Young. Old. Just Words.

Young. Old. Just Words

By John R. Greenwood

“Young. Old. Just Words...” - George Burns 

I released this bottle a few weeks ago on a visit to Washington County. All my other bottles have been released in the city of Saratoga Springs. I hadn’t set any bottles free since earlier this year. My life had clogged with other responsibilities and my focus on writing had blurred. It wasn’t as though I’d gone completely off grid. In 2018 I had stories published in five issues of Simply Saratoga Magazine. The Winter Edition that came out last week is my first for 2019. As I contemplate retirement and the next phase of my life, the subject of age keeps knuckle-punching me in the arm. Having spent forty some years processing, selling, delivering, and picking up milk I’m trying to prepare myself to living a life simply drinking it. Retirement is not a comfortable word for me. The fact that I have Studs Terkel’s 600 page book “Working” on my bookshelf should provide a clue that work holds a special place in my life. Based on my struggle with the word ‘retirement’ itself, it would probably be a good idea to hang on to my alarm clock. 

I’ve had a good run, I should be looking forward to owning my own days--and I am. The difficult part for me is the fact that my head and mind don’t match the creaks and groans of my body. It brings to mind a poem I wrote a decade ago called, “Man Mirror.” I’ll re-share it here. 

Man Mirror

It is a special mirror

Unlike the female version 

Man Mirror is magic

It flattens, flatters and fixes

Man Mirror creates strength 

Full thick manes of blondness

No hesitation, no insecurity

Man Mirror inverts numbers

52’s become 25’s

Wrinkles become muscles

Grey t-shirts transform 

Dads into starting quarterbacks 

Boys into men

Men into boys

Man Mirror steamy and hot

Make reflections like 

No imperfections

No flaws

All appear clean, cut, and vibrant 

Who can resist the vision that stands there

Strong, tall rippled Adonis

Man Mirror

Man Mirror

On the wall

Who’s the fairest of…

The poem is true to a man’s interpretation of themselves. We all think we’ll live forever. We don’t see the same thing our wives see. It’s a healthy place to reside—until, the rust starts to fall off. Then we can’t believe what’s happening. For now, I’m content and comfortable. I’m optimistic about the days ahead. Its normal to approach the end of a 45 year career with trepidation. The difficulty lies in feeling like it began yesterday. 

I hope whoever adopted this bottle understands the feelings behind the phrase. It’s meant to battle back the fear of aging. As the AARP mailings flood my mailbox and overflow my recycling bin I refuse to buckle. With busload after busload of my fellow baby boomers lining up for flights to the Sunshine State I plan to remain right where I am. I’ll continue to unfurl my snow-rake and pull the snow from the roof’s edge. I’ll relish in the ankle-high maple leaves each fall. I’ll anticipate spring with the fervor of a young farmer. I’ll ask for my senior discount if I want it, and I’ll refuse it if asked. I enjoyed my fifties more than I ever imagined. My sixties have caught me off guard and unprepared. I’m not afraid--maybe a little nervous. When all is said and done, I have no regrets, only thanks. Thanks for all the friends, stories, and experiences that I’ve been blessed with. Add to that my family, and my work, and I hit the life-jackpot. 

Isn’t that what it’s all about? 

Old? 

Just a word… 

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. 

Nobody Wants To Help Mom

Nobody Wants To Help Mom  

John R. Greenwood 

"Everybody wants to save the earth; nobody wants to help mom do the dishes,” is a much heavier quote than it appears on the surface. You could take that quote and go in many directions but for me its simple. Charity begins at home, and for me there are many days when doing the dishes is a good place to start. It might also be taking out the trash or hanging up your coat. The best thing we can do to save the earth is to start with the little things at home. It’s also a great lesson to teach our children. Teaching a child to scrape their plate or pick up their dirty clothes is just as important as teaching them to save the whales. If they have no respect for the person who keeps the heat on or pulls a pine sliver from their palm there’s little chance they will grow to appreciate a babbling brook or a flock of honking geese.  

Cooperation and respect begin at home, and sometimes it starts with a sponge and a squirt of dish soap. Sometimes all that's required is a please or a thank you. The problem is, we all want to be recognized for everything we do. When you’re doing good things in the privacy of your own home there are no witnesses other than the ones who already love you. When you join a road-cleanup there are passer’s by. It feels different doesn't it? Walk a 5k for charity and you get a t-shirt, do the dishes and all you get is a hug. 

Note* This Bottle was released somewhere in downtown Saratoga back in February 2018. For some reason I never posted this piece at the time. I'd love to hear from anyone who may have found it. 

RI. 

Listen To Your Mother

Listen To Your Mother

By John R. Greenwood 

Mother Nature has a way of re-centering me. Whether I’m in need of a pick-me-up or a knock-me-down, Mother Nature, just like mom, always has the answer I’m looking for. Today was no exception. 

I’ve wrestled with posting and writing ever since my friend Ed Gulley was called to heaven to help the good lord plant and nurture his next crop of love and compassion. We all know how much this world needs a bumper crop in the upcoming year. I’m certain my friend is sowing seeds of smiles and kindness as I write this piece. I miss Ed dearly. 

2018 has been a potpourri of ups and downs, repairs and replacements, weight loss and weight gain. It has been a struggle to stay optimistic when the air is congested with cancerous words and anger. I’ve become numb and a little withdrawn. It is uncomfortable and unfamiliar to me to be this way. Having a few vacation days off to end the year I thought it might be a good time to go visit Mother Nature to get some guidance. I’ve done it before. It’s a pattern of mine. 

I pulled up the Weather Channel and saw the sun was going to make a rare appearance so I charged my camera, grabbed a warm hat and coat and headed to a place I’d visited briefly but never really took the time to explore. How glad I am for making that decision today. It reaped rewards beyond my expectations. It’s a place just a few miles away on my favorite river. The place is called Hudson Crossing Park and it’s a gem of a place. There is a walking trail approximately two miles long that circles the park. Much of the trail provides vistas of the Hudson River and Lock #5 of the Champlain Canal. There is also a foot bridge that spans the Hudson and connects Saratoga and Washington Counties. The Dix Bridge is a beauty and loaded with historical significance. The park is primarily run and maintained by volunteers so it depends heavily on the support of community businesses and local residents. I learned much about the park during my visit and from their website. I apologize profusely for allowing this wonderful park to go so long before today’s more in-depth visit. 

 I’m sure the park puts on a totally different face depending on the season. Today’s stark cold and leafless trees gave the park a tranquility that soothed my mood and inspired my vision. If you live in the area, and you love the Hudson,  you owe it to yourself to visit the website for directions. Don’t be a serial procrastinator like me. 

I think I’ll finish this piece by letting the photographs speak for themselves.

A poem for those of you who stuck around until the end.

Hudson Crossing 

By John R. Greenwood

Emptiness fills December’s air 

Historical paths crunch beneath my feet

Crows crow, squirrels squirrel

Hudson water surrounds me

Am I home now?

Open Tribute Letter To Ed Gulley

By John R. Greenwood

"Ed's Field of Dreams"

Below is a letter I began a few weeks ago. I wanted to document my thoughts about my friend Ed Gulley. Ed was diagnosed with brain cancer earlier this year. His battle was hard fought. He passed away on August 13, 2018. Ed and his wife Carol along with their entire family documented the story of the their journey so that others might benefit from their strength. Their goal was to be real and honest, a path they never strayed from. Ed faced the end like he faced every day on his farm--full steam ahead. He was a giant among men and I feel privileged to have known him. I am devastated by his passing but I vowed to him one day near the end that I would carry his generous spirit with me and spread it like seeds in a fertile field. I have attached a link to the BeJosh Farm Journal, Ed and Carol's Blog. I urge you to visit and soak in some real-life. I also attached a voice recording of me reading the letter. 

John 

Bejosh Farm Journal Link 

Here is a link to the letter below recorded in my own voice:
A Open Letter Tribute to Ed Gulley

Dear Ed,
I'm rarely at a loss for words, but I knew I had to put my thoughts about your bravery in light of your diagnosis down on paper. I've spent my life observing the people around me. I've been surrounded by supportive mentors and role models for as long as I can remember. It's been sixty plus years of sorting the good and bad advice that has been placed in front of me by personalities of all shapes, sizes, and values. When I stop and listen to people, I do my best not to jump to judgement about their words or actions. Of that long list of personalities that have crossed my path I have a separate column where I list the treasured ones I call, "Characters," and you my friend lead that list. One morning a six years ago you walked out of the Bejosh Farm milking parlor and into my life. I knew from that very first handshake that you would have an impact on me. From that day forward you and your personality have rarely left my side. It was your bear-hug approach to each day that captured my attention and admiration. Watching you confront the ultimate enemy with such bravery has cemented you and your courage in my daily reflections. As I witnessed the strength of your family over the last few months I've learned volumes about what real wealth is. It's not something you store in a vault, it's something that emanates from our hearts. I've known people with bigger bank accounts but not one with the richness that your voice has placed upon the world. To savor what you and Carol have shared with us all over the past few years has been an experience that will stick to our insides like a bowl of oatmeal. Anyone who has been lucky enough to enjoy just a sip of your personalities can understand why your journey as a family has resonated so strongly in your neighborhood and across the country.
Ed, I will miss your physical presence but your voice, your outlook, your love of your vocation will carry with me and others who knew you. Every time I enter a milk-house I will see you smiling in the shadows. Every time I pass a family farm I will see you standing next to the barn, cornstalk straight, your farmer-chest puffed with pride. Every time I pass a tractor crossing a freshly furrowed field I will see you in the driver's seat waving your strong and calloused hand back at me. Every time I see someone sharing an unselfish act of kindness, I will think of you and the spirit in which you lived your life. You are not gone. You will not be forgotten. You dwell deep within all you touched. You gifted your children, your grandchildren, your fellow farmers, your friends, and even those on the other side of the fence with something invaluable and rare.

They call it authenticity.

You were draped in it.


Thank you for sharing it with me, and with the world


Peace to you my friend.
John Greenwood