The Adventures of
David
Elizabeth
and Leif

Today, the 3 of us (Me, Marley and Sam) hiked Slide Mountain (2 links) — the tallest of the Catskills. It was magical.

We got in the car around 8:40 am and, after driving through manhattan, over the GWB, up the very beautiful Palisades Interstate Parkway and the NY State Thruway and the future I-86 with a stop a Target, we started hiking at 12:53. I expected to be on the trail ~2 hours earlier — by 11:00 if I left at 8:00, so I was concerned that we would have to turn back before reaching the summit.

I was also concerned about the weather. The forecast for some of the lower elevations in the vicinity was for a chance of snow and highs around 20 degrees. The atmosphere cools at about 4 degrees per thousand feet and I was going to hike about 3000 feet above the places where I had forecasts, so the high temperatures on the peak would be around 8-10 degrees, with gusty winds and snow showers. I’ve never done any serious winter hiking and don’t have snowshoes or crampons (both recommended by the Adirondack Mountain Club), nor do I have much in the way of fancy non-cotton clothing to wear for this kind of hike. (We had a kid nearly die from hypothermia at the camp where I used to work because he hiked up a mountain and got his cotton clothes sweaty. When he got to the top, the cotton lost all ability to keep him warm in the 50 degree temps and 20 mile per hour breeze. He had to get rescued by helicopter.)

I was also concerned about my feet. My hiking boots are almost dead and I only have one pair of wool socks, so if I stepped on a frozen stream and broke through, I could be in a world of hurt trying to hike back to the car. I remembered Jack London’s short story To Build a Fire where a man goes hiking alone when it’s too cold (for Alaska standards) — "to get his feet wet in such a temperature meant trouble
and danger. At the very least it meant delay, for he would be forced to stop and build a fire, and
under its protection to bare his feet while he dried his socks and moccasins." I’m a wimp by Alaska standards (you can keep quiet about all the other standards of wimpiness I have attained), and I didn’t want to be at all uncomfortable on this hike, much less have to build a fire with only one book of matches (and 5 cigarette lighters I just bought).

Adding to all that, I was concerned for our southern dog — the Catahoula Leopard Dog is the state dog of Louisiana after all. I was concerned that Marley would get too cold at the peak. As for Sam, I figured any dog with Labrador in its breed name could keep warm as far south as New York State.

I dealt with my concerns by wearing many layers (including some non-cotton), carrying my 1985 vintage Blue Puffa Jacket (you have to watch about 2 minutes into this link to get to the puffa jacket), bringing extra cotton socks and plastic bags for my feet and buying Marley something to keep her warm:

At 12:53 we stepped into the woods. At the first creek crossing I broke through and got a little cold water into one of my boots. It’s true: wool breathes and keeps you warm when it gets wet.

Our hike was 2.7 miles each way. It was really rough at first — under the snow on the path were lots of big rocks, icy patches, and generally uneven and somewhat steep ground. Plus there was about 3" of fresh powder snow which made you have to work a little harder on each step. I had to keep taking off layers of insulation because I was sweating so bad.

After about 1.5 miles, we got to the upper part of the mountain. It was amazing. Suddenly the path got smooth and we entered a magical world of snow-laden hemlocks. It was totally silent when the wind wasn’t blowing.

As we hiked through the enchanted forest, we came to ledges off to the side where you could look out and see the surrounding mountains. I’d have taken pictures, but I was afraid we’d be getting back to the car after dark (which is at 4 pm up here…).

Finally we made it to the summit. It took 1 hour and 40 minutes. Not bad for 2.7 miles and about a 1400 foot elevation gain in snow. Here’s a dorky self-portrait…

What’s that in my hair you might ask? Sweat. Frozen sweat. I took off my hat about an hour before this photo was taken because I was getting too hot hiking up the mountain. On the peak, the air was seriously cold. Right after I took this I put on my hat and got an instant ice-cream headache from all the sweatcubes being pressed against my noggin.

About 1 1/2 miles into the hike, Marley had started letting me know she was cold. At first I had to pick out the snow compacted into her front paws. Then she started whining every time I stopped. She wasn’t shivering or anything, but I also knew we’d have at least an hour hike back down the mountain — plenty of time for canine hypothermia to set in — so we didn’t stay very long at the top. Too bad — it was really beautiful. You could see snow blowing in waves between us and the surrounding mountains.

Notice Sam’s frozen drool. Those were droolagtites — they were frozen solid.

Her whiskers actually frosted up all the way to her jowls.

Marley’s beard also froze…

Back in the car at the end of the hike. Total time of descent: 1 hour and 10 mintues.

Nice hair.

The previous image was from Emmanuel Orthodox Presbyterian Church in Whippany, NJ. It is the church where the Dishman boys were baptized and grew up. Actually, Mark and Peter had some formitive years at Town North Presbyterian Church, since they were still in High School when the Dishman clan moved from Morristown, NJ to Plano, TX.

This place is full of memories for me. It’s where a huge portion of my spiritual foundation was laid. Even though I rejected that foundation for a few years, it remained. In my senior year of high school, I officially joined the Christian Church and publicly told everyone that I am depending on Jesus Christ to forgive my sins and make me a new person. 17 years later, I’ve been through a lot of joys and sorrows, and I’ve seen my need to grow a lot more clearly than I have wanted to. I’ve also seen how my life has been shaped through trying to follow Jesus. While I’m not yet the person I want to be (or rather that I should be), I’m also not the person I was. I think that somewhere in this "in-between" place is where I see the faithfullness of God in my life.

OK, that was a long aside for a guy that prefers to put more photos than text on his blog. Here are some interior photos of the building. Mom had a joke she liked to tell about Orthodox Presbyterians (hereafter referred to as OP’s). Question: "How many OP’s does it take to change a lightbulb?" Answer: "None. OP’s never change anything." At least in terms of the physical building of Emmanuel OPC, there is a lot of truth there. THey did paint the sanctuary, though.

In this room was one of the first places where I participated in Christian service. Twice each year, the louvers to the attic fan had to be opened/closed in that (then) un-airconditioned building.

A very tall step-ladder would be put up below a certain ceiling tile. I had to stand on the absolute top of the ladder (2 steps above the label that warned of the grave danger to all who venture to balance their weight that high) and move one of the ceiling tiles to the side . Then I had to grasp two rafters that were at least 2 feet higher than the ceiling tiles and pull myself up until I could rest my feet on the rafters. After that my job was a piece of cake — until I had to come back down. Sitting on those rafters, looking down through a hole to the very small top platform of a somewhat rickety step ladder about 5 feet below where I was sitting was not very comforting. Fortunately, a lot of men in the church were usually down there doing whatever work the men in the church did on church work days. I certainly wanted to be "one of the men" and so I didn’t hesitate too long before dropping down through the hole onto the top step of the ladder. I don’t think they every knew how my heart pounded when my arms hit their maximum extension about the same time my feet hit the top of that swaying ladder!

Here are the legendary louvers. Note that there are now air conditioning vents in the ceiling. Those appeared after 1989 when we left for Texas.

I don’t think that ANYTING in this kitchen has changed since my earliest memories. I wonder if Mrs. Warner is still around. One day she had put her Bible on one of those stoves. I didn’t notice this and I was playing with the burners. When we noticed a "just-branded cow" smell, I turned off all the burners and she picked up her very nice Bible. It had a nice spiral brand on it.

Here’s a room full of memories … Mom scratching my back while I fell asleep in the sermon … Pop singing the myrrh verse of "We Three Kings" every year … Vacation Bible School … rainbow suspenders … joining the church and first communion … Pastor Busch, Pastor Morrison, Pastor Letham, Pastor Davis … any many friends who turned out to be very important in my becoming who I am.

The baptismal "font."

The organ played by Mr. Charles Kapp.

The nursery …

… with the same toys that I played with as a 5-year-old. (The big wood train, not the dollhouse.)

How many times have my fingers been pinched by that see-saw thing?

Emmanuel Church is a much different church now. On this visit, I met the current pastor, Rev. Howard Curry. He told me that there are currently 30 people attending the church. Only four of them were there when I was a kid: Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, Roger Sucy and Becky Busch. They really want to reach out to their neighborhood to meet people’s needs there. I pray that they will suceed.

Some of the readers of this blog should be able to identify this and tell us where it could be found.