rob parlin

The Ride From Hell

 

Have you ever noticed that snow covers the landscape and that things seem to be normal when they are not?
Such was the “ride.”
   On a winter day at Silver bay, my father told my brother Chris and me that we were going on a toboggan ride. 
   So, off we went to the Silver Bay Association armed with our 8 man toboggan, to the large hill behind the chapel. 
   Now, the “normal” route would take us to the right side of the chapel, missing the rose bushes, and down to the road in front of the tennis courts. 
   Following Dad’s command “follow me, I have the map” we headed down the hill. Instead of the chapel route, we headed left towards Fisher gym. 
   Like I said earlier, snow covers all. Little did we know of the danger that lurked in front of us.
   Down, down, down we went, picking up speed. Dad was in front, followed by Chris and I on the back. 
   Off we went, over a 10 foot high foot wall, flying, until we landed on the road below- SPLAT/ SLAM!! Not done yet, over another 10 foot wall, landing on the South Field. 
   I believe Dad was thrown off after the first wall, leaving Chris and me to fend for ourselves. 
   I swear that after the second flight my back was broken!
   Needless to say, that was the first and last time that route was taken. 
   From then on, routes were taken at Arcady, or by Stew and Mickey’s house. 

 

SYRUPING

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One of the greatest joys in my life was maple syruping.

My grandfather’s estate located in Silver Bay , New York was named Pudding Island Farm, named after an island close to the property.

The majority of the 465 acres were across highway 9N, and it was loaded with sugar maple trees. These trees were known for their broad, green, five point leaves that turned bright orange in the fall.

The specialty of these tress was their sap, which when boiled down, became maple syrup.

Before continuing, here are some facts.

Sap to syrup was a 30 to 1 ratio.

Syrup season ran from late February to mid-March depending on the weather. When the sun rose, heating the tree, the sap would travel from the roots to the top of the tree, and then, as the sun descended to the west, the sap would travel back to the roots.

              In order to catch the sap, with the help of a hand held auger, holes were drilled into the tree, and a metal tube was inserted into the hole. Depending in the diameter of the tree determined how many taps were drilled.

              The taps had a hollow tube that allowed the sap to flow into a 1-2 gallon tin pail that was suspended from the tap via a hook. On top of the tin pail was a “hat” that covered the pail to avoid debris from falling into the pail.

Before syruping season, there were several things that needed to be done. On top of drilling and hanging buckets, 8 foot long planking had to be bought and brought to the evaporation shed. I don’t know the names of the saw mill or the type of wood used, but I suspect it was hard wood.

There were 2 draft horses – Cub and Dolly- that needed to be tended to. Cub and Dolly weighed over a half ton each. Their horse shoes needed to be changed from the regular shoe to an ice shoe. The ice shoe had an inch long post at the tip of the shoe. This made it easier to climb the steep trail up the mountain to the maple groves and to the evaporation shed.

An old gentleman who was employed by my grandfather, Hanford Bolton, did the shoeing. He would take each hoof, take off the regular shoe, file the hoof to make the ice shoe fit, and then nail the ice show on. Now Hanford, was toothless, allowing him to have a mouthful of nails. Cub and Dolly trusted Mr. Bolton, so shoeing was no problem.

With these chores done, the fun began.

My folks, and my brothers Chris and Tim and I stayed in the cabin (now used by Joan and Blackie). There was a field stone fireplace and a single bed on each side of the fireplace. That was our place to sleep.

At around 7 am, we were woken up, fed, and waited for Hanford’s son Bob, to pick us up, and transport us to the barn. There, we got on a wooden sled and got Cub and Dolly hitched up, and away we went.

In order to get to the evaporator shed, we took a path behind the farm cottage, across 9N, and then the winding path to the shed.

When there, a second sled was attached to the back of our sled. The sled had a circular tank on top of the runners.

Off we went to start our job. Our “job” was to get off the sled, wade through the snow to each sap bucket, empty the sap pail into the sled tank, and repeat the process.

When the sled tank was full, we went back to the shed, and emptied the sap into a much bigger tank. This process was done via pipe from the tank shed to the longer tank inside the evaporator shed, again via pipe.

This process was done over and over until the inside tank was full. I am guessing now, but I imagine the inside tank was at least 1,000 gallons.

At last, the sap shed was packed outside the shed, Cub and Dolly got a well-deserved rest.

The evaporator shed was blue spruce color with a sliding barn door, 2 windows (one on each side), and a cupola type structure on the roof. It had an open space on each side to let steam escape.

The inside contained the main holding tank, a pipe line down to the evaporator, and the evaporator itself.

The evaporator was about 4 foot wide, nine feet long, and had 2 swing open doors in the front (to receive the log planking mentioned previously). On the evaporator were 8 or 9 compartments. As the sap thickened, it would flow down the compartments via 2 small holders, one on each side. The evaporator itself lay on a brick frame. At the end of the evaporator (facing the barn door) was a tank ( which will be mentioned later on).

Now, the fun began!!

With the wood inside the evaporator piping hot, sap from the big tank was released, flowing into the first chamber. The sap contained both bits of tree bark and moths. They were removed by a sieve like ladle.

As the sap worked its way down the evaporator on account of the sap thickening, foam was present. My job was to stir the foam using a coat hanger with a piece of hog fat attached. This would reduce the foam allowing the syrup process to continue.

Down, down, down the channel went the soon -to - be syrup. While this was happening, sticky steam flooded the shed, being drawn up and away thanks to the “wholly” roof.

In the meantime, the room was getting warmer, and heavy clothes were shed until, in some cases syrupers had nothing on but underwear and boots.

Finally, syrup!! There aa grade of syrup from grade A to ( I’m guessing ) D. The grade defines color and taste. Grade A is a light amber in color, such as that you see in grocery stores.

The Parlin clan likes “cooking” syrup,  an almost brown in color, but having the most maple flavor.  To obtain this, the syrup must reach 230F. At that temperature, the syrup is drained into the square tank, and then poured into gallon and quart containers.

When all the sap and syrup are used up/ canned, the night was done (“night” could be from 7-10pm).

The sled was loaded, and down the mountain we went.

While the Boltons tended to Cub and Dolly, my brother and I made the 1/3 mile trek back to the cabin, had a bath to remove the sticky sap/syrup, and hopped into a nice warm bed, only to start the process again in the morning.

What a wonderful way to spend spring vacation!

As the years went by, the horses were replaced by a mini bulldozer, and the sap buckets with plastic tubing.

Sadly the syruping saga ended, as the Boltons and grandpa passed away.

I visited the evaporator with my wife Dawn in 2013. We took the same route, but the farm cottage had been torn down, and the evaporator shed was leaning very heavily ( it’s probably all gone now).

The maple grove gave way to a logging operation. My heart sank!

I took a brick from the evaporator frame, and it now sits on a shelf at my home in Canaveral, Fl. I am reminded of a scene from the movie “ How Green was My Valley.” The boy, now a man, made a trek back to his boyhood home, finding it in a similar condition of ruin.

I write this saga to y’all so that this cherished boyhood memory lasts.

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Cidering

 

The second most fun (besides syruping) was making apple cider.

Grandpa and Grandma Parlin planted an apple orchard in 1937. The trees were mostly McIntosh, with a few Red Delicious.

Every Columbus Day weekend, most of the Parlin/Smith families gathered at Silver Bay for the cider making adventure.

The smaller, younger cousins went up into the apply trees, picking apples and dropping them on the ground. The older cousins would gather up the apples in bushel baskets, and bring them to the cutting table.

The aunts and great aunts would quarter the apples.

Now on to the cider press. I don’t know how old the press was, but I believe it was in the barn when the Silver Bay property was bought in 1935.

The press was made out of metal, and stood about 5 foot tall. At the top was a hopper where the apples were thrown into. The was a crank, that when turned, would drive gears that ground the apples into small chunks. These chunks in turn would land on a platform. From there, a wheel wound down squishing the chunks, which produced cider.

As the cider stared to flow, it went down a sluice towards a wooden pail. (The pail was make by a cooper, as the wooden slates were held together by metal bands.). Chees cloth covered the top of the pail. Its job was to catch seeds and stems.

Next step was to transfer cider to milk jugs. This was a harrowing experience, as bees wanted their share!

Jugs were distributed to each family, but before heading to their respective houses, all enjoyed cider and donuts (I believe they were Friehoffer brand).

My family stored the jugs on the back porch to keep them cool.

Because the cider was not pasteurized, the shelf life of this elixir was no more than 3 days before turning into vinegar.

As the cousins grew older, this tradition faded away. I often wonder what happened to the press…

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The Swim

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Growing up and spending time at Silver Bay from Memorial Day to Labor Day meant plenty of time in Lake George.

Because of this fact, my Grandmother Parlin came up with a brilliant idea: for performing certain feats in the water, rewards were bestowed.

Here are some of the feats and rewards

1. Face in the water and blow bubbles

2. First five strokes

3. Swim from the rock to the dock

4. Swim in from the raft

5. Swim in from Skipper’s Island

6. Swim from the dock, around Skipper’s, and Pudding Island to the dock

7. Swim across the lake to the dock.

Numbers 1 and 2 rewarded with an ice cream cone.

Numbers 3-5 rewarded with an ice cream cone and limited rowboat access.

Number 6 yielded an ice cream cone, more rowboat privileges and a pocket knife.

I did away the above by 6 years old.

This story is about Number 7, the Lake…

In the summer of 1959, I was 7 years old. One summer day, my father told me to sit in one of the two chairs facing the main fireplace. I was served a peanut butter sandwich with marmalade jam and a glass of milk. When finished, I was told that we were going for a boat ride. The “boat” was a 1935 Cris Craft 95 HP in board motor. I loved riding in that boat, sitting at the back my eyes focused on the water going into the exhaust pipe, and then being spit out (It was a water-cooled engine).

Hearing the word “ride,” I ran down to the boat house, undid the 4 ropes tying the boat to its moorings, and impatiently waiting for my ride.

Suddenly, both my dad and Uncle Hal showed up, my dad in a row boat. My dad pointed to the row boat and said, “You’re in here.” Meanwhile, Uncle Hal backed the Cris Craft out and tied the line from the row boat to the back of the Cris Craft. From there, we proceeded to go across the lake to a point that was opposite the dock, some 2-plus miles away.

From here, Uncle Hal untied the rope and drove home. My dad backed the rowboat to the rocks and told me to get out. I asked, “Why?” and was told, “You’re swimming the lake.” I said, “No, I’m not,” and was answered with, “Yes, you are.”

I told my dad that I was not going to follow dad’s command, and was asked, “Why?” My answer was that there were whales and biting find. “Fine,” was dad’s answer, and he started to row away, stating, “I’ll check on you every week or so…”

I got in the water and started my journey to the dock. It didn’t take very long for my fears to go away, replaced by fun things like floating on my back, pretending I was a whale, to blowing water out of my mouth.

In the distance (probably Anthony’s Nose) I saw the shape of a boat. It was the Ticonderoga, a converted WWII  landing craft that was now a tour boat, taking passengers from Lake George Village to Ticonderoga and back to Lake George Village.

I announced to my dad that that boat was going to hit us. “Keep Swimming” was the response. This back and forth conversation kept up, all the while, as the Ticonderoga steamed towards us.

There was something wrong…

Passengers were at the bow pointing down at this rowboat and swimmer and then pointing up to the wheelhouse.

Closer, closer and really close. Dad’s reaction was, “Swim, Robbie, swim.”

Well, the boat did not slow down, forcing us to stop and let the boat pass. Once it cleared, I played in the boat’s wake.

Onward we kept: past Skipper’s, past the raft, and onward to the last 90 yards to the dock, the load noises of thousands of on-lookers (It was more like 10 people).

I touched down in the sandy bottom about 2 feet in from the dock. I had done it! My reward was a 50¢ piece, and the right to use a rowboat anywhere on Lake George. (The logic was that now that I had mastered the lake, if I were to overturn in the rowboat, I could reach the shore swimming.) Never mind the fact that I could hang onto the row boat until help arrived, and my rescuers not knowing where I was.

It’s hard to imagine that this feat was 65 years ago.

Has anyone broken being younger than 7?

I do know that the family record of 37 minutes across the lake was set by Peggy Rowan.

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