MARCH, 1983…
Carolyn and I had just exchanged vows the previous weekend. Now, we were starting on our Easter Vacation from our various responsibilities for the school district of Pittsburgh.
A brand new Life, overflowing with possibilities and Hope lay before us.
The weather was unbelievably perfect…it seemed as if all the Eternal Powers were “on our side,” wishing us a most wonderful first week of our new Life together.
Instead of doing what most newlywed couples would pursue as a Honeymoon experience, we decided to follow a much different course. No Bahama cruise or Hawaiian flight for us! NOPE!!! Instead we chose to spend our Honeymoon week inside our little pop-up Coleman trailer nestled upon our newly acquired property in our beloved Espyville.
We had visions of daily journeys throughout the Region, visiting the Spillway, feeding the carp and seagulls…trekking through the now empty woods and campground at Tuttle Point…and maybe, just maybe, casting our lines into the Pyma waters off the Causeway and hauling-in some HUGE bluegills or other dinner-ready fishes.
AND…of course, we planned to traverse every square inch of our new woods.
Then, we envisioned ending each romantic evening in front of a blazing campfire, and watching the flames slowly transform into the embers of the night. HOW SWEET!!!
WELL…
Some things just refuse to work-out the way you have planned them.
That Monday morning, we packed our belongings into our little pickup truck, hooked-up the Coleman pop-up, and headed out onto the highway…we were brimming over with excitement, Love, and Hope for the Future.
As we made our way northward on Interstate 79, the sunshine lit our pathway, seeming to underscore our positive expectations. Finally, our path on 79 ended at Exit number 47B (Conneaut Lake), and we turned onto Rt 322, heading westward to Pymatuning.
However, first we made our routine stop at the now long-gone K-Mart Plaza to purchase vital groceries for our “Honeymoon.”
Then, after we had spent a near fortune, we proceeded down the highway…through the town of Conneaut Lake…and onto Rt 285 heading towards our destination.
After what seemed like an ETERNITY, we turned onto North Lake Road, and shortly thereafter, onto the dirt road leading to our property.
Pulling into our, then, makeshift driveway, we noticed something “different” in the woods surrounding the tiny area we had cleared the previous Autumn for the placement of our little camper. Several of the trees throughout our woods still appeared to be decorated with makeshift Christmas ornaments.
WAIT A MINUTE!!! Those weren’t ornaments hanging from our trees! NO WAY! Someone had entered onto our property and, without even the hint of our permission, tapped into our numerous maple trees and installed buckets to capture the fluids rising through the veins of our trees.
WHAT???!!! Who would do such a thing as to trespass without permission…much less tap into our trees???
No one else lived on our little road in those days..so, we had no immediate answer as to the identity of the culprit.
Having no other choice, we decided to setup the camper, unpack our belongings, and, eventually start a campfire on which we would cook our evening’s meal.
Disgruntled as I was, Carolyn’s lighthearted personality gradually brought me back to, somewhat, of a positive demeanor. Nevertheless, after completing the immediate chores, I decided to meander back into the woods and to inspect the syrup buckets.
Unlike the common procedure, these buckets displayed no name of ownership. Did they simply “rise-up” from the dampness of the Earth? Did some gang of ruthless fugitives place them, hoping to garner nourishment to sustain them? Or were they placed there by some unknown nearby neighbor?
The Truth reared its head the next morning.
We were awakened by the howls and barks of a beagle echoing across the breadth of our woodlands. Jumping into my boots and jacket, I, despite my new wife’s warnings, proceeded rapidly out the camper, and headed, even more rapidly, to the area from where the woofings emanated.
SURPRISE, SURPRISE!
The little canine, a spry tiny beagle, caught my movements, and immediately tried to corner me in front of a huge maple tree. I stopped…not out of fear, but from astonishment.
There, moving from one bucket to another, was an elderly “gentleman” whom I had seen numerous times throughout my years growing up in the Summers of Espyville. Yep, a neighbor, to be sure…one who lived across the asphalt of North Lake Road…one who I had not seen for several years…and, one who had no remembrance of me having spoken with him many, many times in the Past.
He approached me, and, not with kindness in his voice, questioned ME as to what I was doing with HIS trees! Wait a minute, her…HIS TREES??? Not HARDLY! In return, I made it quite apparent that he was trespassing upon OUR property, and that he had NOT obtained permission to tap a single maple tree on our property.
He laughed at my response. Then, indicating that he had no time at the present to speak with me, indicated that he would be back “later” to discuss the situation. With that said, both he and his little beagle slushed through the wetness and onto the dirt road…obviously heading back to his residence.
WHAT DO YA KNOW?
Later that afternoon, the old man came back. Announced his presence, and sat his butt down onto a log beside our campfire ring. Here he avidly explained that he had tapped these trees for “generations,” and, because of doing so, assumed ownership for them.
In VERY specific terms, both I, and Carolyn, explained that WE were the owners of this property, and whatever vegetation grew upon it. We agreed to permit him to tap our maples for the present year, but never, NEVER, again to pursue this venture in the future.
Laughing profusely, and his Harsh voice being underscored by his miniature “watchdog,” he proceeded to question us: WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO OWN THIS PROPERTY? IT WAS NO MORE THAN A HUGE FROG POND?
Without hesitation, I rose to my feet, and explained in no uncertain terms our beliefs in Nature, the wilds, etc., to this man. Then, upon completion, I suggested that he leave, since we had important “chores” to pursue.
Slapping his thigh, he called to his pup, rose to his feet, and bid us farewell.
Throughout the remainder of the tapping season, his buckets remained on our trees…with our agreed permission. After their removal that year, they were never placed there again.
And the syrup our trees produced? Well, I suppose it was delicious; however, we were NEVER offered so much as a drop of their essence.
And the old man??? Well, although, as far as we could tell, he never set foot himself upon our property ever again.
Although, he decided to build a small cabin upon the southern side of North Lake Road directly opposite his permanent residence.
AND, to “accommodate” his fears, he hired a crew to take-down a rather large and beautiful oak tree on our property…I suppose he was afraid of its shadow. (Naturally, this was done in our absence, and without our permission!)
We did, however, hear the voice of his little dog many, many times throughout the next year of two.
Eventually, the old man’s kind and beloved wife passed away, leaving him alone. His children moved him to an assisted-care residence where he spent his final days. His former home and cabin were sold.
I sometimes walk through the acres of our woods…sloshing through the swamp of our “frog pond.” Running my hands over the bark of our many maple trees, I remember that old man so many years gone away.
The trees are still here…their veins are still strong and vibrant. Each Spring their rebirth is an annual Wonder and underscores the Eternity of ALL EXISTENCE.
The frogs chirp-out in incredible numbers…and, rising from the remnants of that magnificent oak lying in repose, are the ferns and flowers of our beloved woodlands.
Our “Honeymoon” continued that week with day after day of torrential downpours…and the downpours continued for the next thirteen weekends! But, we didn’t care at all..we had each other.
Now after 36 years having gone by, Anniversary Time is once again upon us. The maple is rising in the trees…the buckets are in place throughout the entire Region. And, my LOVE for the trees, the Life in our woodlands, the memories of the years, and, most of all, for my incredible wife, Carolyn, is ETERNAL.
Thanks, old man, for placing those buckets back in 1983. You have NO idea the sweetness they fostered.