Fire Cloud...
An irregular marking on the exterior of Native American pottery: usually resulting from burning fuel coming in direct contact with the vessel during firing

Wednesday, 5 October 2016

Take the Gun, Eat the Cannoli

Lower Enfield Gorge

We stay four days at the State Park outside Ithaca and do the two mile hike up the gorge and back. There is a net gain of 900 feet on the hike. We've done this hike together many times over years.

We hit a few wineries for lunch (split a bottle of Melody, a chicken sandwich and French onion soup) and wine tasting. Melody is a grape developed by Cornell University. It makes a white wine and is well suited for colder climates.

We look up the lady in Watkins Glen who makes cannoli from her house and buy four. I have one for dessert last night. She shoots the cannoli with filling from what looks like a caulking gun.

We stop at the cemetery and Stuart Park on the way to see Everett and Midge for lunch. These geese are probably also heading south. We get our first significant view of changing leaves yesterday. The trees seem to suddenly decide to collectively change color.

Everett agreed to keep my rifle five years ago because I didn't want to transport it into Canada. He's been cleaning it every year after hunting season when he cleans his own guns. They feed us lunch (including homegrown hot peppers) and show us around their new property. Everett was born 11 days before I was. We were in the same classes in elementary school and spent a lot of time together when we were children. We both became CPAs.

Grandmother and Grandfather Robinson. My mother lived in Grandmother Robinson's house on 333 Center Street when I was born and stayed there until my father returned from the war in 1945. Grandfather was a motorcycle cop.

We take a walk though the Ithaca Commons and then down to the house where I lived before moving to Florida. Mrs. Phred comments that I take her on the same walk every time we come to Ithaca...memory lane...

Great grandfather Franklin lived across the street with aunt Bee and uncle George. He taught me to play euchre and had a spittoon in the corner of the room which he would usually miss. When he died, he left me his harness-making tools. Jennie was one of my great grandmothers.

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