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Jun 30, 2009

Adirondacks in August

Filed In

I am getting fired up about planning a trip back to the Adirondacks to paint in upstate New York in August. Something about it takes me back in time much like parts of Maine I’ve been going to for the last few years. I see things happen that I may have only remembered bits and pieces of in the back of my mind from when I was a child, that maybe even then were lingeringing on from another time. I like to imagine it hasn’t change much since even say the 1940’s, but I guess times change everywhere you go, maybe just at different paces, which sometimes we may not ever take the time to stop and appreciate or even notice. As an artist I have been fortunate enough to be absorbed into some aspect of most of the places I’ve visited and many I continue to go back to year after year. More often than not, if I am out painting somewhere, I may not even be aware of what drew me there until someone local approaches me and tells me 100 years of history of what happened there (or just says ‘get off of my land’,  which rarely ever happens and also may give me some idea of what’s happening there). But to get to the point and relate this rambling to the Adirondacks, what really impressed me last year was when I first arrived and stopped in the small town market of the town where I was staying. They had all the essentials you needed to survive because there wasn’t a major grocery store for miles or any sign of an evil mega-mart (whose name shall not be named) and they didn’t have 40 varieties of toothpaste, laundry detergent, etc that we have no idea in what way one benefits us more than the other.  Any information you needed someone there could offer the answer, once you told them your purpose there, which then resulted in the addition of their knowledge of what was going on. It was sort of like it was the hub of the community, you might say where all the worlds problems were solved on a daily basis. But what really impressed me was when I went to pay for my groceries and the nice lady at the register asked the man paying in front of me if it would ‘credit’. As I expected him to pull out his credit card, I was amazed as the lady opened up the credit book and just added an amount to what he owed by his name.  I had not seen this happen since I was a little kid hanging out in my grandpas country store in the late ‘70s, and even then I would have to guess that there was a lot of credit that he never got back. But I guess the moral of this story (if there has to be one) is that I realized ‘there are still people you can trust’ and ‘New York doesn’t necessarily mean New York City (which, by the way, I think is pretty cool, too)’,