The Mill

[H2O Man]

Despite the weather forecast calling for a partially cloudy day, with a chain of rain, the sky was pure blue. It was warm out, and so I enjoyed the walk on a path where one of the first stage coach routes immediately after the Revolutionary War headed west from what had marked the edge of the 1768 Fort Stanwix Treaty Line. Though the Oneida had supported the 13 Colonies their land would be the first taken. I have an old copy of the 1786 “second” Fort Stanwix Treaty, in which the opening of this land took place.

At the time, two French brothers – who had served as spies for George Washington leading up to the Revoltion – moved their small trading post that was close to where I grew up – to the large spread of land they were granted. They opened a saw mill on the creek at a beautiful waterfalls, which allowed them to build two houses that still stand. In the early 1800s, it was improved to have a large stone foundation.

My youngest daughter and her S.O. Had invited me to join them at the falls. It empties into a nice cold, perfectly clear pool. To get there, I needed to climb down a steep, slippery bank in the woods. At my age, that requires a sturdy walking stick and patience. It is a climb I have made for over 60 years, since my father first showed me one of he and his siblings' favorite places to swim. More, it was very close to the two-room schoolhouse he attended, which suggests I would not be the first in the family to spend time here while skipping school.

Eventually, I made it to the last stretch – climbing down a section of the mill's old stone foundation. By the time I got there, two of my other children were right behind me, expressing both encouragement and fear for my safety. I was concentrating far too hard to take the time required to yell at them, much less make any threats. Where once I was concerned when my boys were little and, as is common among that species, fearless in climbing. They were actually fearless in every way, until as teens they challenged me to box. Between the two of them, I showed they were incapable of landing a single blow; I only tossed out one light jab total, to demonstrate how important balance is. For even a light jab came make a 150 lb teen do what in boxing is known as “the chicken dance.”

As it turned out, my son and grandson had taken a “long cut” and were on the rocks surrounding the pool before I made it. My not-quite-three grandson came over to hug me, and his father to talk about a different stone wall they had to get down from. It was not only longer, but a far more risky route than I took. I was happy they didn't attempt to to kayak down the falls.

Soon, my sons' aunt – my late first wife's sister, who is one of my best friends – arrived with her grandson. He is the same age as my grandson, and the two are buds. Immediately, the little guys are throwing stones into the water, something every little boy and girls I've seen has enjoyed doing. And then, everyone but me is in swimming. Rather than resenting the fact that I am not steady enough to swim, I sit quietly, and listen to the water. I also hear the little boys laughter, the only noise louder than the voice of the creek.

I can not count the number of times over the decades that I have come here alone, to sit quietly, listen to the water, and think. I began doing this as a teen, while skipping school. I felt different than others, including my friends in school, perhaps like Lennon's frog in a movie about snails. Looking back, I suppose lots of teens experience that feeling.

My daughter's boyfriend comes out of the water and sits near me. He says that there must be a lot of history to this place, and asks how far back did I think people swam here? Obviously, my daughter hadn't warned him. I point to where a Lamoka phase community was located, a five minute walk from where we sat. So I'd figure since at least 2,200 bc. A large Oneida community, with five acres of orchards and gardens, was located on the same spot up to the Revolution. So I'd speculate people have enjoyed the spot for thousand years, give or take a day or two.

I show him the fossils of what I viewed as “fern trees” when I found them while skipping school. Around 2006, the top three paleo-biologists in the world published an article, placing them in the Devonian , dating them at 333 million years old. I contacted one of the three, and we took an all-day walk through what was then considered the oldest trees' fossils for miles on this creek. Scientists have documented an even older type in the decades since then.

Then I explain how, in it's day, what now looks like a rural neighborhood was once an active community. A train depot, a post office, a store, a church, and two hotels …. including the Morrison Hotel, which held boxing cards. Stone quarries employing dozens of men. A tannery, a cloth & carding “factory,” a factory that produced cigar boxes. A different time, when others including my grandfather and father being telegraphers at that depot.

We all get a turn. Some people's turn is long, others are short, most are somewhere in between. It can be hard, at this difficult time in our country, to relax and enjoy life. Make that effort. If an old dog like me can climb down – and later up – the foundation of a 200+ year old mill, then I suspect we can all take a day to relax.