Meeting on the mountain

Climb every mountain!

Imagine having this for view while enjoying your morning coffee

Some where out there lies Ichabod Ricker. 

It is not easy to walk alone in the country without musing upon something.  ~ Charles Dickens

BROWNFIELD - Terry Blake's homestead sits on the side of a ben that puts Waltons' Mountain to shame.

John Boy and the rest of the Walton clan from Virginia would feel right at home at a landscape that would make any tired soul bow to nature. An outdoors photographer might be tempted to pay good money to turn his camera loose on this place.

We took a long drive through winding roads that are sprinkled with amazing views of lush green mountains and pristine lakes to visit the quiet New England town of Brownfield - population of about 1,300.

The Blake Reunion was being held at Terry's home, which is located in Maine's version of the Swiss Alps, and with free food and drink on the menu, well, it was worth the hour-long ride through Casco, Mechanic Falls, Poland, Naples, Bridgton and Denmark on a bright and warm August day.

Long rides through the backroads of Maine are simply delightful. I not only find the drive restful, but the sharp turns and bone-jarring bumps make me feel like I am competing in the Baja 500. And with the entire family on board, there was good conversation and music during our trip through central Maine.

There are no TVs or portable DVD players to kill time in our family vehicle. The cell phone is off and technology takes a backseat to our journey through the Pine Tree State.

I will never understand why some parents install a TV screen in a van. Is it just another way to ignore their children? I would rather hear what is on my son's mind. And I am afraid I am going to miss something on our short journeys.

We drove up the long rode to Terry's ranch when we were stopped by a pair of dogs that wouldn't budge. It was interesting standoff for a few moments.

Those Blakes are good people. They are from Terri's mother's side of the family. And it was certainly kind of Terri to open his home to all of us.

As we roamed around Terry Blake's vast property, which includes about 400 acres of open meadows nestled in between large, rolling hills, we caught a glimpse of his three majestic horses. These are well-fed and kept animals. Watching them prance around makes anyone appreciate their beauty.

Anthony and I went out on the back porch to enjoy the view when Anthony noticed a lone tombstone sitting in the middle of a manicured meadow about 150 yards away. 

Imagine having an entire meadow all to yourself for all of eternity. 

My son spotted the lone grave. Anthony's discovery sparked insatiable curiosity. We were compelled to inquire about the gravesite' occupant. Terry was happy to reveal that Ichabod Ricker has been resting in peace since his death in the 1880s.

Well, we had our fill of good food and rich conversation before we said our goodbyes.

I enjoy sitting around and chewing the fat with relatives. No texting, chatting online or emails - just face-to-face conversation with real, live people.

Look, reunions are a great way to stay in touch and trade old memories with relatives, but they also remind us of  loved ones who can no longer attend these get-togethers for the living.

I am sure old Ichabod Ricker would agree, although he is not saying much these days.

Father tries to know best

No man can possibly
know what life means, what the
world means, until he has a child and loves it. And
then the whole universe changes
and nothing will ever again seem
exactly as it seemed before.

- Lafcadio Hearn

POLAND, Maine - No tie, shirt or money. I was not presented with a power tool, a lifetime subscription to "Sports Illustrated" or served breakfast in bed.

I didn't even get to sleep late. I left a wake-up call for 8:30 a.m.

I was given a thoughtful card and a shout-out from my wife, wishing me happy Father's Day as I stumbled toward the coffee pot Sunday morning.

All I requested was a homemade strawberry pie (Terri can put Martha Stewart to shame in the kitchen), a long hike in the woods with my son, and a swim at one of the local lakes of my choosing.

To top off the evening, we treated ourselves to an ice cream. After all, as a loving, hard-working father and husband, I think I have earned it.

I also did the cooking because I am the best chef in the house. And Terri certainly doesn't mind me commandeering our kitchen to cook dinner.

Being a father is the toughest and the most satisfying profession in the world. Fathers, like moms, only get one take to get it right when raising children. There are no do-overs, and what parents say and do will affect their children the rest of their lives.

That's a colossal obligation, and unfortunately, there are parents who do not live up to those great expectations, and all of society, especially the child, pays that awful price.

I love the responsibility of being the patriarch of my family. I feel like godfather Don Corleone without the violence. I welcomed the enormous responsibilities of raising a child, and I believe I have it done it well, and I think my son's kindness reflects our love for him.

I was present in the delivery room when Anthony made his entrance. I wore surgical clothes when he was delivered by C-section. No, I didn't faint because the doctors knew what they were doing, and a little blood doesn't bother me.

I cried as I cut the umbilical cord. My dad thought I was nuts when I decided to watch the whole procedure unfold. Well, I am nuts, but that's a subject for another blog. 

And I thought my dad really knew me.

Anthony was placed in my arms. I noticed he had a full head of hair. I told him to get a job. He just looked at me and smiled. I trembled as I held him, but I was not frightened at being the caretaker of a human life.

I knew nine months ago that I wanted the job.

Terri, who had to do all the hard work of carrying a child to term, was in pain. She was given pain killers. I wanted a valium to ease my nerves. Watching a delivery and the huge sacrifices women make to deliver a healthy child over nine months makes all moms heroic figures.

But I believe it still takes two to raise a child. Parents make a huge contribution to the world when we raise a responsible human being. 

It is our sworn duty, and that contract between child and parents should last a lifetime.

For the next two days, I resided at Maine Medical Center in Portland, learning how to care for my newborn son. My feet still hadn't touched the ground after his arrival. I was on a natural high, and I couldn't wait to hold him throughout the day.

My father asked: "Who is going to take care of your son during the day." I said, "I am, dad. Who else."

He was astonished, but I was not surprised by his look. Stay-at-home dads (I worked nights) in my father's generation were rare.

For the next six years, I was Anthony''s guide during the day shift. Terri took over when she got home in the afternoon. Day care was out of the question for our son.

Anthony and I went to libraries, visited other children, and toured museums. TV was limited and video games were a no-no. There are no video games in this house to this day. Cable television also got the heave-ho.

Some would call me cruel, but I really hate TV.

This Sunday, Anthony took a long hike with his old man at Range Pond. We talked about everything during our two-mile journey around the pristine lake. I am amazed that he still enjoys my company.

Hey, every day I wake up and see my family standing before me makes me realize why I really enjoy my job.

After all, every day is Father's Day. Just take a good look at your family.

A walk in the woods and thoughts about an old friend

 

    POLAND, Maine - The weather is absurdly warm, but as long as our oil furnace is silent and I am not contributing to the wealth of greedy speculators and Middle East corporations, I welcome the strong sun and melting snow in March.

    To celebrate this salubrious March day, we ventured into the cool Maine woods at Range Pond State Park - which has 1,000 feet of pristine shoreline and clear, cool water surrounded by miles of hiking trails. Take your bike or stroll the walking paths at Range. It doesn't matter; it is all good for your health.

    This oasis, which lies just 10 miles outside the Twin Cities, is a great way to beat the summer heat. The lake is fine area to try your hand at fishing and check out gawky loons that saunter past you. The hiking trails are shaded by tall pines.

     The ice is just starting to melt, but the sheet of white slushy stuff is quite a contrast against the searing sun. Winter always lingers in this state, and its calling card is stubborn ice and snow that lies in the shady areas of the woods until April.

     The two-mile hike brought us to the sandy shore where we found a vacant bench drenched in shade. We enjoyed the cool breezes off the icy water as we washed away our thirst with a cooler full of water.

     Anthony tossed rocks and dipped his legs in the frigid water to cool off as the mercury reached the 75-degree mark.

    Spring arrives on Tuesday, but New England just might skip that season and move right on to summer with temperatures hovering around 80 degrees during the middle of the week.

     There was a sparse group of Mainers who also thought it would be a pleasant way to spend a hot March afternoon near a lake encased in ice. 

     Just think, in another month and a half, all of us will immerse ourselves in Range's cooling waters to take cover from summer's impending heat.

Blast from the past

     It is amazing how many walk people in and out of our brief lives. 

     Ken Freeland flew right into my airspace at Norwich University nearly 34 years ago. We have been friends ever since and frequently reach out to each other as the decades have rolled past us.

     We became roommates at the Vermont military school for the five months. For some reason, we became friends in the first five minutes. Throw in John Connor and we became the Three Musketeers who had one helluva a time trading barbs and sampling fine booze in our cramped quarters. We were three comedians who gave the Norwich establishment a run for its money.

     Ken is a character, but that could also be said of me. Somehow, we mesh even though we are different. I guess that's why they call it friendship, which has endured for over three decades.

    Marriages don't last that long, and yet, our friendship was forged in less than a year.

     Last week, Ken left Connecticut to travel to Maine to purchase an expensive dog — and grace the Blasi household with a visit.

     I was honored.

    That last time we saw each other was seven years ago, which was far too long gap in our friendship. We have always stayed in touch by email or telephone.

     His visit was important to me. At this stage in my life, when many friends and family have died the past two years, I try to keep my channels open with people who actually give a damn about me and are still above ground.

    Well, his visit did me a world of good, and it was great to share a beer and reminisce about our glorious past.

    I think we will be seeing more of each other because we both understand we are all short-timers in this grand universe.