Gateway to Sanity

For native Algonquins who resided in what is now the Borough of the Bronx, the physical world around them was paradise. The fast flowing Bronx River provided ample fresh water--and fresh fish. The Algonquins used the inedible portions of their fish catches as fertilizer for tomato, corn, and other vegetable crops. They used ropey vines to construct snares for rabbit traps, and used bows and arrows for hunting larger game such as bear and deer. For the Algonquins, the Bronx was paradise.

The dam at Woodland Lake is ideal for bird watching.

Well, almost paradise. The crossing between the mainland Bronx and Long Island is treacherous, marked by thousands of rocks and swirling currents. The Algonquins believed that the Great Spirit had chased away the Evil One and cursed him to Long Island.

What can I say? Anyone who says Satan would make Long Island home will get no argument from me.

In all seriousness, the boroughs of New York City are a great paradox, holding true to the best and worst of its descriptions. So as much as Nicole and I enjoy living and working, here, it is nice to get away. And thanks to the work of conservationists and recreationists, "away" is always a short ride on a bicycle.





As spring exits and summer nears, Nicole and I were able to enjoy a nice 30 mile bike ride through the Old Putnam Trail, a converted rail bed that runs through Van Cortland Park and up into Westchester County. Nicole has become a pretty serious "birder," and the Putnam trail is ripe for bird-watching.

This guy got a little agitated when I didn't share my Clif Bar.

"What's that!" Inquired Nicole! We had stopped at Woodland Lake in Irvington. The lake is formed by a dam at the old Saw Mill River, which is home to all sorts Wood Thrushes, Barn and Tree Swallows, and Canada Geese. With Nicole's bird book, she was able to correctly identify every single Catbird and Grackle we saw. However, one large, grey egret sighting shall remain forever uncomfirmed on this voyage, as he did a good job concealing himself in the bushes and flying away while we fumbled to get a camera.

Of all the birds we saw, the Barn Swallow probably stole the show. This little guy flies 600 miles--every day!

All this, and our bike ride never took us past the 22 mile marker on the old Putnam Rail line. The ride felt great, that is, until a tiny piece of glass decided to leave its mark on our trip.

This headstone marks the end of the line for today's journey.

We were less than a mile away from home when I was struck with a flat tire. Clearly, this was the work of the Evil One. As I said, no Algonquin will ever get any disagreement from me!

Gear up and get out: a nice little trip away from the city.

Happy Memorial Day!

"Hope, Love, Peace and Tomorrow" ~ Edith Shain.

Glenn McDuffie, March 31, 1924-March 9, 2014, and Edith Shain, July 29, 1918-June 20, 2010.

Baby Lions--Oh My!!

On our last day off together, Nicole and I had some debate as to how to enjoy it. The dilemma? Boat ride or baby lions. 

With his rock-solid stare, this baby lion looks like he is auditioning for the role of Travis Bickle.

Silly me. Nicole is always right. Nothing can ever compete with baby lions.

They run, they chase, they tumble, and then they do it all again. And this summer, you can see for of them at the Bronx Zoo.

I named these two boys "Pep" and "Junior." In retrospect, I'm not sure which is which!

 Nicole must have snapped about a hundred photos of these rambunctious yahoos. What can I say? You can't take your eyes of them. She did put the camera down, however, when Mama Lion helped one of her baby's go to the bathroom. Apparently even lions need toilet training.

Felicity tackles Mama while Sasha the shy one enjoys her solitude.

Watching Mama lion take care of her little lion cubs was a striking example of a mother's love. No matter what you said on Mother's Day, you may wish to thank her again this weekend.

Better yet, take her down to the Bronx Zoo in person. A good time shall be had by all, especially since these cubbies grow up so fast!

Where are these lions going?

Oh, right!

Springtime: a '57 Chevy with a custom paint job.

Color: It is exotic. It is flashy. It is beautiful.

And oh, is it temporary.

Once upon a time, one color wasn't enough for one car. In the 1950s, cars came in all sorts of exotic color combinations. The body could be half white, half turquoise, with an elaborate interior to match. Or mismatch. Whatever you wanted. And if you couldn't find the color on the lot, no worries. All sorts of custom painters were eager to transform salvaged older cars from the junkyard and paint over the solid black with a whole array of fluorescent fury.

No longer. The roads today are filled with an endless monotony of black, white, and sometimes silver cars. A few models come red, a few more might come in blue. How did people become afraid of color?

Such a beautiful thing is gold, but alas, nothing gold can stay. For about a week, Nicole and I treated ourselves the chromatic symphony of reds, blues, purples and yellows during cherry blossom season at the New York Botanical Gardens.

Happy Mother's Day (Again)!

For some reason, New York State consistently ranks near the bottom for retirees. Obviously, whomever is conducting these evaluations has never met our Nana!

Happy Mother's Day!

Mother and Child: Wild Ospreys feed at their nest at the Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, Queens, New York.