lot of eyes… looks like some bad people are desperate to keep him from getting into office like The People want.
Well, it’s summertime and despite the scary efforts to erase democracy worldwide, we can and should still have fun. Summer county fairs are a wonderful place to spend a hot afternoon and cool evening, with live music and naughty food. I am looking forward to the Eastern Traditional Archery Rendezvous, which starts this Thursday in Oregon Hill, at the ski place thing. Traditional Archery people come from all around the world to just fling arrows at targets (my favorite is the 3-D Bigfoot at 85 yards), buy new or replacement kit, get a new bow for a special upcoming hunt, or to listen to the archery greats explain their techniques. There’s also trick shooting demonstrations, which really will take your breath away. Serious talent.
And running simultaneously, unfortunately, is the “new” Kempton Gunmakers Fair, in Kempton, PA. This is the replacement for the very long running Dixon’s black powder Rendezvous in the same area. I intend to take some blacksmithing classes on making traditional knives there, as well as check up on how the 62-caliber flintlock British Sporting Rifle is coming along. It’s been in the works for 18 months, so it must be really taking shape. The man making it is a very well known black powder gunmaker. For those who don’t know, these are the kind of guns that require the old fashioned gun powder to be poured down the barrel, and which often have flintlocks with a real piece of flint that makes a spark that lights gunpowder in a pan (“he’s just a flash in the pan” comes from a flash that failed to ignite the main charge of powder you had just poured down the barrel). These are not real dangerous guns. The last time one killed somebody was in 1812 or thereabouts. Although Mark Twain did have a humorous warning about “safe” old guns hung above the fireplace accidentally bagging grandma in her rocking chair. They are not toys, but they are not weapons of modern war, either.
Anyhow, go on an git, git on out to the local county fair, or to some summertime evening live music. Maybe there’s a park waiting for you and someone you care about to go have a picnic. Summer’s just about 2/3 over, and you better git while the gittin’s good.
I have been enjoying working in my garden and fruit trees, when I don’t have to share them with swarms of vermin. Today I watched birds eat four beautiful peaches, despite my attempts to drive them away. The squirrels are on temporary hiatus, probably scheming to come grab everything tomorrow morning before I wake up.
Commando summer vacations
Few things, few activities are as deeply satisfying to me as summer travels in America, especially across the northeast. Call these trips short vacations, commando vacations, traveling vacations, whatever, they are always fun and invigorating. I am always somewhat dispirited when these trips end.
The goals are to see new places, usually off the beaten path, meet new people, see old American architecture, and explore old towns, small towns, take in new sights. Small town America is quite fabulous, although they are all increasingly becoming “discovered” and populated by down-state summertime residents and tourists, and even the dreaded out-of-state tourists, like me. While there is less to “discover” in these “discovered” small old towns, one benefit of the summertime down-state residents is that they increasingly purchase and rehab the most beautiful Victorian and Federal homes that until recent years fell into increasingly sad disrepair. When these old hulking brick, stone, or beautifully complicated trim wooden buildings are fully returned to their original glory, they are really something to see, to behold, to bask in. Each is a work of art in its own right, and the investors deserve our applause and appreciation. I would like to have an ad hoc summertime picnic on all of their porches.
Although I do not always get the level of accommodation I would prefer on these trips, I can make up for poor overnight conditions by staying out late and getting out early, and bringing my own sheets and pillow cases, just in case. One lesson learned over the decades is Trust the Big Hotel Chains. If you can find them, not always possible in the more remote areas, they are universally clean, comfortable, hygienic, well kept, and generally safe. Whereas, bed-and-breakfast destinations are widely hit or miss, with the misses being gross and uncomfortable, and old family owned “spas” and grandiose Victorian or imitation French estates can be a little sticky and pretentious, or downright gross and pretentious with genuinely weird characters hanging about. Give me the universal American standard of three star or better hotel chain every night possible. Or a car-camping tent site at a state park with flush toilets and showers.
The term for exposing people to new ideas and objects, Education, emerged in 1918. It replaced the long term phrase popular instruction. As the keeper of this blog, I think about the differences between these two concepts, education versus instruction. One of the huge things missing in today’s “education” establishment (overrun with rote partisan indoctrination) is the act of instruction, the conveyance of new skills, new ideas, new ways of appreciating or thinking. And so I like to think that here the reader has an opportunity to encounter some instruction, something new. This sounds like a heavy burden, a heavy lift, until you consider what I am presenting as new here: An Upstate New York distillery, which makes various alcoholic spirits, which I had only read about in Mountain Home Magazine. On this most recent commando vacation, I was able to connect a variety of dots on a map in one afternoon, one of which being this distillery.
Situated above Seneca Lake, the Finger Lakes Distilling Company has a pretty nice pied-à-terre, from which we enjoyed our picnic lunch views over and across the lake. I had just enjoyed a very relaxed tasting inside, and being a lightweight with alcohol, I was in no condition to drive. However, I am no lightweight in terms of weight, and I am always ready to eat…so we sat, ate our food picnic style, and let the cool early summer breeze flow across us while the distillery operation ran all around us. Fascinating to me at least is that this distillery locally sources all of its own grains, flavors; everything they use in their many various products is grown right in the Finger Lakes region. And one of the great joys of connecting the various dots across the Finger Lakes region is driving through the great amount of scenic working farmland and beautifully kept farms that make up that special landscape.
Of the four bottles of rye whisky I sampled, and bought, only one really appeals to my taste; the other three are going to be gifts to friends. What can I say; I have friends with poor palates and poor choices in their friends; no fancy gifts from moi. What I greatly enjoyed is the McKenzie single barrel straight rye whiskey (80% rye and 20% malted barley) aged six years, and finished in a “Pommeau” cask. This is really an outstanding flavor, a world-class product. And at $42.50 a bottle, it is about eight to fifteen dollars less than one would expect to pay for a similar quality product in Scotland, Ireland, or in other parts of America. And though I am not a drinker, as I have become a serious lightweight with age, I do enjoy sampling on location the locally made, sometimes internationally famous, sometimes should-be-internationally-famous whiskeys made in Scotland, Ireland, and occasionally America.
One of my favorite related memories is watching small boats putting in at the Isle of Skye, where they would each buy a couple cases of delicious small batch single malt, and then move on up the coast to the next small distillery, unknown to the outside world, but coveted and seriously in demand among connoisseurs. I happened to be standing high up in the Black Hills of Knoydart with a historic double rifle over my shoulder, hunting red stag, at that moment, and so alcohol was that farthest thing from my mind. But the determined boats way down below, and their sophisticated whiskey buyers, will never leave my mind. What a life.
Anyhow, below are some photos from the Finger Lakes Distilling Company, which despite being a real ongoing concern for some time now, has (bizarrely) not trademarked their unique product or bottle labels. See? This is the real essence of small town, rural America: Family-owned-and-run high quality, with all of the refreshing, remote innocence one hardly ever sees any more. Except maybe in Papua New Guinea, where according to one guy the locals ate Joe Biden’s grandfather with a side of whiskey bottle.
The single malt lacks the peaty flavor of coveted single malts from Scotland. If Upstate New York has any peat for roasting the malted barley, McKenzie should get it and use it
Real strawberry milk by the half gallon at Buttermilk Falls… can a summer day be better spent?
Do you miss sunshine and long days? I do
We are in the shortest days of the year right now. The winter solstice will be in just a few days, December 21st, the shortest day of the year. We all see it, we all feel it, especially here in central Pennsylvania, Upstate New York, Michigan’s UP, Canada, and I am sure in Russia, too. Just when you feel like the day is about to begin, like your formal work day ends and you are ready to do something fun, it’s actually dark outside. Gloomy. Usually cold, windy, and raw, because it is Winter, after all. Darkness now comes at four o’clock in the afternoon, and by 6:00 PM dinner time, everyone is yawning and stretching, ready for bed, feeling like it must be hours later than it actually is. Because of the early darkness.
I don’t know about you, but this early darkness business is just wearing on me, and I am feeling ready for some happy sunshine and those longer days where I can actually do something fun or productive after working hours. My mind keeps skipping to June and July, when the sun doesn’t set until 9:00-9:30, and we spend all afternoon outside, either doing yard work, or gardening, or just enjoying the nice weather and long days to get stuff done at a leisurely pace. Sundays can be spent barbecuing in the back yard with friends or family….ahhhh, that sunshine and daylight is just so rewarding.
This small fact keeps my chin up: We are about to turn the corner on daylight. In just four days, every day will be getting longer and will have more daylight. This gives my mind something happy to hitch onto. I miss sunshine and longer days, and in fact, they are just about to start.
Hang in there, folks. I know you miss sunshine just like I do. Spring will be here before we know it, and with it all the happiness and relief from these long, dark, dreary, cold days. From yeccchh to yay, coming up soon.
Hang in there.
An apple picker I know has an early morning sunrise and stretch on a farm
Midsummer report
My apologies for the long absence here. Summer is in full swing and our family has been operating at full tilt speed. Time only for doing things, and none for writing about it all, until now.
First off, our oldest kid was married on Independence Day. Held at a pretty and historic farm, it was a fantastic wedding, and we feel like we acquired a wonderful addition to our family. However, the preparation necessary for that event took up a lot of time and energy, for many months. And then there was the recovery week. And then there was the vacation week. Hence no blog posts. Full credit to my wife for all of the wedding planning.
At least I myself am back in the saddle, while other people around me are still recovering from their vacation. Not everyone does well with the surf fishing bum lifestyle, including sleeping on the beach, eating questionable food from a warm cooler that has been pawed over and drooled on by feral raccoons, and drinking fetid water. I myself thrive in this kind of environment, and so I am back to report back to our three readers.
What can I say about the wedding other than I fired our small black powder cannon seven times, for good luck. It was Independence Day, and while the venue does not allow fireworks, they did allow the cannon (it’s a cast iron, steel sleeved replica swivel gun with a 1.75″ bore). And in my speech as the bride’s father, how could I miss an opportunity to point out that Independence Day was brought to us by citizens with guns? That is a fact, is it not?
And (of course, I guess) I heard back afterwards that some of our wedding guests were offended by the cannon and also offended by my mention of the origins of American freedom – citizens with guns. You can’t make this stuff up if you tried, like it’s a Hollywood movie script caricature of spoiled rotten children who get everything that Planet Earth can provide and yet nonetheless complain about it. Something like “The food here is terrible and the portions are so small.”
Are Americans now really offended by Independence Day fireworks? Are they offended by displays of patriotism and mentioning of historical facts that unfortunately run contrary to some evil political narratives that privately owned guns are bad and our freedom was brought to Americans by a immaculately conceived federal government that descended from Heaven? Are some wedding guests now so crass that they actually complain about the bride’s father setting off his celebratory toy cannon for the enjoyment of all the normal fun-loving people in attendance?
I have a hard time believing these things, but I did get to witness this stuff. America is in big trouble when its own citizens, young and old, hate its founding and can’t give a proud father his one moment and some space to celebrate it. Jiminy crickets.
Just returned from a subsequent beach trip to a a long spit of federally managed property on the east coast. The National Park Service rangers were 99% normal, nice, intelligent Americans, thank you very much, Gage, Donald, and Stephen.
In this national park there is a problem with artificially high numbers of deer, foxes, and racoons. They have no natural predators and they are multiplying at breakneck rates and having huge negative impacts on the environment and local ecology. Vegetation shows a distinct deer browse line about four feet above the ground, and the racoons are everywhere, aggressive, and aiming to ruin your trip. I watched a red fox steal a camper’s breakfast sausage meal right off of his plate on the guy’s picnic table. We had raccoons patrolling our campsite and under our table as soon as we broke out our food. They will grab your food right out of your hand. It is a fact that raccoons are host to some nasty parasites they excrete in their poop, which was abundantly displayed all around the campsites. Raccoons are also the number one vector for rabies among wildlife.
Aside from posing health threats and incessantly badgering the humans who are trying to enjoy the park, the foxes and raccoons also eat the eggs of rare nesting shore birds. These rare birds enjoy huge swaths of cordoned off human-free dunes and beaches in the park (and also on federal and state lands out on Long Island, like Orient Point and Montauk). And yet the same exact NPS staff enforcing the human no-go dune zones policy are absolutely fine with the overabundant nest-raiding foxes and raccoons that render all the no-go zones meaningless. The staff do not support hunting or trapping these destructive pests, either to improve the park visitor experience or to protect the natural environment.
How can the rare birds successfully nest on the ground and hatch their chicks there when the artificially super overabundant egg-eating raccoons and foxes are allowed to roam at will?
Talking with various National Park Service staff about this problem resulted in exposure to various levels of education and serious/unserious mindset. Most of the NPS staff acknowledged there is a wildlife problem on site that must be addressed. Hunting the deer and trapping the foxes and raccoons is the normal and responsible way to deal with this artificial human-caused environmental problem. These are the responsible and serious ways of addressing a visitor problem on land that is owned by the US taxpayer and whose management is entrusted to taxpayer-paid bureaucrats.
However, when I mentioned the above normal solutions to a young, handsome, tall NPS Park Policeman patrolling our campground, he responded “The same can be said about humans — there are just too many humans. And your solution to the overabundant raccoon problem is not humane.” He would get rid of the humans and allow the artificially high numbers of nuisance wildlife to proliferate. With taxpayer-paid federal employees of this guy’s low caliber and high wokeness quotient, the park visitor experience is going to degrade. C’mon, NPS, you can screen your employee applicants better than this. This foolish people-hating young guy should never have a gun and a badge, much less wear an NPS uniform.
Overall the surf fishing was fun if mostly unproductive. Probably due to the high heat and ferocious sunshine. I can report that catching cownose/ bullnose rays on strong surf tackle is a hoot, but then safely decoupling that animal from the tackle is a whole other thing. They whip their barbed tails around trying to nail the fisherman, who is trying to release them back into the ocean (I learned to place something heavy on the tail while using heavy pliers to remove or break off the hook). We did witness a large shark violently feeding close to shore, and it would be a fair guess to say it was probably eating these rays, which we caught and saw in abundance on both the bay side and the ocean surf side.
So that is the mid-summer report. Fast action, lots of family, some big family celebration and lots of family movement across the beautiful American landscape for work and vacation. I hope that you the reader are also enjoying your summertime. Summer is such a glorious time to be with family and friends, to visit new places, to camp out under the stars and cook over an open fire, to think through life’s normal challenges and to spend time with people we love…and then it is over just when we are all starting to really get into it.
So make the most of your summer.
Campsite neighbor Steve, a PhD engineer ex-patriot Brit and defiant leftist, helped MAGA Maniac Josh fix my malfunctioning headlamp, demonstrating that it’s easy to be enemies when separated by keyboards and easy to be friends when living side by side
Nice level NPS campsites with fire ring and grill
Each campsite has a pavilion and a picnic table. Is this really camping?
Asbury Park Brewery is a local flavor that I was happy to support. No sign anywhere of Bud Lite or Budweiser anything, thankfully
Symbol of foolish National Park Service policies seeking to protect rare shore birds by excluding people from their habitat, but allowing artificially overabundant populations of nest-raiding raccoons and foxes to roam at will.
Beach goers nonetheless entered this area because there were zero nesting birds in it and there were literally tons of foxes running around in it. Come on National Park Service, you can do much smarter than this
Ahhhhh… summer vacation on the Atlantic Coast
Irv’s summertime camping gear recommendations
Summertime Camping Equipment Review
The good, the bad, and the ugly….maybe
by
Irving Krasnoshtayn, Special Guest at joshfirst.com
When I was a kid, my family did not go camping. There was nowhere to go. The “open space” in Brooklyn, New York, was the little crack between the concrete slabs on every sidewalk where small sprouts of grass grow. Football, hockey, even baseball games were played in the street or in a crowded public park if one was near enough. People in tents were known as homeless. The first time I went camping was with a bunch of college friends over 20 years ago. It was a poorly planned and ragtag experiment, by guys with more spirit than knowledge. We brought an axe and chopped our own firewood, and then thought we were real outdoorsmen. More than anything we all got giant blisters on our soft city hands. Lots of things have changed since then, but my enjoyment of camping only grew from that one fun misadventure.
Fast forward just a few years and now I am the dad with little kids who excitedly ask me about camping over summer vacation. But unlike my childhood, society today is a lot more mobile, and outdoor recreation is a lot more widespread, common, and much more easily accessible. When you have a couple kids and a wife, you have to think not only about the easy, happy family coziness, fresh air, and the sunshine aspects of camping, but also about everyone being comfortable, repelling bugs, people going potty in the middle of the night, and having decent food. Meeting all of those goals with a family means that we get to try out a lot of camping gear, albeit mostly car camping and not always wilderness treks. Our destinations are usually commercial campgrounds and state and county parks. So here’s my honest review of some things I rely on when family camping. I know there are plenty of dads and moms out there who are hungry for this kind of information. Links to many of these items are below.
Tents: I have two tents, each costing around $100. One a six-person and the other an eight-person, both made by Coleman. But those sizes are a lie because each tent fits two people fewer than advertised, especially with all their gear. You have to think about keeping your stuff dry inside the tent in bad weather, so a backpack takes up the space of a person.
These Coleman tents are relatively easy to set up and they have been reliable. But buy a bigger tent than you think you need, unless you will be backpacking it on a mountain. In which case you will want the absolute lightest gear, which is a whole other story. Use strong steel stakes, they don’t bend as easily as aluminum and last longer. I also put down a cheap tarp on the ground slightly larger than the tent, to take off shoes before we get into the tent and to protect the bottom and keep it from tearing.
Sleeping bags: I have owned more sleeping bags than I can count on both hands. This key part of camping has been a long process for me, and I hope you can learn from my mistakes. In the course of learning sleeping lessons while camping the hard way, I have discovered I really don’t like mummy bags. Mummy bags are sold as a common camping cure-all, but they best fit small framed and narrowly proportioned people, while I want room for my tree trunk legs and wide shoulders. Don’t buy a bag from an unheard of company, like I have, while trying to save money; you will end up paying the real price in comfort and enjoyment, which is worth more than money. At the lower end of the price range, say around $40, Coleman makes decent sleeping bags. Some have cotton lining, some nylon, some acrylic, some flannel, but either way make sure you like the particular material against your skin before you walk out of the store with the bag. I have used everything from 20 degree bags to 50 degree bags, and absolutely none are as warm or breathable as they claim. Until you test your bag and understand its real limits, make sure you bring extra base clothing to keep warm at night. A drinking bottle filed with hot water can help overnight. Coleman’s Brazos is a decent model. A stuff sack for storing the sleeping bag short term is great to have too. To preserve their fill loft, sleeping bags must be stored long term either hung up hanging freely, or in large sacks that do not compress them.
Sleeping pads: One of the most important things I have bought for camping is a sleeping pad. I like a comfy sleep, what can I say. Once you sleep somewhere rocky you will understand why a good sleeping pad is important. Besides, I’m getting old and want to be comfortable. Walmart sells a cheap roll up pad like the military uses that is about a half an inch thick, and that is the minimum I would recommend. I highly recommend the best pad you can afford, either closed cell foam or inflatable. I have one for each family member of different types and thicknesses. The egg crate type is not bad but I prefer a firm type made of open/closed cell foam.
I own a few self-inflating pads but I’m afraid they might develop a hole and deflate like happened to me once. I like reliability, which the closed cell foam has.
Pillow: When camping with our car, we bring our pillows from home. When backpacking I take one of two inflatable pillows, but some people just bring a pillow case and stuff it with their clothing. That works.
Fire: Although I own many axes, such as the decent Cold Steel axe, I now rarely use one while camping. Instead I use a few different saws to get my firewood. Silky saws of Japan makes the best saws money can buy. The Silky Gomboy with medium teeth is the most comfortable and fastest cutting saw I know of besides using a chainsaw. Their teeth are wider than the spine so they cut very well and don’t bind. They are a pleasure to use but have been known to snap if used forcefully. Take your time and let the saw do the work. They can be found on sale for around $40 and like all good kit, are well worth it. Get the largest one you can afford. “Project Farm” of youtube fame recommended another couple of saws. I will be “real world” testing them soon.
Fire Starting: This is something I have practiced extensively and have found campers need to carry more than one way to start a fire, and know how to use each one. Yes, Bic lighters are a go-to but when it is freezing, snowing, or raining they may not work. Always carry your Bic/gas lighters on your person in a pocket, and NOT in your pack. The reason is your body will keep the lighter warm and the contents in a fluid and flammable state. If the lighter is really cold, the butane will not turn into a gas when you try to light it and it won’t work. Zippo lighters are okay as long as they don’t get wet or leak.
Wind is another reason I don’t rely on gas lighters or survival matches. If you do buy survival matches, make sure the container is waterproof and they are the type that can stay lit underwater. Yes they make those. I used a waterproof pill container filled with LIFEBOAT matches and cotton balls for my kids.
I have made videos throwing every type of lighter or match into a half foot of snow or a bucket of water, and the only thing that was reliable was a Ferrocerium rod. Known as a Ferro rod, I now buy them in bulk and make handles for them out of spent rifle cases. Use the spine of your knife and you will make all the sparks you need to start a fire.
At home I prepare a few cotton balls dipped into Vaseline, and store them in a small Ziploc bag. They have the added benefit of protecting your skin/hands. A Ferro rod will light one immediately and the Vaseline in it will burn for a good minute or two, if not longer. I will sometimes make feather sticks which a Ferro rod will also easily light if done correctly. I own magnesium fire starters, and they work, but they aren’t necessary. Again if it’s windy, the magnesium will often get blown away. Some people like to use military trioxane, but this extra expense is not necessary.
Camp chair: Bring a chair for each person if you can. This is advice that is easy when car camping and very difficult while backpacking. I have not yet found a lightweight folding chair that I like.
Cooking: I have spent hundreds of dollars on a titanium stove and the latest everything else for cooking, and have concluded just a few items are all I need to cook good food while camping. Stanley makes a $30-$40 frying pan kit which is worth it. Titanium frying pans which I own are lightweight but develop hotspots that then cook unevenly. The Stanley frying pan kit cooks everything evenly and comes with two plates, and a take-apart spatula that is almost priceless. Stanley also makes a few other kits including a pot kit and a mug/cup kit which are also very good. I have used them all extensively, and they develop a blackened bottom with open fires. Someone scientifically tested blackened pots and it will boil water approximately a minute faster because it absorbs the heat better. I have a lightweight folding stainless steel grate for chicken, hot dogs and burgers. Works great. I like a titanium cup for quickly boiling water for making tea or a ramen type meal. Lightweight Titanium spoons and forks are also worth buying. Better than any plastic.
Stoves: I like and own many packable wood stoves. The Solo stove is GOOD. It burns wood very efficiently and fast. Sometimes too fast, so you will need a lot of twigs on hand because it doesn’t hold much and you have to keep adding to keep the fire going. Esbit stoves don’t heat up enough for my liking and alcohol stoves might work, but I don’t want to carry alcohol that I can’t drink. Firebox makes quite possibly the best balance of reliability, compactness, yet high capacity wood burning stove on the market. It is amazing and I highly recommend it. The Firebox Nano model is tiny yet unfolds large enough to cook a morning meal without any fuss.
Cooler: I prefer hard sided coolers, because they keep their shape and hold ice overnight, even in the hottest summers. They also repel the sharp claws of raccoons.
Lighting: You will need to see when it gets dark. I prefer headlamps over flashlights because they keep both hands free. I bring one for each person, even the kids. I give out glow sticks just to see where other people are. Any headlamp over 200 lumens is good. Wide beams are more useful for close range. In my work as an electrician, I use headlamps every single day. The cheaper brands have always failed me because they use cheap circuitry and switches that eventually fail just when you need them most. Energizer makes many excellent headlamps.
Eveready makes a good model for $10. On the higher end, Petzl, Streamlight, Black Diamond, Fenix, Surefire and many others make very good lights. Don’t buy a crappy light, because you don’t need to. The good ones don’t cost much more than the really bad ones. I don’t use rechargeable batteries when camping, because unless you have solar panels how are you going to charge it? I’m not going to carry a battery power bank. I bring an extra set of fresh batteries. [Editor’s note: I have used two different Anker solar chargers on long distance ten-day backpacking trips and they work well when matched with the right battery – JF]
Rope: Buy some paracord and keep it in different places where you might need ten or twenty feet of it. Home Depot sells a decent paracord. The brighter colors are better, because your eye will see them and stop your feet before you trip over them when they are guyed out around a tent or a tarp shelter. Also useful for tying down your stuff in strong wind.
Duct Tape: I like gorilla tape. It sticks better than any duct tape I have ever used. Wrap a few feet around something like your lighter.
Multitool: I prefer Leatherman. The wingman model has scissors, a pocket clip, and is relatively light.
And finally, knives: Few outdoor items are more iconic or representative of camping than a fixed blade knife or one of the newfangled, robust, easy-open folding knives. Everyone has different sized hands and skin, so everyone prefers a different handle material and shape, and thicker or thinner, longer or shorter. There are so many knives on the market, I should begin by telling everyone to always carry a pocketknife. Preferably one with a locking mechanism so it doesn’t accidentally close on your fingers. Swiss army knives are OK for home use, but I don’t prefer them as a daily pocket carry.
Fixed blades are also necessary. I’ll start by recommending the least expensive of the bunch, Mora knives of Sweden. They are the best bang for your dollar at the moment. I recommend stainless steel over carbon steel so that your knife won’t rust, and if there is one thing you are guaranteed of on a camping trip, it is that your knife will get wet and it won’t get put away dry.
At around $20, the Mora companion model is a great knife for many reasons. It has a comfortable handle and an excellent sheath which clips onto your belt without you having to take it off. Mora uses a Scandinavian grind on their knives, which is excellent for “Bushcraft” type work, which is a variety of light to heavy utility work, plus food preparation. I prefer full flat grinds which are much more versatile, particularly for food preparation.
ESEE knives have an unconditional lifetime guarantee. They come in 1095 high carbon steel which may rust if not cared for. (Use vaseline from the cotton balls or plain mineral oil to prevent rust)
I used the ESEE 4HM model (~$120) for an entire camping trip and found it excelled at everything. GREAT knife.
In the Outdoors, the sheath is just as important as the knife.
First Aid Kit: Always carry some type of first aid kit and know how to use it. I was an EMT, and based on my experience I think everyone should at least learn the basics. Know how to stop bleeding with pressure or how to stabilize/support a sprained ankle. Accidents happen, be prepared, and having a good first aid kit is step one in being prepared. Car camping first aid kits can be almost like a mobile field hospital in size, and backpacking first aid kits must be streamlined and geared towards treating foot blisters, burns, and knife cuts.
I put together my own first aid kit in a one- gallon waterproof Ziploc bag, including everything from Band-Aids to gloves and gauze to common medications like ibuprofen and aspirin.
Have a great summer camping with your family!
LINKS:
tents:
sleeping bags:
| Coleman Green Valley 30°F Cool-Weather … |
sleeping pads:
Foam Sleep Pad- Extra Thick Camping Mat for Cots, Tents, Sleeping Bags & Sleepovers
Saws:
Silky GomBoy Professional Folding Saw 240mm Medium Teeth (121-24)
| Silky GomBoy Professional Folding Saw 2… |
Samurai KISI FC-240-LH / 9 1/2″ (24cm) Folding Curved Blade Saw Made in Japan
| Samurai KISI FC-240-LH / 9 1/2″ (24cm) … |
Fire making:
Cooking: pots pans
Stoves:
| Lite Camp Stove | Solo Stove |
|
Headlamps:
Knives:
ESEE 4HM Fixed Blade Knife w/ Kydex Sheath & Micarta Handle
| ESEE 4HM Fixed Blade Knife w/ Kydex She… |
Enjoy the end of Summer!
Summer time is almost everyone’s favorite time of the year (skiers can be forgiven for wanting snow). During the summer months, we vacation, adventure outdoors, travel to see beautiful new places, see family and spend real time sitting around and communicating/ socializing face to face instead of device to device, take time off from work to recharge the batteries, etc.
Well, our summer this year has been just as fleeting as every other summer I can remember. It is just about over for most people, but may I make a suggestion: Visit a beach of your desire this weekend and into September. Fresh water or salt water (I grew up going to Pine Grove Furnace State Park far far away from the eastern coast, whose artificial sand beach provided endless satisfaction and happiness well into my twenties). Beaches have a lot less traffic and visitors after late August, and there is something so uniquely and deeply satisfying about sitting on a quiet beach with a good book, toes in the warm sand, and no demands.
The summer is nearly over, and I hope you make the most of what is left of it. Because our life is not just about the future, but the present.
A fish tale
What I enjoy most about the summer time is spending that time with my family, my wife and kids. Especially outdoors. Hiking, fishing, boating, target shooting, camping, and cutting firewood with the promise of grilled meat and cold beer at the end is all part of the family experience here.
So here is a fish tale, or the tales of two fish, a punny phrase if ever one swam.
First one up is high school and college friend Jeff called out of the blue.
“Come down on Tuesday. Paul will be here with his son. It will be a fun reunion and we will all have our boys together, out on the boat, fishing.”
Jeff was a varsity wrestler from our arch-rival school, one weight class below me. In college we were separated by three weight classes. Now we are both fat and happy dads, coaching our boys through life the best way we know how – in the outdoors.
An invitation to salt water fish hardly ever goes neglected, especially with two other friends from high school and college, and within 24 hours my boy and I had rolled into town, found our hotel, gone to sleep at 4AM, and risen at 7:30AM ready to spend the day in the salt and sunshine with old friends. Paul and his son showed up from across the country, and we piled food, cold drinks, ice, and gear into the boat and headed out. Jeff is an old salt hand, and was a masterful captain. His friend Brian served as first mate and heartily complimented the wolfed-down sandwiches we brought, while Paul threw his overboard, complaining that they were soft. Some things just never change.
“You are a spoiled princess, you know that?” I scolded Paul. “We were up all night making these delicious sandwiches.” He asked for another sandwich; dry this time, he said.
Aside from catching up among the three of us, and introducing our boys to each other, we caught a pile of mackerel, some bluefish, and we lost one or two large cobia. Here is how the mackerel were prepared.
Captain Jeff, a friend since 1979
Happy and proud dad, tired and satisfied son
Fileting fresh mackerel
Brining filets and whole fish for smoking
Brined mackerel on smoking rack
Smoked mackerel…for dips, treats, scrambled eggs, yum
Fast forward a week later and the boy and I are fishing in Pine Creek, which is still running high, for two years now. This means that trout are not only holding over in great numbers, but are thriving in a big freestone stream that nonetheless usually hits 80 degrees and gets skinny by July, an environment where trout are normally picked off by eagles, mink, otters and herons this time of year.
I cast the Rebel Crawfish across a familiar riffle and hooked a large fish, which turned out to be a fat 16 inch rainbow trout. On a tiny ultralight spin rod with four pound test, it felt like the proverbial whale. He came to hand after a noble dispute.
“Do you want to keep him,” I asked my boy. “We haven’t kept a trout out of here in I forget how many years.”
“Yes,” he said, firmly and without hesitation.
This is a kid who really enjoys eating fresh fish, so setting aside my usual aversion to killing trout, I slid it into a small pool of cold spring water cascading down the bank, where the fish could breathe and stay fresh, and also remain within eyesight. That heron kept circling, and I wasn’t about to lose my prize to him.
The boy was admiring the beautiful trout, which had the healthy fins and magically vibrant colors of a native fish, or at least a hatchery fish that had spent an unusually long time in wild water. A fierce, or jealous, look came over the boy’s face and he asked which lure it had been caught on. Instead of tying one on to his rod, I just handed him my rod. One trout among the dozens splashing for emerging mayflies was enough for me, enough for the year. Watching my son catch fish is better than me catching them, and so I stood in the cool shallows with the current tugging at my Crocs, and supervised his casting. The late hot sun beat down harsh and merciless.
“Where did you catch him?” came the unexpected question.
Normally I advise where to cast, and since he was about nine, the boy will cast in the opposite direction of where I suggested. Even if it means getting tangled in a tree or snagged on the bottom. He has been improving on his independence for years now, if not improving his fishing skills. This time, however, he was on a mission. He cast a few times to where he was directed, gaining his bearings, and on the third or fourth splash the plug went exactly where it needed to go, over the fast current and just upstream enough to get a drag-free drift with some natural wobble. He immediately connected, and gently fought another perfect 13-inch rainbow into the shallows.
“Do you want to keep this one, too?” I asked.
“Yes. One fish for each of us. Or both for me – One for dinner and one for breakfast tomorrow,” he replied. Without a hint of irony.
Sound logic it was, and so we placed this trout next to its confined but quite alive mate in the little spring pool in a hollow of rock up on the bank.
With a fine trout under his belt, now it was his turn to sit in the cool shallows and watch me, as I went back out to catch a few bass lurking in the deeper current below the ledgerock. A couple came to hand and were released, and a couple got away. The sun then set over the valley, illuminating the Camel’s Hump and Trout Run in a magical Summer glow. The kind of day’s end that is so beautiful and perfect that you are sure you will remember it clearly forever just as it is experienced in that moment. And we probably will remember it clearly, mostly because the next morning he ate that fish down to the bare bones and then went outside to shoot his flintlock with true professional calm, hitting the distant bulls eye over and over and over. He made his dad proud.
A brace of fresh trout
Perfectly pan fried trout with butter and herbs
Someone really likes fresh trout
Our family’s best and favorite summer vacation route
When our kids were younger, say from ages seven and up, we would take them on an annual vacation through Upstate New York. The trip was devoted mostly to Revolutionary War history, but also to American frontier history, American Indian history, and natural history. All kinds of historic forts dot the Mohawk Valley, and in between these places are all kinds of incredible natural history places, like the Herkimer diamond mines in Middleville, Moss Island, and the Canajoharie River carved pool. Lots of places to fish at every stop and everywhere in between.
We always started at Fort Ontario in Oswego, NY, and working east we would end at Fort Ticonderoga on the New York/Vermont border. Since we started this trip the forts have all gotten better and better. Fort Ontario refurbished all of their cannons a few years ago. Fort Stanwix has been majorly upgraded and has regular re-enactments. And Fort Ticonderoga now has the biggest private cannon collection in America, so get your tickets to the night time cannon shoot.
The Mohawk River is now largely a canal, and from Oswego to Moss Island you can watch small pleasure boats that started in Florida being raised from lock to lock as they make their way to Lake Ontario, and then to the Ohio River and back down to New Orleans, where they will circle back through the Gulf of Mexico to Florida. Many of the boat owners will stand on the deck to make sure their boat does not bang into the walls of the locks, and they are happy to tell you all about their trip so far. A few years ago one guy told us how his wife had just left the boat and him, and had rented a car to drive home. By the time he expected to arrive back in Florida in the Fall, her things would be gone from their home and the divorce papers would be waiting for him on the dining room table. He actually seemed pretty cheerful about it and said he was still excited to complete the trip, even by himself. By the time he was done telling us this short story, his boat had gone from one end of the lock to the other and was about to start sailing up river.
Our kids had never heard such a thing in their lives, and it gave us plenty to talk about the rest of the trip.
So here is the Revolutionary War route that our family has taken many times over the years, often summer after summer. As our children gained age, they gained new abilities to comprehend and appreciate what they were seeing. Definitely start at Oswego, and do not miss Fort Stanwix. There are all kinds of places to stay each night as you make your way east. Most of them are inexpensive, and many are historic, the the old hotel in Rome, NY, which is actually pretty nice. We usually spend at least one night camping at the Herkimer KOA in Middleville, NY, where we will spend one day mining Herkimer diamonds and another day exploring Moss Island and the historic General Herkimer homestead, which has real cannons and lots of history.
The Oriskany Battlefield monument is one of those places you can’t believe no one talks about, and when you get there and learn and see what took place, you realize how the entire Revolutionary War’s outcome hinged on this one fierce battle between Mohawk Valley patriots and British Regulars, with Indians on both sides.
Moss Island is incredible; I won’t spill the beans and you have to go see for your self, but you absolutely have to go, wearing hiking boots or good trail sneakers. The little town there has a great ice cream store, and my kids always liked fishing under the bridge as well as at Moss Island.
The Canajoharie River has the carved rock pools you can wade in, which I do not identify on the map because I ran out of label room.
Saratoga Battlefield is where a certain famous and then infamous American general made his name. Fort Ticonderoga is AMAZING, and if you are able to get tickets to the night time cannon shoot from the ramparts, you will not be left unimpressed. Trip home to Central or eastern PA, or NYC/New Jersey, is via the NY Throughway south to any number of state routes and highways, depending on how much time you have. We usually do this trip in seven days, though it can be done in ten or even five. The Remington factory tour tickets should be secured beforehand. It is an incredible tour, or at least it was. I think we took it before OSHA stepped in and limited it. The museum there is excellent in and of itself.
