Like I Don't Have Enough To Worry About

Like I Don't Have Enough To Worry About

By John R. Greenwood

Just when you thought it was safe to go outside, another warning appears. Low coolant in your radiator, low air in your tires, and low-flying planes in your backyard all add up to a life filled with warning signs. The problem is no one pays attention. I should say no one cares. Every day is like a game of roulette. I even started to write Russian roulette, but any word that surfaces a vision of crazy Vladimir makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. 

How do we navigate a world filled with landmines of warnings and fear while maintaining some semblance of normalcy? You have to walk a tightrope of common sense without falling prey to agoraphobia. It's real, and it's spreading like a Canadian wildfire.  

Personally, I take a lot of deep breaths and steps back, always searching for a "happy" medium to keep me informed, safe, and mentally prepared for the next snare. 

This morning's walk was the perfect testing ground for my observations. I enjoy the solitude of an early morning walk. You get to enjoy the sounds and sightings of songbirds and munching rabbits versus the squealing tires of Ricky Bobby or the rumbling exhaust of Whistling Diesel. The sign triggering this piece was the Low Flying Planes warning up the road. Honestly, the sign is a comfort. Fortunately, we have a large tract of farmland visible from my house. It has a seldom-used runway for small planes, a large pond, a hayfield, and a horse pasture. The multigenerational property is well-maintained and a gift to the neighborhood. The sign was itself a sign to open my eyes to more signs. It didn't take more than a stone's throw to be overwhelmed with warnings on metal posts. 

Stop signs are a given, yet they are the most ignored signs. They should replace the word with a pair of dice. 

Unless you want a shotgun in your face, they can take down "No Soliciting" signs. Nobody in their right mind knocks on a stranger's door these days. The only dog in our house goes in a bun; no clean up required.

 "One Way" signs are the most accurate and timely. In 2023 we all believe there is only one way: "Our Way." 

The "Weight Limit 4 Tons" signs at both ends of my road are nagging reminders to skip the pastry and grab an apple. 

Speed Bumps Ahead
Front Page News…

Do teenagers even do that anymore? 

LOL!
The last time anyone went around
this corner at 15 M.P.H. they were on a horse.

.

The sign may be a bit tired, but the message is not.

As I came through the gate of my own backyard 

I was greeted by the best signs of all. 

Thanks Mrs. G. 

A Strong Foundation

A Strong Foundation
By John R. Greenwood

The photo above may appear average and unremarkable. Still, as I knelt there this April morning, the view reminded me of my personal foundation. Growing up in a small country village surrounded by a supportive community proved to be one of the most valuable contributions to my life. Whenever I begin to dissect what true happiness is, I inevitably return to my roots. Not simply family roots but those of my youth in general.

There isn't a day when I don't refer back to a face or story from my early life. Grade school classmates, backyard adventures, scout meetings, tree climbing, hay fort building, and visions of the old swimming hole all surface. When it's quiet with no outside distractions, I can visualize the endless list of people who strengthened my foundation. The obvious are parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and my dear sister. Then the surnames of the childhood families that added mortar to that foundation flow like water: Shay, Dake, Atwell, Davis, Gibbons, Cornell, Baldwin, Frasier, Hodges, O'Donnell, Rumpf, Panton, Lindahl, Bootier, Levo, Orisesk, Barney, Brown, Wheatley, Allen, Claydon, Gordon, Cote, Kahl, Sherman, Hall, Sesselman, Kostka, Bowen, Cline, Schwartz, Hurd, Smero, Koptula, Homiak, Pasmik, and Jones, all just a fraction of the mountainous collection of contributors to my life. I could fill pages with the names of people who've positively influenced me. Every day I channel an event or lesson I've experienced. Even the painful or uncomfortable ones have meaning and purpose in some remote way. How lucky I've been to have lived in the time and places that I have.

I saw that when I stood up and looked at my freshly painted foundation. Those names began popping into my head, inspiring me to write them down. As I write this, the gentle rain falling outside has given me a moment to ponder each name and attach a memory. It's an activity that I practice often and one that gives me immense pleasure. I know many people spend their lives searching for happiness via material things. Although a new car, exotic vacation, or motorboat can bring you short-term joy, the list of names above could only be obtained by growing up where stone foundations can still be found today.

Thank you, the 1960s and Greenfield Center, NY.

RIP Brookside Dairy

RIP Brookside Dairy
John R. Greenwood

Hall's Brookside Dairy
Wilton Rd.

I lost a dear friend today, and I'm having a hard time with it. A few days ago I was told the remaining buildings on the old Brookside Dairy property would be torn down. Praying they were mistaken, I drove by the farm on my way to a Greenfield Historical Society Event. The Brookside property had been cordoned off with caution tape and there were two demolition dumpsters sitting next to the main house. Personally, I think crime tape would have been a better choice. It was Saturday morning, and no one I spoke with knew anything about what was happening at the old farm.

Jump ahead three days. I received a text message that Captain John St. John's 1789 home was no longer standing and that it was on its way to the landfill. Ironically, there is a drawing of that same home on the cover of a long-forgotten 1970s publication titled "Greenfield Heritage Resource Inventory." On page #3 of that Heritage Resource Inventory, under a section titled, "AN EVALUATION OF WHAT THERE IS IN THE TOWN," is the following paragraph under HISTORIC RESOURCES:



A detailed analysis of the history of the area and its architectural record is given in chapter one. Some forty structures were felt to have historical significance, and the report isolates each one, shows its importance, and urges a general program for preservation and enhancement of these areas. 

Guess which structure is now a pile of dust—yes, #9. The Captain St. John house was in the top ten! 

Thank goodness they designated the Greenfield Town Hall #1.

Enlarged photo of Heritage Resource Inventory book cover

Captain John St. John Home 
later became Harold L. Hall's Brookside Dairy 

Description on Page #51 
Greenfield Heritage Resource Inventory 

Excuse my anger; it manifests itself when someone hurts or threatens someone close to me. Brookside Dairy was not a part of my family, but it played a significant role in who I became. Brookside Dairy taught me work ethic when I was still in single digits. It's where I learned how to build a hay fort and friendships. It set a foundation for a career in the milk business, which put a roof over my head and fed my family. It nurtured my lifelong leaning to the positive side of the road and my passion for saving and sharing stories of good times. It fueled my love of history and tightened my grip on nostalgia. Most of all, I learned the lesson of compassion. In the 1990s, Harold L. Hall shared an oral history of his life. You can find it on the Saratoga County Historical Center's website. He shared one story that stuck with me. He tells of a day in the farm's early years when he was sick with the flu and could barely move. He was in the barn milking when one of his immigrant neighbors came in the barn and saw how sick he was. He told Harold to go in the house and that he'd be right back. When he returned, he had others with him, and they proceeded to finish the milking and other chores. Harold seemed to pause in quiet reflection as he told the story.

I'm told that mold and vandalism riddled the buildings on the property and that the cost to save them would have been in the millions. That may or may not be true but what hurts the most is knowing that the people responsible will never experience the way I felt when I saw those two dumpsters. 

DOD 9/27/2021

At least we have a book cover to hold on to...

The Greenfield Historical Society's Chatfield Museum in the Odd Fellows Hall in Middle Grove is #24 on the Heritage Resource Historic Structure List. If you see a dumpster there tomorrow, call 911.

A Little Magic

A Little Magic

By John R. Greenwood

Magic Dick and Shun Ng
June 21,2019 @ Caffe` Lena

In 1972 I was a High School Junior—a Saratoga Springs Blue Streak. My wife and I were dating, and we’ve now been married for 45 years. Three weeks ago, we retired hand-in-hand on the very same day. We are looking forward to a work-free summer filled with dates, day-trips, and mini adventures. Last night I enjoyed one of those mini-adventures when I witnessed a little Magic at Caffè Lena. 

"My 1972 Album Cover" 

The music was going to be a trip back and step forward all in the same night. That music was provided by Magic Dick and Shun Ng. Richard Salwitz known as Magic Dick, born May 13, 1945 was a member of the J. Geils band in 1972. That was the year I purchased the J. Geils Live album Full House (Yes, I still have the original pictured here). Full House was recorded at the Cinderella Ballroom in Detroit, Michigan. "Whammer Jammer" the #4 song on that album was always one of those songs that made me feel good. It got your “heart pumpin’” and looking forward to whatever was coming next. So, when I saw Magic Dick pop up on Caffè Lena’s upcoming event page, my curiosity and nostalgia kicked in. Three minutes later I had an Eventbrite Ticket Confirmation. 

"Magic Dick in 1972"
Photo from the back of the Full House Album

Magic was now partnered with Shun Ng. The promo said Shun was an acoustic guitar sensation. Although the name was not familiar, I trusted Caffè Lena and Magic Dick. That’s the adventure part of this retirement gig. A short Shun Ng trip on Google and Youtube indicated this was going to be more interesting than I first thought. I was not disappointed. 

Even the search for a Saratoga parking spot on a Friday night in June turned into an enjoyable adventure. Finally, after circling nearby lots and streets, I settled on a quiet spot on Regent Street a few blocks away. The walk to 47 Phila began the walk back in time. This was the other end of the street, where I went to Jr. High. A few buildings south of that is where we'd drop my son off at Marilyn Rollison's "MarLyn Nursery School". It was the street where I would steal a kiss from my girlfriend, now wife, on our walks from the Eastside to SPAC for a James Taylor concert. It was a block away from the Spring St. Market and Eartha’s Kitchen where I delivered milk back in the 80s. An endless loop of fond memories and sights was playing in my head. 

My wife and I have differing likes when it comes to music, so tonight was a solo flight. It was okay, the camaraderie of a Caffè Lena crowd was sure to provide some interesting conversation. The show was spectacular. Magic, now seventy and still sporting black leather was energetic and engaging as was his sub-thirty partner Shun Ng. 

This story is more than a music review. I wanted to focus on the living beyond work part, and the re-wiring of our goals and aspirations for life on a monthly check and weeks with no weekends. Caffè Lena presented me with a priceless gift Friday night. Never in my wildest dreams back in 1972 did I think that in forty-seven years I’d be sitting in a quaint music venue enjoying one of my teenage music heroes just a few feet away. This isn’t about going back and trying to recapture youth, it’s about savoring the entire dish. Life for me has all taken place within a 30-mile radius, but when I start pulling out the strands of experiences, friendships, characters, and memories, it’s a mountainous collection of joy. Finding joy and not regret is what we should strive for in life after work. How many times have we heard, “life is what  you make of it.” Sitting at that little table on that beautiful Friday night in June, I had the immense pleasure of listening to 1972 again. It’s not about re-creating it, it’s about letting those sounds and voices inspire you to want more—even after the workdays end. May 31st, 2019 was my last day of employment but the first day of school for me. Excitement and curiosity are alive and well. Thanks to some old friends and places, it’s tasting delicious. 

Thank you Magic, it was an honor to shake your hand and have an opportunity to tell you face to face how much your music meant to me when I was 17. Thank you for introducing Shun Ng and his music to me. Thank you, Sarah Craig, for pouring your heart and soul into Lena’s place and helping it thrive. Thank you, Joe Deuel, for your gentle demeanor and undying commitment to capturing the essence of Lena’s in sound and photographs.

Thank you, Saratoga, Wilton, and Greenfield for the buffet of life you’ve laid out for me, Chapter # 1’s been a great ride. Chapter # 2’s off to a great start!  

* Fun side note and testament to my lack of music nerd-ness. As I was Googling around J. Geils and all the Wikipedia side trips I stumbled upon the simplest of facts. The poker hand on the cover of Full House is not a full house. I've owned that album for almost a half-century and listened to it hundreds of times, and I never realized it! See what I mean. You're never too old to be curious. You may be surprised at what you find. No wonder when I looked at the Queen of Hearts closely she was winking at me. ;)

And just in case you're wondering: 

"Whammer Jammer" - Let me hear you Dickie!

The Chair

The Chair 

By John R. Greenwood 

This story is about more than a chair. This simple little antique ladder-back contains a lifetime of family history, family friendship, and family memories. It has traveled around Saratoga County for its entire life. I don’t believe the chair was intended to be a family heirloom at first, but based on the journey it has taken since the 1960s that is what it has become. 

This story was revitalized recently when I received a phone call from Judy (Atwell) Cleveland. Judy’s family lived adjacent to ours growing up in Greenfield Center. She called to tell me she had a chair that my parents had given her when they were downsizing to an apartment back in the early 2000s. She described it briefly and asked if I remembered the chair. At first, I didn’t, but as she described where it sat in the house I was finally able to visualize it. Because Judy knows I wax a little nostalgic, she thought I might like to keep the chair in the family. I knew my grandfather had refinished the chair and given it to my mother and father. He was a skilled antique furniture collector and refinisher and did dozens and dozens of pieces after he retired. What Judy told me that I didn’t know, was that my grandfather had also re-caned the seat himself. That is no simple task as you could imagine. As a kid growing up, it was just another chair against the wall in the living room. Now, with the additional knowledge of the seat, along with the fact that someone had taken such good care of a part of my family’s history, the chair began to take on an entirely different look. She told me the caning was very brittle so the only one allowed to sit in the chair for the last several years was a cherished Teddy Bear. I hope Teddy didn't commandeer Judy’s husband Ken’s recliner now that the ladder-back was gone. 

I told Judy how grateful I was for her thoughtfulness and a few weeks later I stopped by to pick up the chair. 

This is where the story really begins. 

Judy and Ken live in Judy’s childhood home. The home I’d visited hundreds of times throughout my Wonder Years. The very minute Ken opened the back door I was flooded with a wave of fond memories. The stories told around their kitchen table. The beer induced pranks that our fathers played on one another. The laughter and good times that were generated in that house and neighborhood began to overwhelm me with emotion I couldn’t control. I could see my old backyard from the kitchen window, the grove of pine trees where I covered myself in pitch and boyhood joy. There just a few feet away was my old minibike trail that led to old friends that enriched my life. Out the other window stood two giant maples that hosted a neighborhood swing that seemed to swing so high you could touch the treetops. Just a few yards west was the old firehouse our fathers built and manned as volunteers for decades. The firehouse where I competed in a Pinewood Derby and received my first Merit Badge. The firehouse where my wife and I danced our first dance as husband and wife. The firehouse where I learned how to drive a firetruck and roll up a 2-inch canvas firehose. On the other side of the stone wall was the field where our fathers flooded the village skating rink late into the cold night and “The Hill” where toboggan runs lasted forever. The field where we sped around in old field cars was now a forest, but the sight of my friend Rick, rolling a Volkswagen Bug over and over with nothing but a lap belt and his Bell Motorcycle helmet on, was as clear as the smile on my face. The dirt path where I learned to peddle my first bike was right outside the door. The country store where I got my first cavity and cashed my first leaf raking paycheck. The store that had a wooden bench out front with my initials and a hundred others carved all over it. There was a time I knew every person, in every house, in every direction for a mile or more. Our old cabin that a handful of pre-teen boys built themselves, lay just out of sight, in the woods on the other side of the hill. The cabin where we played tag in a scotch-pine field, in the light of the moon, laughing until our sides hurt. The cabin where we hid stolen pumpkins and warm beer. The cabin where we told jokes, farted and watched old Shep singe his wagging tail on the fire-red wood stove. Vision upon vision came rolling over me like a freight train. As I tried to thank Ken and Judy for their kind gesture of returning that little ladder back chair I started to well up. I couldn’t stop, I tried. It wasn’t sadness, it was gratitude beyond the words. I was truly blessed with an unbelievable youth and life. The friends and experiences I’ve accumulated are priceless treasures. I can’t tell you how lucky I feel for having enjoyed the people and stories of small-town life. The chair, the gesture, the opening of that backdoor was a gift too large for words. 

Judy and Ken, Dot and John, Diane, Jackie, Rick, Gary, Brian, Bill, Chris, Paul and Jean, Randy, Greg, PM, Duane, Kevin, Bob, Bill, Barry, Harry and Edna, John and Dutch, Bill and Pearl, Doug, Dot and Bill, Charlie and Philly, Perrin, Brad, Chip, the list goes on and on. Thank you, thank you for the friendship, the mentoring, the meals, the open doors, and watchful eyes. 

Thank you for the chair, the memories, and the time…

John  

It'll Drive You To Drink

It’ll Drive You To Drink

By John R. Greenwood

It’s a short little road, not more than a half-a-mile long. I’ve lived on it since 1981 when there were just a few homes. I remember it being a dirt road in the 60’s when Pepper’s Turkey Farm was a thriving family business. Now it’s the NYS Thruway of my neighborhood. I’m not against growth and progress. What I do wish, is that people would take more pride in the neighborhood where they live. 

Today is the last week of 2018 in the foothills of the Adirondacks and it’s 40 degrees out, with no snow in sight. Its Saturday morning and a walk around my 1.5 mile block seemed like a nice way to start the day. I grabbed my music and headed down the road. There’s a short stretch of my road that is lined with a tall grove of pines. Its part of the original Farone family farm. Fortunately the property remains in the family. It’s the same spot where I almost walked into the side of a black bear lumbering across the road this summer. I’ve spent my life exploring the Adirondacks, but my most exciting wildlife experience came just a few hundred yards out my backdoor. In that very same spot is where I took the photographs you see here. Last fall there was a noticeable increase in alcohol related litter around the entire perimeter of my block. In this particular spot it seems to have tripled in just a few months. The sight sickened me. The fact that this debris field surrounds a bright yellow “Children In Area” sign angers me! The anger is compounded by the fact that not only is this person using my neighborhood for a literal dump, they are also behind the wheel of a car knocking back a bottle of wine while children play, joggers run, and people walk just a few feet away—people who want to enjoy the beauty of where they live. This is not just a neighborhood problem, it’s a problem with our current society in general. Society is rapidly being divided into people who care about more than just themselves and people who only care about themselves. It’s a divide that is widening by the minute. 

I’m not sure how we right this ship, but I do know how I intend to address it in my little corner of the world. I decided to informally adopt my little road and with every walk I’ll collect a bag of litter. Today I started by filling a small bag with the single serve wine bottles I found in just a 20’ swath under the “Children In Area" sign. On my next walk I’ll bring a bigger bag, and maybe, just maybe my neighborhood wino will pass by without running me over. And maybe, just maybe a spark of self-respect will overcome them. And maybe, just maybe, they will find it in their heart to make the extra effort going forward to throw their bottles in the trash and not the side of a country road. 

Thanks Again Washington County

Thanks Again Washington County

By John R. Greenwood

Foxfield Farm - Granville, NY

I owe a lot to Washington County NY. It has come to my rescue time and time again. It has been a tough summer for me. There has been some family losses and more work than play, thus making it more difficult to recuperate. But, as it has in the past, the green pastures and farm scenes of Washington County have revived my spirit and brought me back peace of mind. The resuscitation began with the 2016 Washington County Fair. I didn't get to enjoy the rides, tractor pulls, or the displays, but that’s okay. It was my visit at 3:30am to pick up milk that brought my pulse rate and my outlook back on track. Passing by the darkened rides and curtained midway games was therapeutic. Picturing the change that would take place in the hours ahead brought a smile to my face. As I pulled in the back entrance to the waving flashlight beam of a man that had probably manned that same post for years, I waved back in a semi-salute of mutual appreciation for being early morning sentinels at this yearly late summer event. As I backed in to the milking barn to prepare the milk tank for pickup I scanned the dimly lit barns looking for an early riser. The cows stirred quietly, mooing a welcoming good morning to me. I saw the familiar sign of Lincoln Hill Farm right next door. The same farm where a tragic farm accident was overcome by the miracle of prayer and the farmer strong will of Lenny Austin. Lenny who just months earlier teetered at heavens gate refused the invitation and decided to stick around for what we all hope will be decades more county fairs. The strength of Lenny, his family, and the close knit network of friends and neighbors was an inspiration for any one with a ticking heart this summer. I can’t express how deeply I was affected watching the farming community rally around one man and his family. It was uplifting and the high point of the summer of 2016. My admiration for farmers and the communities where they reside has always been of the highest regard, but in this, my 61st year, it quadrupled. 

Heide Merecki and Sara Kelly
at Lovejoy Hall on the Hubbard Hall Campus 

Today I enjoyed another spirit quenching experience in the town of Cambridge NY. The Cambridge Valley Fine Art Tour was in its second day and there was one artist in particular that I had been wanting to meet. Matt Chinian was one of the seven artists in town who were displaying and selling their work all within the city limits. I apologize for not getting to visit all seven artists but heat and time took a toll and my wife and I had to cut our tour short. Before meeting Matt we did get to meet artists Heide Merecki and Sara Kelly in the Lovejoy Building on the Hubbard Hall Campus. Their work was wonderful as were their welcoming personalities. It was like reacquainting with old friends. Two more examples of Washington County hospitality that has been so supportive of my own work. 

Artist Matt Chinian 

We left these two lovely artists and headed out to meet Matt Chinian. Matt’s gallery is located next to his home. It’s a beautiful piece of property right on Main St. I’d been by it dozens of times on my way to Bedlam Farm, Battenkill Books, and Hubbard Hall. I knew where it was because I’d seen the sign out front. I never would have stopped by unannounced or without an invitation. The tour was the perfect opportunity to introduce myself. I’d become interested in Matt’s work because not only did his work resemble my favorite artist Jack Lewis, much of it was done along the banks of the Hudson River. For over a year I’ve wanted to show Matt, Jack’s work. I knew in my heart he would be as drawn to the painting and writings of Mr. Lewis as I was. I pulled into Matt’s back yard and parked the car. My wife was not feeling well so she relaxed quietly while I headed into the gallery to introduce myself. Matt came out of the gallery door as I approached. I instinctively said, “Hi Matt, I’m John Greenwood, aka “Raining Iguanas” from the blog and Facebook.” Although we hadn’t met before, it seemed like we had. I was the only visitor at the time so I took full advantage of it by blasting Matt with both barrels. I couldn't  explain why I was so interested in his work fast enough. Matt is a quiet and mild mannered man. I was rattling on like a four year-old on Red Bull. The poor guy didn’t know what hit him. He was gracious and genuinely interested in my Jack Lewis, Hudson River connection. This was better than any ride at the fair. It was better than any ride at Disney for me. “I just happen to have a copy of,  “The Hudson River” in the car Matt,” I interjected. He nodded and with two strokes of a paint brush I had it spread out on a table in Matt’s gallery looking for a similar painting in Matt’s collection. It didn’t take long to locate one. As I gently flipped the boxes of prints one scene stopped me in my tracks. It was a painting of the Rip Van Winkle Bridge and the Hudson River done from the banks below the Olana Historical Site. It was almost an identical match to Jack’s painting in the Hudson River book done from the same location. There were over fifty years between the two paintings and I was enjoying them both equally. I had to have Matt’s rendition. I said, “I’ll take it!” Before we could go any further more visitor’s showed up cutting our talk short. I didn’t want Matt to miss an opportunity to make another sale so I stepped back. Later we made a commitment to get together at another time so we could talk in more detail about his work and the painting I wanted. It was like Christmas morning with a room full of presents you have to wait to open. Our meeting was much too short but it had enough content to pump me up for another week or two. I couldn’t wait to get home to write about it. That’s a bonus! 

So, tomorrow morning when I return to the Washington County Fair Grounds to pick up the last milking I will scan the empty barns and the disassembled rides. I will replay my Sunday art tour. I will make a list of thank you’s to all the great people from the area who have decorated my life over the last few years. Jon Katz and Hubbard Hall got the ball rolling and it looks like it has no signs of stopping anytime soon. 

A sign found in Matt Chinian's Gallery
Good advice I'd say

Wilton N.Y. Parkfest 2015

Wilton N.Y. Parkfest  2015
Photographs By John R. Greenwood

"Magic"

"Summer Life"

"The people all stopped and stared"

"Life is a Roller Coaster ride" 

"Behind Door #1"

"Timeless"

"Hunger Strike"

"Behind the Condiments" 

"Its been a long days night" 

"Waiting for the Fireworks" 

"Window Shopping" 

"Cashing Out"