Vermonter Gaining New Perspective

            Growing up on the right side of the lake in the Champlain Valley of Vermont I never developed an appreciation for the Adirondacks that one might expect.  As someone who has an appreciation for the outdoors, enjoyed skiing in the winter, and hiking in the summertime it surprises me that one of the country’s largest national parks never jumped out as a place to explore.  Although I had often traveled through or around the Adirondacks they always failed to be anything more than a good view to look at from across the Lake. 

            My interest was sparked in my first companionless drive from my home in the Northwest corner of Vermont down to the vast abyss that is central New York.  By entering Hamilton’s address in to my GPS I am given three route options to take.  I made the easy choice of choosing the shortest route unknowing at the time of the wilderness I was about to encounter.  In a time when almost everybody’s cell phone seems to be there life line I would be lying if I didn’t notice my loss of cell reception for the extent of my 2-3 hour trip through the park.  Falling in to at least one of Bill Mckibben’s stereotypes of Vermonters being “Saab-driving, goat-cheese-eating Democrats” (18) I was worried that my old car would leave me stranded in the high peaks area with no reception to call for a tow.

            I’ve since gotten past the uneasy feeling of not having the phone a friend option and have grown to enjoy my trip of solitude through the park.  Although my route takes me a different way each time as I follow the little blue line on my GPS I find myself becoming familiar with few of the landmarks I seem to always pass over.  There are also times I need to look down at my phone and make sure it’s still navigating as I find myself on a road that I have never been on before. 

            Reading Mckibben’s experience of hiking from Mt. Abraham across the Lake in to the Adirondacks I can understand what he is saying when he mentions the difference of visiting a place by foot and by car.  For me, until somewhat recently I have made the trek in haste, anxious to get to school and get out of the car.  By doing this I was unable to truly visit with the park and enjoy what it has to offer.   Going forward I plan to build time in to my trips and take further detours in to the wilderness.  Because a hike from home to Hamilton is out of the question, a leisurely drive will have to due for now.

            Since arriving in New York I have been able to gain a new perspective on the Adirondacks.  The mountains have become more than the cool back drop that we watch the sun fall behind from the shores of Vermont.  I look forward to learning more about the culture and the history of this region which will make my trips between school and home that much more meaningful.  It is surprising to me that so many people take the national treasure that is the Adirondack Park for granted although I myself was guilty of just that.

View of the Adirondacks from Burlington, VT

Photo Source: http://runawayjuno.com/runaway-specials/runaway-to-sisters-city/runaway-to-sister%E2%80%99s-city-burlington-vermont-by-gray-cargill/

Works Cited:
McKibben, Bill. Wandering Home: A Long Walk Across America’s Most Hopeful Landscape. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2005. Print.

Farming in the Adirondacks

One message I thought McKibben and Schneider made clear in their works was that it is hard to farm in the Adirondacks. Short growing seasons, and poor soil make only about 10 percent of land in the park farmable. Schneider dedicates a whole chapter (Farewell to Farms) to listing all the farms that have failed in just one town; a glimpse into the hardship of trying to live off the land. McKibben's hike meanders through long forgotten orchards and decaying foundations of farms that attempted to survive in the harsh climate of the park. The overall theme was that many tried but most failed at trying to cultivate the land in the Adirondacks. Most farmers in the park found they had no other option but to move out of the Adirondacks and try again somewhere else. 

After this notion was discussed at length both in the books and in class, imagine my surprise when I saw a whole section devoted to food in the Adirondack Almanack. Surely someone forgot to tell these food contributors that farming in the Adirondacks is rarely successful? Curious, I went to explore this section of the blog, and to be honest I did not expect to find much. I was pleasantly surprised to see numerous posts. 

Amy Ivy, a Regional Vegetable and Berry Specialist for the Cornell Cooperative Extensions and the Eastern New York Commercial Horticulture Program, writes a post every month. Her posts range from tips on deadheading for local gardening enthusiasts to how to keep blights that could kill a vegetable crop from spreading. There are also not one, but two posts on how to harvest cattails. A plant I never would have consider edible is in fact a reliable source for carbohydrates and protein. You can eat the roots, young shoots, or the thick 'cattail' part of the plant. It can be boiled, baked, or (the roots) can be dried and ground to be used as a flour substitute. Apparently, boiled cattail with butter tastes like corn on the cob. Who would have known? There is no shortage on articles about food in the Almanack.

The tone about food on the Adirondack Almanack is much different than what we have been reading about. It is hopeful, confident, and resourceful. Contributors to the Almanack not only see possibilities within the park but have learned from past farmers. Farming in the Adirondacks is not big-scale farming that we see elsewhere in the US (and that was once tried in the park). Farmers in the Adirondacks run small scale operations but they are making the most out of what they have. For some this means learning all the uses of a cattail plant. Others have taken advantage of Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) which lets locals purchase a share of a farm's crop, and every week they are supplied with whatever is being grown. This not only helps farmers distribute their crops locally, but it also helps get the community involved. 

Farming in the Adirondacks is evolving. It is still hard but not impossible. People are still trying. I think this speaks to McKibben's remarks that people who live in this part of the country are among some of the most resilient. They will always keep trying to find a way to make a living. 



Works Cited:

Chase, Diane. "A Bountiful Adirondack Harvest With A Local CSA" Adirondack Almanack Accessed: Sept 9th 2015. http://www.adirondackalmanack.com/2015/08/bountiful-adirondack-harvest-local-csa.html

Hetzler, Paul. "Cattails: A Culinary Tale of Nine Lives" Adirondack Almanack Accessed: Sept 9th 2015. http://www.adirondackalmanack.com/2015/07/cattails-culinary-tale-nine-lives.html

Ivy, Amy. "Amy Ivy: August in the Garden" Adirondack Almanack Accessed: Sept 9th 2015.http://www.adirondackalmanack.com/2015/08/amy-ivy-august-garden.html

McKibben, Bill. Wandering Home: A Long Walk Across America’s Most Hopeful Landscape. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2005. Print.

Scheider, Paul. The Adirondacks: A History of America's First Wilderness. New York: H. Holt, 1998. Print. 

Relating to McKibben

This past weekend (and every summer for the past twenty years of my life) I visited my Grandmother’s house on the St. Lawrence River. While the St. Lawrence River is technically outside of the boundaries of the Adirondack region, I still feel that many of my experiences at the river are similar to McKibben’s experiences in the Adirondacks, as we both have very special relationships with these places. 

In the opening pages of his book Wandering Home, McKibben relays his experience seeing the view from the top of a peak on the first evening of his hike, “All at once it struck me, struck me hard, that this was one of those few scenes I would replay in my head when I someday lay dying” (14). While I have never seen a seven layer rainbow, I feel like I completely understand McKibben’s statement. Whether it is waking up to a perfectly calm morning, feeling the wind whip my hair on a boat ride, or having a massive thunderstorm quickly clear to reveal a stunning sunset – the sights I have seen at the river truly seem like they are from another world. In fact, whenever anyone arrives at the river, my Nana greets them with her signature line, “Welcome to paradise!” While to some, paradise may be found in the exotic lands of Hawaii and other tropical islands, to me, paradise is the simplicity and beauty found at the river. 

Sunset view from the boathouse

I appreciate the simplicity of life at the river, and it really is a “kingdom of my memories” (148). While McKibben remembers the place where he and his daughter encountered a bear, I remember the rock where my sister slipped on my birthday and sliced her knee open – she still has a large scar today. I remember rowing to a nearby island with my cousin when I was ten years old and getting stuck in a strong wind – my uncle had to come rescue us and towed us back behind his boat. And I remember almost getting my hair seared off after a grease fire lit on our old fashioned wood fired griddle during a cookout breakfast. Even the little things that have happened to me at the river mean so much just because of what a special place it is. 

However, similarly to McKibben, the changes that happen to our “paradise” can be difficult to grasp. A few years ago, a family bought the island across from us and built a new road and bridge to connect his island to land, as well as a large boathouse right on the point of the island, right in the middle of our view of the sunset. Like McKibben, we questioned, “the hyperindividualism that thinks nothing of ruining everyone else’s view” (21). Luckily for us, the boathouse did not turn out to be as bad as we had imagined, and while the bridge is quite large, we have adapted to its presence. However, I can’t help but imagine another scenario that could have turned out like McKibben’s with their new constructions ruining the view for everyone. 

The Bridge that didn't turn out to be so bad after all

I love the river for its beauty, history, and its community, the same way that McKibben values the Adirondacks for these same reasons. I hope that it never changes because I want my children and grandchildren to be able to experience the same joy and love that the river has brought and will continue to bring me over the years.

This is still the original boathouse from 1912

All Photos are my own

Works Cited:
McKibben, Bill. Wandering Home: A Long Walk Across America’s Most Hopeful Landscape. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2005. Print.

Effect of the 1980 Winter Olympics

In 1980, Lake Placid hosted the XII Winter Olympic Games. Although the Games may best be known for the U.S. Men’s Hockey team’s stunning upset of the Soviet squad (and eventual capture of the Gold medal), the Games significantly affected the Adirondacks in general, and the High Peaks region specifically. The Games had an enormous economic, environmental, and cultural impact on the region, effects that began as soon as the International Olympic Committee announced that the United States – and Lake Placid – had won the rights to host the 1980 Winter Olympiad.

As soon as the announcement was made, lodging, restaurant, and other hospitality businesses bought land and built new facilities and upgraded old ones to accommodate the expected influx of spectators. This dramatically drove up real estate prices, increased employment and wages, and sparked an economy that usually does not see much tourism in the dead of winter. For example, employees were hired to build the arenas, staff events, provide security, and maintain the both the Olympic venues and hotels and restaurants. Further spurring economic development, the United States Olympic Committee decided to build a permanent Winter Training Center by the lake (in large part because of the success of the 1980 Games). Although the 1980 Games certainly helped the regional economy immediately, the media’s coverage of both the Games and the state of the art facilities that were built to host them (and to lodge and feed both athletes and spectators) have enabled the region to remain prosperous in the 35 years since the Games ended. The widespread television coverage of the 1980’s Games showed Lake Placid’s beauty to the much of the nation while the added facilitates have provided athletes (Olympic, professional, and amateur) with areas to practice their skills and to compete in regularly scheduled events. As a result tourism has almost doubled in the region since the Games occurred.

Nevertheless, despite all the economic benefits that the Games brought (and continue to bring), these benefits did not come without negative social, cultural, and environmental costs as the Games led to a tremendous increase in the human activity in the largest publically protected area in the U.S. The added tourism has disrupted a quiet region, and increased traffic, congestion, and pollution of the air and water. Protected land has been converted into arenas and resorts, creating a miniature metropolis out of what used to be a small town. The negative consequences of that human activity continue to show the ever-long struggle between economic gains and environmental degradation, creating an outcome that is still debated.

In the final analysis, some people believe the Games were as much a curse on the region’s character as they were a cure for the region’s pre-existing economic woes. As a singer of the period once lamented above mankind’s ability to disrupt and degrade the things we claim to cherish most: “they paved paradise and put up a parking lot.”

Reilly, Kimberly. "The Olympics' Impact on Lake Placid." Adiorndack Almanack 
     (2014): n. pag. Print.

The Livestock Guardian Dog: A Tool for Conservation

    Livestock guardian dogs have been used by humans for thousands of years, all across the globe. In Turkey there is the Akbash, in Portugal the Estrella Mountain Dog, in France and Spain the Great Pyrenees, and so on. Each group of farmers and herders has a certain breed of dog that has developed with their lifestyle and these dogs live to protect the owners' livelihoods. However, livestock guardian dogs do more than protect the culture and occupation of the humans they work with. By chasing away or confronting wild predators that threaten the sheep (or goats, or cattle, etc.), the dogs protect the endangered predators from the guns and poison of the humans who sometimes would have no choice but to resort to violence.
     An example of this phenomenon at work is in the wide open steppes of Mongolia. Here the traditional dog is called the Bankhar, and unlike most livestock guardian dogs that have been selectively bred, the Bankhar is a "land race". This means that the dogs evolved with the landscape, environment, and humans, and thus are even more adapted to the ecosystem in which they work.

Livestock grazing on the Mongolian steppes

In Mongolia, 40% of the country's population are livestock herders leading a nomadic lifestyle in the grasslands, deserts, and hills of Mongolia. The sheep, goats, cows, or yaks that graze throughout the steppes represent the nomads' entire income (in the form of milk, wool, and meat). Harsh, merciless winters and brutal summers caused by global warming can sometimes cause a herder to lose his or her whole flock, which they cannot afford.
     These herders also share the steppes with predators such as the Mongolian Wolf (a grey wolf sometimes called the Tibetan Wolf) and the elusive Snow Leopard, another threat to the traditional herding lifestyle. These carnivores have taken to attacking herds of livestock because their usual prey, such as the gazelles that used to bound across the steppes in huge numbers, have been over hunted by humans. To protect their herds, Mongolians will often shoot wolves on sight or leave out poisoned bait that snow leopards will often die from. The mongolian wolves, a threatened species, as well as the endangered snow leopards, suffer just as much from the human-predator conflict they are caught up in.

Arslan means "lion" in Mongolian, a name that suits this Bankhar dog well

     A solution to this conflict, of course, are the afore mentioned Bankhar livestock guardian dogs, animals that live to scare off wolves and leopards and even the eagles and vultures that prey on lambs and kids. However, the average nomadic family earns three dollars a day, and cannot afford to buy these dogs from pricey breeders in the city. This is where a non-profit organization called The Mongolian Bankhar Dog Project (MBDP) comes in. This project, which I have been working with for the past year, has gathered strong, healthy Bankhar from around Mongolia and bred them to produce the ideal livestock guardian dogs, which are then trained at their facilities and are given away to Mongolians throughout the steppes. The project also is performing research at the same time as bringing dogs to families in need, and we have placed a couple puppies with the Snow Leopard Trust who are using them to see the most effective way of decreasing snow leopard-human conflict.
(To learn more about how to help The Mongolian Bankhar Dog Project, click here.)

One of the puppies just after he was given to his new family by the MBDP

A Bankhar dog protecting a lamb and a child

    In closing, though Mongolia is far far away from the Adirondacks, the same conflicts take place, and the same solutions are used to survive as herders and farmers in a wild environment. Livestock guardian dogs are at work in many farms throughout the Adirondack Park. While there are no longer any wolves in the park, coyotes, foxes, hawks, bobcats and other predators still threaten livestock, so dogs are very much needed in some areas. The farmers of Mace Chasm Farm in Keeseville, NY  for example have two Great Pyrenees dogs that protect their sheep, cows, pigs, and chickens. The dogs are a traditional, predator-friendly solution for farmers and herders from Keane Valley to the South Gobi Aimag, and plus, though livestock guardian dogs are working dogs, it doesn't mean they can't be one of your best friends at the same time.

Thank you for reading!

Photos by Soyolbolod Serguleng

Misguided Wanderings

Maybe due to its history being so intertwined with the Romantic Era, or maybe due to the human tendency to wax poetic about their environment, The Adirondack Park seems to inspire a great deal of literature. It seems impossible to discuss contemporary Adirondack writing without talking about Bill McKibben. A campus favorite, "Wandering Home: A Long Walk Across America's Most Hopeful Landscape" is an enjoyable read about the recent happenings of the Park and where certain individuals who call the region home see their paths leading. In short, this piece serves as a window into a far quainter lifestyle than what many Hamilton students are used to.

While this creates a pleasant narrative with high entertainment value, it feels at times one-sided. Just look at an early established bit of repetition: practically every individual McKibben discusses fits the same profile. He himself describes the standard Adirondack resident as "tall, skinny, goofy, warm smile" and oftentimes having close ties to academia. These well meaning individuals also all seem to be dedicated to the development of a sustainable future in the Park. In only briefly mentioning those who see the Adirondack region as one fit for development, and in eliminating any real conversation on social ills in the region, McKibben does his home a disservice. By presenting such a limited perspective, he presents the region as one in safe, fully unified, and well intentioned hands, one that does not need saving. If there is little or no social ill in the region, why does it need saving? This alienates a large portion of the book's audience that would presumably be interested in conservation efforts in the region if they were not presented as widespread and largely successful as they are in "Wandering Home".

In presenting the Adirondack Park in such a manner, the book reads as a tourist pamphlet at points. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but feels inauthentic. My criticism of McKibben comes not from his dedication to the future of the region. In fact, I applaud his efforts to bring attention to the good occurring. Instead, I find issue with his limited view of who and what constitutes the region. Each profile he gives is of a man who came to the park with a certain degree of socioeconomic success. He seems to ignore those of lesser means, or even of different backgrounds, who still are very much residents of the park. Upon reading other works by authors with interest in the region, such as Paul Schneider's "The Adirondacks: A History of America's First Wilderness", which gives a historical understanding of the profiles of park residents, and Philip G. Terrie's "Contested Terrain: A New History of Nature and People in the Adirondacks" that supplies ample portraiture on the diversity in the Park, it seems to be a large oversight.

Bill McKibben is a man with high visibility in the environmentally concerned world. It is because of this position that I find his failure to adequately mention Adirondack residents outside of a few who all seem to fit the same mold concerning. In discussing the realities of the region, particularly in terms of economic diversity, an honest conversation that balances many perspectives can be started. To me, it is difficult to consider why only some residents are actively pursuing highly environmentally conscious lifestyles without first understanding the accessibility of these choices as they apply to a wider pool of residents.

While this appears to be a simple lapse in judgement, and may be an intentional choice in the name of concision, the omission of certain classes of Adirondack residents is problematic in terms of developing the environmental conservation movement into one that is accessible to those outside the realm of organic farm investors, college students, and small business owners.

Works Cited: 
McKibben, Bill 2014. Wandering Home: A Long Walk Across America's Most Hopeful Landscape. St. Martin's Griffin
Schneider, Paul 1997. The Adirondacks: A History of America's First Wilderness. Henry Holt & Co. 
Terrie, Philip G. 2008. Contested Terrain: A New History of Nature and People in the Adirondacks. Second Edition. The Adirondack Museum/Syracuse Univ. Press

Colorful Characters

          What makes the Adirondacks so different from the Wild West? This topic came up in class discussion this morning and it made me think. Other than the apparent differences in landscape and climate, what makes the Wild West the land of outlaws and righteous cowboys whereas the Adirondacks simply don’t supply the same types of tales? The answer is, THEY DO!

            Take for instance Father Isaac Jogues, a French missionary who was captured and tortured by the Mohawks in a variety of ways, including pulling off his fingernails and cutting off his thumb with a clam shell. He managed to escape, whereupon he returned to France and then came back to the Adirondacks, claiming it was his God-given duty to convert the Natives. He was abruptly killed with a hatchet upon meeting the Mohawks a second time.

            Or how about Sir William Johnson, who is famous for learning the Mohawk language and Iroquois customs and becoming a crucial bridge between the English and Native Americans during the French and Indian War. However, he also seemed to be the historical version of a modern day frat boy. He lived in lavish style for being in the middle of the wilderness, with a full staff complete with bodyguards, a violinist, a Mohawk boy in uniform who handed out tobacco, and two white-skinned dwarfs, both named Bartholomew, who waited tables. He allegedly loved large dinner parties and hosted one almost every night, often lasting far into the wee hours of the morning. He loved dirty jokes and apparently had quite the eye for the ladies. The English press reported that he fathered about seven hundred children.

            Later on came the trappers such as Nick Stoner, known for starting drunken bar fights with Natives whom he believed had stolen his furs. Even worse was Nat Foster, a trigger happy son-of-a-gun who practically made sport of shooting Natives and entire packs of wolves at once. They seemed to be more wild than human themselves.

            There were also the first settlers, who were jacks-of-all-trades. Some made ‘toughing it’ work for them, others didn’t. Some tried building empires, including William Gilliland who had a pipe dream to reject the American lifestyle and build a future based on the feudal system. It actually worked for a while, before the Revolution landed him in debtor’s prison and his realm disbanded. He returned to his lands and lived off of surveying missions until he was found frozen solid in the middle of February, the bones of his hands and knees completely exposed from frostbite caused by him crawling through the icy forest.

            Yet stories like these are forgotten, since the Adirondacks were more subject to Thoreau’s sense of romanticism. In the period of time in which this area was settled, nature was most valued and admired for its beauty, vastness, wildness, and restorative qualities. In comparison, the west was settled during the era of Manifest Destiny, when the might of man, the ability to conquer nature, was most important. Vigilante-style living was what became most romanticized during this time, and so the rough-and-tumble John Wayne-esque personas became their sort of trademark. In the Adirondacks, it seems the trees are more famous than the people who have lived there over the centuries, and maybe that’s a good thing after all.

                                   “What are men to rocks and mountains?” –Jane Austen

           

Cited:

Schneider, Paul. The Adirondacks: A History of America’s First Wilderness. New York: H. Holt, 1998. Print.