Turkey Hollow Almanac: San Francisco

Steven and I left the burgeoning wildlife population of Turkey Hollow to head to San Francisco. Now that is not an easy trip. We have to make sure everything is set right for the animals before we leave, then drive three hours to the nearest airport which is followed by a six hour flight across country. Can't wait for there to be a Turkey Hollow International Airport!

The reason for our trek west was I was being honored by GLAAD with their "Pioneer in Media Award", a distinction which greatly humbles me. GLADD, which is clearly one of the foremost LGBT organizations in the country, has achieved new vitality under the leadership of former Tempe Arizona Mayor Neil Giuliano. So having this potent and powerful media watchdog committee recognize me for my writings, years of activism and the writing of this blog is overwhelming.

Coming to San Francisco for the big dinner caused a flood of memories, reminding me of all that is special about this historic city.

My first trip to the City by the Bay was when I was a student at Arizona State University during the height of the Haight-Ashbury days and the infamous 'Summer of Love' in 1967. The "Haight" was the center of the new hippie movement and source of most of the great music of the 1960s. I remember going to a concert in Golden Gate Park organized against the War in Vietnam. My friends and I took acid and danced with each other in the rampant greenery as the throng joined together as one. I had purchased prism glasses to distort everything and I thought I was the coolest guy in the Park.

Later as an organizer against the Vietnam War, I returned to the city to help prepare for the massive marches in 1969. For this trip, however, the drugs were put away; we were entirely caught up in the struggle against this horrible war. San Francisco has always done its own thing and for any outsiders to pretend that they could organize the city was just ludicrous. Orrganizing out of DC, the most we could hope for was that our events could be coordinated to operate on the same day.

In the Spring of 1976, I moved to the Castro district of San Francisco. I was just coming out of the closet and like most homosexuals headed from the interior to the coasts. Everyone was going to the Mecca by the Bay where we could be free and celebrate being gay. It was such a wonderful time of sexual freedom and experimentation. Free from all those suffocating years in closet, for six glorious months I was able to catch up for lost time. My euphoria was interrupted when Mayor Tom Bradley asked me to come to Los Angeles to run his re-election campaign for Mayor. Although sad to leave my new home, I gratefully accepted.

In 1984, the city hosted the Democratic Convention and I returned as CoChair of the California delegation which was firmly in the hands of young charismatic reformer Senator Gary Hart from Colorado. Without a doubt, of the nine national conventions that I have attended, it remains one of my favorites. The highlight for me was being able to vote for the first woman ever to be on a national ticket - Congresswoman Geraldine Ferraro. It was at that Convention that my niece saw me on television standing on a chair chanting "You gotta have Hart!" She turned to her mother and said, "Look at crazy Uncle David misbehaving!"

In 1978, working with Supervisor Harvey Milk, I helped defeat the notorious Briggs Initiative in California. Shockingly, not long afterwards, the passionate Milk, along with Mayor George Moscone, was assassinated by fellow Supervisor Dan White. San Francisco was suddenly a place of candles and tears.

It was a grim patina that would continue through the 1980s. For almost the next eight years, my visits to the beautiful city were clouded by misery and gloom. Trips were to coordinate our battle against HIV/AIDS, to attend funerals or to demonstrate for healthcare. Every visit reminded me of someone who was no longer alive. Sadness and death was everywhere.

My return in 1991 was a happier event: In the Oak Room of the Cliff Hotel, I convinced Supervisor Roberta Achtenberg to be the first elected official in California to endorse a young Arkansas Governor named Bill Clinton. She become CoChair of his campaign in California and later went on to be the highest openly LGBT person serving in his administration.

Over the years, the City by the Bay has become a place of dear friends, fond memories and spectacular beauty. It will always have a special place in my heart.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Airplanes, Blimps and Space

As I watched the excellent Carrier series on PBS this week, I saw these amazing jets land on a dime on a rocking ship in the middle of the roiling ocean. What remarkable technology and what extraordinary pilots! Watching them, it occurred to me that my generation marked the transition from traditional propeller planes to the advent of the jet and space age.

Where I grew up we were surrounded by air bases. Due to the lack of large cities, southern New Jersey, was the center of flight exercises. So planes, blimps and every other flying machine known to man and military, did maneuvers from Dover Air Force Base, McGuire Air Force Base and Lakehurst Naval Air Station. Since this was before the time of jets and high attitude flights, my older brother Melvin and I would set up a little fort and search the skies for planes as if we were in World War II London. Guided by a little chart depicting silhouettes of various planes, we were determined to protect our shores from the Russian invasion that we all knew would be coming soon!

One day while my family was having lunch we heard this massive, approaching roar. At first, my mother and father exchanged worried glances and then a gleam came into their eyes as they excitedly hurried us out of the house. Flying at tree top level was a formation of dozens of old propeller-driven B-29 bombers. I had never seen anything like it before or, frankly, since. Coming in waves as though heading toward D-Day on Omaha Beach, the planes were so low we could almost make out the faces of the pilots. Jumping up and down, like a junior cheerleading squad, we waved at our planes. To this day, I wonder if any of them saw us. I like to think they did!

Once, in a scene straight out of a World War II movie, I even witnessed two fighter planes run a dogfighting round over our area. But since the planes were both American, we didn't know who to root for to win the faux battle!

Lakehurst was the home of Navy's blimps. The early and mid-1950s saw the heyday of the mammoth, lumbering flying ships. They were employed to vigilantly patrol the East Coast, on the lookout for Russia submarines. Unlike the roar of the B-29s, the approaching sound of the blimps was more of a whirring, soft rumble. Several times a year we would see half a dozen in formation filling the skies, flying low over our homes. What excitement they created in our house and neighborhood. Somehow the ones today advertising beer and tires over football stadiums just aren't the same .

Then the jet age intruded and the planes were higher up and out of sight, only seen by the white trail they left behind. Occasionally they would fly low, break the sound barrier and the entire house would shake. No windows ever shattered, but at times, I swear implosion seemed entirely emminent. The adventure of watching for planes, waving at pilots and formations was gone. It became all about attitude and speed.

In a seemingly natural progression, we then watched the skies for the satellites to orbit the earth. Sputnik, the Russian craft, was the first successful launching -- a shocking event that sent our competitive nation reeling. We would all gather on our back porch and search the night sky to see this new space age vehicle. Slowly it would cross over and we looked with both amazement and concern. When our guy, John Glenn, circled the earth in his Mercury capsule it was daytime but we huddled near radios and television sets until he was safely down.

Somehow ending up pacifist is a little surprising given my personal history with military flight. Yet I must honestly admit that I am still fascinated - intrigued with the exploration of space and places beyond.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: The Whales of Provincetown

It is hard to imagine traveling from Turkey Hollow to see other animals/ mammals since my own backyard contains so much to behold. Maybe the wilds of Africa can give a temptation call but few other places offer the consistently entertaining wildlife antics such as those found in Turkey Hollow. However, this weekend I experienced one of my great adventures with mammals as I watched the Whales of Provincetown, Massachusetts.

Driving the seven hours out of the Catskills and toward the Atlantic was a great little road trip with perfect weather and the real anticipation of visiting with old friends and hopefully making new ones. With the fear of losing my 'gay credentials', I have to admit that I have never been to the delightful seaside hamlet of Provincetown. What a joy it was this weekend to discover it.

The quaint idyllic village has long been a haven for artists and authors. Such greats as Tennessee Williams, Norman Mailer, Michael Cunningham, Tony Kushner, Lillian Hellman, Eugene O'Neill and Dashiell Hammett have graced its narrow streets. As I rode into town with Steven Guy, I couldn't help but wonder about all the great conversations and arguments that occurred around oaken tables in the cafes along Commercial Street. Perhaps aided by the influence of alcohol or more, their enlightenment was not always at the highest level but the lack of genius was made up by their alcohol-fed passion.

As I gazed over the dunes along the National Seashore, I swear I could see Lillian Hellman and Dashiell Hamment bundled up against the damp sea air discussing heatedly what she should say when called to testify before Congress during the "Red Scare" of the early 1950's. Did they seek comfort in this God created beauty before appearing before the angry, bellowing blowhards who were destroying careers left and left for their own cheap political purposes?

So as a writer who felt humbled being in such a place filled with a great history of artists and writers, little did I know that these legends of literature would soon be overshadowed by the Whales of Provincetown. Heading down to the wharf to board the boat, I expected to see a fluke (tail) or two and maybe - if lucky - a couple of full size Finback Whales. They are the second largest animal/ mammal in the world after the famous Blue Whale. While there had been reports all Spring of record sightings, I had no other adventure of which to compare.

I was in for the experience of a lifetime.

As we sailed by the four grand portraits of elderly ladies on the side of an old pier building, we were barely out of the Provincetown Harbor, when we starting seeing whales. At first, they were away from the boat but there were one or two together and we were beside ourselves! As we pulled just a tad further into the Atlantic, the waters became literally a convention of whales. They were literally everywhere we looked. Suddenly, they were so close to the boat we could see them underwater ready to swim to the surface and put on a show for their admiring fans.

As I leaned over the side of the boat to look deeper into the water, a huge Finback Whale emerged right there and I let out a scream that sent everyone starboard to see this monster of the deep. At one moment over a dozen whales and dozens of Atlantic White Sided Dolphins had surrounded the boat and we only had to look no further than over the railing. Our tour guide threw up her hands and said into the mike, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we are surrounded by whales and dolphins. Take your pick where you want to look." It was simply surreal.

Before long, the whales began to take on real personalities -- especially one showboat named Pepper. Further away from the boat, we could see that she was a true entertainer who was not about to be upstaged by this mere grouping. At first, without getting closer, she over and over again loudly pounded her massive fluke against the water as if demanding we look at her. Of course, being an easy audience, we ignored those effortlessly gliding around and focused all our attention at Pepper. The boat headed to her as she continued to seduce us with her antics. Then we were in just the perfect position as, on cue, she rolled on her side and raised a monster fin into the air and waved to us. Just to be sure no one missed this act, she repeated it again and again. Pepper knew she would have the most photographs and be remembered long after the day had ended.

All in all, we saw over forty individual whales in all forms and groupings. As we landed, the Captain cautioned us not to expect such an experience again. But if I lived close to Provincetown, I would be down here the next couple of weeks and see the show while it lasts.

Photographs taken by Steven Guy

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Turkeys Come Home

Like the swallows returning to Capistrano, the turkeys have returned to Turkey Hollow!

Now the hills around here are filled with wild turkeys but none have chosen to take up residence in our 'back four'! Clearly the deer have shared with "Franklin" and "Eleanor" what a good gig they have found in the woods just off our clearing. The noble birds have made a home in a large pile of fallen trees that were toppled from this winter's Northeasters. To add a comfy touch, the tree trunks are covered with hanging vines.

So the two turkeys have clearly realized that they have found not only a good Democratic household but also one with plenty of surprise treats. We can almost hear them gobble-gobble around the clock. At times the sounds seem strangely erotic and we turn our heads away from where they have made home. Even turkeys have a right to privacy in such moments. The wood and vines not only give them comfort but also protects their nest from predators.

Eleanor and Franklin have reason to be worried. Because as mud season ends and temperatures hit near 80 degrees, we are getting a census of who will be our summer guests from the animal kingdom. Foremost among them is a stunning hawk - clearly a Republican -- who swoops down to snatch eggs and small prey with no concern for anyone except himself. "Bush" Hawk's appearance is so powerful you can't imagine he wouldn't use his power to help others. But no, alas, his only intention is to make life miserable for our fellow residents like Eleanor and Franklin. For sure my little cats are not going outside while Bush rules the skies. 

The deer who no longer have to frantically search for food as in the harsh snow-covered months, are in heaven eating everything in sight. The pregnant does who are starting to look for places deep in the forest where they safely can give birth to this year's crop of "generation d" boomers. Soon we will have little fawns barely able to walk challenging others for turf. On the other hand, our yearlings and proud Bucks are enjoying the absence of the does and seem to be having a bachelor party in our clearing. Often they appear drunk and we wake up in the morning to find them laying about with hang overs!

Since the deer pig-out on anything that has color and a vine, only the daffodils which have started to bloom give hints of color in this busy crossroads of wild life. For some reason the small yellow bloom has developed its own defenses from the scavenging deer! Matching the bold yellow house, they defiantly insist that this isn't all a drab sepia-colored operation.

Finally, this week, high in the sky was the boss of it all - the American Bald Eagle. Making a great comeback across the nation, it flew higher than the rest, glided across its kingdom observing everything in sight and comfortable in the knowledge that he alone has been crowned our national emblem.

Now all we have left is for Benny the Bear to make his appearance and see how he held up during his winter hibernation. Once again it is time to make sure those cans are in the garage and no fruit is left on the screen porch. After all, who in this stunningly beautiful weather wants to end up on the back porch banging pans to remind Benny of his boundaries?

All Photographs taken in Turkey Hollow by Steven Guy

Turkey Hollow Almanac: May I Have This Dance?

This week when I was in Peck's Country Market, I noticed on the public bulletin board a lot of ads placed by young women selling last years Prom dresses for a steal to this year's crop of young Prom queens. I smiled as I remembered all the ways that dance has impacted my life.

When I was in Woodstown High School, we used to have Friday night canteen's (dances). Interestingly, still in the early 1960's the African-Americans would dance on one side of the gym and we on the other. There were no mandatory rules requiring the seperation but it was just the way things were back then. In my early high school years Chubby Checker's The Twist was the number one hit. In fact, it was one of the few records that repeatedly garnered number one status several times over multiple years. One dance students were twirling in the jitterbug and suddenly grooving with twisting hips and pelvic thrusts at the next. The teachers were appalled and often energetic students would be reprimanded for suggestive dancing!

My senior prom date was Patricia Miller who looked stunning in her full white dress and the gardenia wrist corsage I gave her. I was every bit the gentlemen (and also very closeted!) and the most memorable part of the evening for me was almost falling asleep on the way home and driving off the road! Of course in the same year, I was granted the honor of escorting and dancing with Ms. New Jersey Grange at Elmer Grange Number 29. What a memorable night that was for me!

As I started going to gay bars in my twenties, I was very reluctant to dance with a man. Somehow I had the absurd notion that dancing with another man would make me 'more gay'! Finally I couldn't resist the beat of Donna Summer, Diana Ross and Thelma Houston and I hit the dance floor with my best dancing moves. Now I don't think I would qualify for So You Think You Can Dance but I had some great moves; well-timed twists and swirls, the music moved through me. Travolta and Swayze would have been impressed as I bopped around to "Love To Love You Baby"

To dance one's ass off in the gay disco's of the seventies was one thing, it was totally another to slow dance with a man. The thought was really too much for me. My barrier broke down in a little bar called "One" in the San Fernando valley in Southern California. The bar was divided into two sections of a disco and an intimate cabaret piano bar. I was drawn to the group singing "There is a Place for Us" gathered around the piano to begin the evening. Then eventually beckoned to the dance floor to display my free spirited moves.

One night the DJ played "There is a Place for Us" and the guys started slow dancing. I immediately hit the sidelines and watched in amazement. Then this masculine vision dressed head to toe in Levi walked over and simply said, "May I have this dance?" I was dumbfounded as he guided me out to the floor. Thank God he had the good sense to let me lead! In the middle of the dance, he put his head on my shoulder, and we both sighed. I was in sheer heaven having this wonderful freedom of intimacy with this handsome man! The young man's name was Don and he was a horse trainer out near Palm Springs. We danced all night and I felt free and alive.

Many years later in 1992, I had to face yet one more barrier that dealt with dance! After a very successful year assisting Bill Clinton getting elected to the Presidency, I scored the best tickets to 1993 Presidential Inaugural Ball. The "National Ball" was to be held at the National Museum Building in Washington, DC. My date was David Davis, a handsome man who is also a very good friend. I was absolutely determined to dance at my first Inaugural Ball. Now as silly as it may seem now, this was a major deal back 15 years ago. My gay friends begged me not to make a 'spectacle" of myself and warned that two men slow dancing at the ball would be fodder for the sensationalist press.

I agonized about it for days leading up to the Ball. Much to his credit, my date David Davis was quite comfortable either way. He just wanted to be supportive of me. Finally the evening arrived and the slow music started. I turned to David and said, "May I have this dance?". He smiled and we glided to the floor. Much to our surprise, the other dancers moved away from us and left us dancing alone. I have never felt so awkward. Suddenly a very elderly couple came out of the side lines and moved right next to us and smiled at us. The elderly women said to us, "We always like to dance next to the best dancers". Having broke the ice the other dancers on the floor closed into us and the rest is history.

So I hope these young people up here in Turkey Hollow have a great prom and I hope maybe, just maybe, there might be a gay or lesbian couple there who ask, "May I have this dance?".

Turkey Hollow Almanac: The Day King Died

One of the aspects I love about living in Turkey Hollow is that it is often so removed from the harshness of the world. When the Spring sun is out, the deer are grazing and the air is clean, the ugliness of the outside world seems so far away. The key debate around here isn't politics or religion, but the weather - because that will determine the navigability of our dirt road. Yet,sometimes the reality of the world seeps in and we are forced to live not only current events but also relive those that changed the world forever.

When I read this week that it has been forty years since Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr was killed, it took my breath away. How could so much time pass so quickly? The events of that day, and in fact that year, are entrenched into my mind as if they occurred yesterday. How do you explain that terrible year when Dr. King and Senator Kennedy were assassinated to a youngster? The horrors of those moments and the images never leave. The sense at emptiness you still feel every time you hear their names evoked. Did we really live through such a year or was it all a nightmare?

In April of 1968, I was a young 22 year old man. The first three months of that year I had traveled from one end of the country to the other organizing for Senator Eugene McCarthy, a peace candidate for President of the United States. Thousands and thousands of young students were filled with idealism and hope. We were winning the battle against the Vietnam War and we had just forced President Lyndon Johnson not to seek reelection. Everything, it seemed, was going our way.

On the fourth of that month, I was headed from the national campaign headquarters for McCarthy in Washington to Philadelphia to work on the Pennsylvania primary. My orders were to stop briefly in the city of Brotherly Love and to immediately catch a plane to Pittsburgh where I would help organize the field operations for the peace candidates. As I departed the train in 30th Street Station in Philly and entered the main room, I noticed a huge crowd gathered around a flickering black and white television monitor. Women were on their knees praying and some men were muttering angrily. I couldn't quite figure out what was wrong. Then an elderly African American man who looked gentle and kind, looked at me with cold steely eyes and said, "Y'all finally killed him." Puzzled, I asked, "Killed who?" With tears in his eyes he answered, "Dr. King".

The wind was taken totally out of me and I fell onto one of the station's long wooden benches. Out of breath, I just stared at him and he stared at me and finally I just started sobbing. The elderly man suddenly transformed and sat next to me and put his arm around me and said over and over, "I know, son. I know..." I cried into his shoulder as he held me. I simply could not believe that 'they' had killed one of two men who had shaped my politics. The first, John Kennedy, was also killed by a bullet less than five years earlier. How could this happen in America? How?

Not knowing what to do, I pulled myself together and attempted to apologize to the elderly man and also to thank him for his kindness all at the same time. He patted me on the shoulder and just walked away into his own sorrow and grief. Even in death, Dr. King brought us briefly together. None of us were alone that day.

Forty years have passed since that day in the station. Often I wonder who that man was and what was his story. I do know that he no doubt would have a huge smile on his face today as he watched Barack Obama run for President of the United States. What a gift Dr. King gave us all.

Things do change after all.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: My Youthful Innocence

Up here in Turkey Hollow it really doesn't make sense to put out a yard sign loudly proclaiming your choice for a candidate for public office. No one goes down this one lane dirt road except Wayne Keller. Now, Wayne is an old-fashioned conscientious citizen and he holds this country dear to his heart. His passion this year is the immigration issue and he is articulate and powerful on it. He doesn't need me to tell him how to vote; indeed he would no doubt chide me for littering the beautiful countryside with a silly political sign.

However, I do miss the days in my youth when I would cover myself with buttons, wear silly hats, put out lawn signs, have the mandatory bumper sticker afixed to the car and leave college to work on different issues or campaigns. Maybe it is the reason why I never finished my university education. Self righteousness was my sword and pity the poor person who disagreed with me. There were no shades of gray for me. People were either good or evil. Issues were perfectly clear and there were no complexities to them.

My politics were shaped by movements and a few heroic candidates. I was trained and informed and inspired by the civil rights movement; I learned leadership in the anti-Vietnam war movement, I found my courage in the LGBT movement.

President Kennedy was my first 'candidate crush'. Being fourteen, his speeches and words inspired me into a lifetime of politics. He convinced me of not only my moral obligation to serve those in need but that the world was actually waiting for me to do it. You would have to count me as one of the classic 'Kennedy's Children' - young people he inspired into public service. The youth of America would wait for hours to catch a glimpse of him, so riveted were we by his special grace and his moving speeches. Quotes from his speeches were repeated to each other. We were filled with youthful innocence and we so believed we could change the world.

The day he was inaugurated on a snowy, bitterly cold Washington, DC, morning, almost every television set in America was turned on to the ceremony. On our living room floor, at fourteen years of age, I laid in front of our very small Philco television screen and listened to his call to go into the world. In his speech, a simple phase became a way of life for Americans, "Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country." Thousands answered his call and joined the Peace Corps and VISTA. We cared about the poor and wanted to end segregation. We headed South at a very young age to end decades of discrimination. We demanded free speech in our universities and respect for different ideas and diversity of people.

We believed in his words and he believed in us.

The day he was assassinated I lost my youthful innocence. From then on, there were less buttons and more doubt. The world indeed could be a very dark and complex place. Fewer quick answers were on the tip of my tongue. Instead of buttons, I wore black that horrible November weekend. And carried that grief into my politics for years to come. Black and white dissolved into a muddle of gray.

As a young person of the sixties, we saw Bobby Kennedy shot, Martin Luther King shot, the four little girls blown up in Birmingham, the police dogs attacking peaceful demonstrators, and our teenage buddies coming back in boxes from Vietnam. Dying for justice, filling the jails and fleeing the country to protest the War were simply parts of our lives. We were toughened quickly. Many in pain withdrew from the battles, unable to deal with the ugliness of the world. Yet somehow deep inside of me, there was a strong determination never to give up what John Kennedy gave me -- which was a profound belief that I could create change.

What an amazing gift to give to the young. I will forever grateful.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Spring Awakening

In Turkey Hollow we really have only three seasons - summer, fall and winter. The months that others classify as spring are really just 'mud season' in these hills. This is the time of year where it snows one day and rains the next. Then the twenty-some inches of snow on the ground begin to melt as the sun heads North. And the combination of all these meteorological elements just creates mounds of mud everywhere. The roads are muddy, the porch is muddy, the inside of the car is muddy, the paths are muddy, even the deer are muddy!

Now there are benefits: You discover once again that the sun is no longer just a stage prop like during the winter months - you can actually feel the warmth on the skin. You know that under all that melting snow are the hundreds of daffodil bulbs that were planted last year. If experience is any indicator, with the last of the snow baby buds everywhere should already be pushing up from the ground. The deer at last have some ground cover and bushes to feed themselves. You can catch Attila and Baby especially sprawled in the backyard like South Beach sunbathers. All they are missing are the wedgies and Mah Jongg tiles.

Wayne Keller has dismantled Turkey Hollow's solo snow plow for the winter. All of us are putting the last repairs on our snow blowers and putting them in storage. At the same time, we are looking for those weed whackers and hoes and tillers one needs now that cranky ol' winter has shuffled away from our mountain top. In the mud season, we have to repair the spots where animals have created muddy paths and put new grass seed down with straw on top so the new robins don't feast on the seed. (I think they're so busy stealing the straw for nests that they don't even notice the seeds!). Tree limbs downed from the winter storms have to be collected from one's land and surrounding woods to keep the fire hazard to a low level.

However, there are serious problems with the onset of mud season. The combination of warm sun and muddy conditions breed the strongest cases of Spring Fever. One is tempted to just flat-out lie on the floor where the sunbeams dance on the linoleum and just nap like one of the cats. Indeed, often there will be a parade of felines crawling on your back to hunker down and share the rays as you bask in the sun. If only someone would come along and rub my belly as I do my cats! Now that would make the season just purr-fect. (Sorry)

Guess the mud season up here also brings out the 'mud season' in politics, too, as charges seem to be flung left and right from the campaigns. Reverend Wright? Passport information breached? John McCain not knowing the difference between Sunni and Shia? Think we all need a good week's vacation from all of the heated rhetoric. Lord knows there will be ample opportunity to weigh in on those issues after all those clothes on the floor of the closet are finally organized.

There does seem to be a fair amount of shrillness in politics this spring and passions are pitched and pointed. In one way, I feel I may have contributed to that atmosphere at times with headlines on my site that would be better placed in the New York Post! Also, my words often have been barbed and not always chosen in the best way to create dialogue between opposing forces. So, in the best tradition of 'spring cleaning', I promise my readers to edge away from the occasional shrillness and move toward more consistently thoughtful dialogue. Besides, that is really who I am and where I am most comfortable.

Don't get me wrong: My support for Obama will continue to be strong and deeply felt. And I'm not even sure I have the capacity to temper my passions about the War in Iraq. However, I will attempt to steer the impact of my words to long-term consensus-building instead of short-term point-scoring. You all know I will be imperfect in this quest, but it is a good goal for me to aim for on a daily basis. I'm sure the Comment Board will weigh in on my successes and failures!

After all, everyone needs to do a little Spring Cleaning. So let's all enjoy the sun, avoid the mud and in the process, mix a little light with our heat.

Photographs taken in Turkey Hollow by Steven Guy

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Easter Already

I know that people of all faiths (and even some with little faith...) read this site and I love and welcome them all. But regardless of liturgical allegiance, I think everyone will find insight and maybe even a little humor in my own personal Easter memories.

First of all, to set the current stage, I woke this morning and realized that it was Palm Sunday and it's only March 16th! How is that possible? That would mean that the following Sunday was Easter and everyone knows that Easter is in April. Always has been, always will be. Clearly, the calendar must be wrong. So I quickly wrote a breezy missive to DayMinder pointing out that I had found a blatant mistake. I made my cogent and eloquent argument that it was way too early for Easter week and they should be more careful in the creation of their usually invaluable appointment books. Self-satisfied, I waited, arms folded and full of myself, for their humble reply. What I got instead was a call from my calendar-conscious sister, Patsy, patiently pointing out the error of my ways. Don't you hate self-possessed sisters? I feel like Linus to her Lucy. Good Grief, indeed...

Easter, I was dutifully informed, was indeed March 23rd. Fine. Well, then don't blame me if sunrise services will be held with frost and parkas! Or if extraordinary Easter bonnets are going to be displayed in a halo of snowflakes. Or if the annual egg hunt might need to employ snowshovels. Needless to say, that baked Virginia Ham is going to need to be heated extra long here in Turkey Hollow.

Whew. Now that I got that out of my system, I wanted you all to know that this is what I learned from assiduous research, so you can fully appreciate this early Easter.

The Easter holiday is determined by the lunar calendar created by the Hebrew people for Passover. Easter is always the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Spring Equinox. Got that? It would seem we would need an Old Farmer's Almanac and a slide rule to figure out when that damn Easter Bunny is coming.

Now, here is what caught my attention: This Easter is a rare one. You would have to be 95 years old or older to have ever experienced it this early. The next time this faith-based holiday will surface so early will be 277 years from now! So wake up and know that this is the only time in your life that you will have to shovel snow while sporting your huge bonnet!

For me, historically, Easter was a great holiday.

We New Jersey Mixners would often gather the eggs from the barn the day before. I would gingerly put the gathered booty in my pockets and, being me, invariably become lost in my thoughts. As I contemplated the nuances of the world, I would become tired and sit down....on all the eggs I had collected from our hardworking chickens. Covered in egg yolk, redfaced, I would clean up as my brother or sister would complete the task so we would have eggs to dye and hide for the egg hunt with the relatives.

We could count on the Easter Bunny to hide the Easter baskets -- loaded with marshmallow rabbits, huge decorated chocolate eggs, jelly beans of all colors and several bright yellow candy chicks. The mystery always was why the Easter Bunny hid the damn baskets in the first place - causing my sugar-crazed brother, sister and I to run all over the damn house in the early morning search. Would someone please explain to me what putting an Easter Basket loaded with goodies in the coat closet had to do with the holiday? For the life of me, I can find a decent reference in the Bible.

Speaking of the Bible, then the Mixner family would be off to Sunrise services with me singing loudly - and badly - but nevertheless rejoicing mostly because I knew as soon as the service was over we would head to the Church Hall for a Sunrise Breakfast! Pancakes seemed never to stop flipping and the homemade maple syrup always melted in my mouth. Talk about a spiritual holiday! After the feast, we would pile back into the car and head home to gorge on our candy delights.

The combination of the chocolate and maple syrup would have me on a bonafide sugar high the rest of the day - there was no way to calm me down. As my parents took Brownie snapshots of the three of us in our Easter finery I couldn't stop sticking out my tongue, ruining, much to my parents dismay, every picture in our photo album.

Fast-forward to this year, I am worried about two things: A) Who will shovel the walk and B) will the Easter Bunny will be clever and hide the baskets in the deer meadow? But no sugar and no egg yolks covering my pants this year......at least I hope not.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: The River

One of the certainties of living in these hills is that eventually the rivers will flood. The only variables are how bad it will be and will there be any advance notice. There are different kinds of flooding that haunt our area: The flash flood from a gully-washer thunderstorm or the slower rise of the river from melting snow sometimes combined with Spring rains.

Since I have lived here, the area has lost five of our neighbors to the rising waters. In June of 2006, major flooding hit the area from a series of thunder and rainstorms. Our nearest city, Livingston Manor, was under eight feet of water in places and small town after small town saw houses destroyed or badly damaged. The deluge brought out the best in the people of the Catskills and they all pitched in to rebuild and get down to business again. Each time the local folks loudly proclaim they don't know if they can go through one more flood but invariably the beauty and the people of this place keep them here.

This week, once again, we are on river-watch.

Two weeks ago, we had a bombardment of three snowstorms with about 18 inches of snow ending on the ground here in Turkey Hollow. For the first time this season, our snow blowers got a real workout and we all posed for pictures next to plowed embankments higher than our cars. Finally, a week of real winter weather with no sleet, no freezing rain; just picture-postcard pretty vistas in our woods, hills and meadows. But unfortunately, those idyllic scenes didn't last long. The first rainstorm moved in at the beginning of this week and with the heavy snow pack melting, instantly all eyes went to the rivers. While all of them rose, most behaved themselves and stayed within their banks. Only about six houses had to have water pumped out.

With a collective sigh of relief and lots of chatter among neighbors, we felt we had just missed another pending river rage.

But Mother Nature and the weather bureau refuse to give us a break. Last night we had a steady rainstorm, causing the remaining snow pack to melt rapidly. Just as we were reaching a crucial point, the rains blessedly stopped -- but the rivers continued to rise. Then we woke up this morning to a forecast of extremely heavy rains and winds up to 40 mph. To add insult to injury, the prognostication includes some blowing snow at the end of the storm. This is the time neighbors begin calling each other, saying, "let me know if you need my help" as the slowly rising rivers turn into raging waters. We wait and watch as we prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

Part of the power of living in these hills is to be reminded time and time again that we are just guests of nature here. The surrounding idyllic beauty can turn vicious at the drop of a hat. And now it is the raging river - a fearful wonder to behold - that is in total control, as the awesome current threatens all that is in its path. It is proving, once again, to be the boss of this hollow and there is no questioning that.

And it isn't only the human denizens affected by this weather-inspired tumult. The abundant wildlife is impacted as well. In this photograph taken by Steven Guy, Baby - our newest star deer produced by Attila and Kate - told us what he felt about all this changing weather. Enjoy.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Out of the Closet One More Time

Our secrets do kill us. They cause us to lie, have low self esteem and live in fear of exposure. When I finally came out as a gay man, the liberation, joy and relief I experienced was overwhelming. At last I could live a full life - no matter what the struggles - and be proud and open. Without question, coming out of the closet was the single most important act of my life. Never once did I regret that action.

Now, once again, I feel that I must take a deep breath, step forward and reveal an embarrassing secret. Events make it imperative that I confess to you all ......I am a huge American Idol fan.

There. It is done. Whew! I hope you will still love me and still at least consider me a serious person despite this startling information.

Now I can openly share with you the joy I experience everytime the program is aired. If I am out of town, I record it; if I am home, I never miss a second. Every evening I make sure to be a conscientious citizen and cast my all-important vote for the performer that captures my soul. Watching the show is like witnessing the American Dream come true for these young talents.

I hide my face in my hands when they make a bad song choice or sing off-key. I laugh as, week by week, Randy, Paula and Simon become nearly caricatures of themselves - sometimes more a Ship Of Fools than a judge's panel. Of the trio, I suppose Simon usually comes closest to my own opinion even though his occasional outright cruelty toward some of the contestants makes me cringe and yearn to throw something at the screen.

Last year I stuck with Melinda Doolittle until she was outrageously eliminated. I'm still not quite over that injustice! This year I think they have one of the best contestants in the history of the show. Young seventeen year old David Archuleta is amazing. His poise, his voice, his professionalism and his humble attitude sweep you away. This youngster is destined for stardom. Remember, this is the show that took Kelly Clarkson, Jennifer Hudson, Dougherty and Carrie Underwood to the top. In my humble opinion, they are soon to be joined by Archuleta.

Take a look at this YouTube excerpt from his last performance and see if you don't agree with me.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Crashing to Earth

This week has been one of grave disappointment here in Turkey Hollow.

Ever since the government's announcement that a huge, lumbering 'spy satellite' had run out of power and was due to come hurtling to earth, the denizens of Turkey Hollow had been hoping for the best - that it would crash in our woods. Think of the excitement! Think of the notoriety! Think of the big bucks!

We knew that the 20,000 lb piece of crippled space junk - zippily named USA 193 - contained the toxic chemical Hydrazine in its fuel, which could harm anyone coming into contact with it. We also were aware that the satellite carried a panoply of hush-hush 'state secrets'. And we read all about the griping of other nations, most notably China, that this maneuver may just be a cover for illegally testing missiles. But for us, those wonky fine points paled with the realization that if the hunk of NASA metal would just fall within our city limits, then Turkey Hollow would have a long-overdue economic shot in the arm! The added attraction of being able to mercilessly tease the Pentagon about having access to their famous "secrets" made us all the more giddy.

Within days, my friend Steven Guy and I had the full-on economic revival of Turkey Hollow all figured out. Even Livingston Manor, the big city in the area, is struggling in this recession. People all around us are disenfranchised or disillusioned in one way or another. So we decided it was our moral obligation to do anything we could do to help our local economy. Our plan was massive, extensively researched and comprehensively detailed. We also Xeroxed and circulated nifty "X-Marks-The-Spot" maps for townspeople to bet odds on where the crippled satellite might come crashing to earth as it split up into, what one NASA scientist opined would be "1,000,000 pieces of debris." Woo-hoo! That's all we needed to hear!

First off, we would enlist our neighborhood legend, Wayne Keller, who we all know can do anything. Not only would Mr. Keller protect us from the toxic chemicals, most likely he would also develop a renewable use for them. Before long, happy townspeople would be using the recycled hazardous waste as lighter fluid to start wood burning stoves. Or employing a pesticide derivative to rid the countryside of encroaching chickweed. Then, en masse, we would all carry the tonnage of downed metal up to Mr. Keller's 'shop' and help him cut them into pieces so we could date them and sell them on Ebay as "certified spy satellite pieces".

Think of the profit to be made sending all those tiny boxes of dated space junk to P.O. boxes all around the world! Half of Turkey Hollow could be gainfully employed just packing the shipments! The tourism boom would be incredible. People would come from wide and far to see the scorched area of the woods where the satellite came to its ignominious end. Our small bed and breakfasts would be packed to capacity and the local Robin Hood dinner would have to hire on extra help to handle the curious masses!

Even more satisfying, when the tourists got bored, we would still have the entertainment value of uniformed minions of the Pentagon, along with their Beltway lawyers, darting around the frozen terrain attempting to retrieve our new-found pirate booty. They would be holed up for months trying to negotiate down the narrow ice-encrusted dirt road out of town alone! Consider the huge financial boon for the local tow trucker, pulling black car after black car out of the side ditches. Imagine the glee of watching government bureaucrats, barking into cell phones, striving to maintain a modicum of dignity while facing the "Shock And Awe" of a pitiless Northeast winter!

Finally, what fun we would have exposing their secrets!The never-before-seen stats which revealed that the Industrialized Military Complex used 'energizer bunny' batteries instead of molecular solar implants. Or that the multi-million dollar satellite was intrinsically flawed from the beginning due to the discovery of one of the Pentagon's $700 screw drivers from the rubble. Or that the craft's guidance system was actually a GM GPS system swiped from a 2006 Yukon pickup truck. We were keenly aware of what happened to whistle-blowers in the oppressive atmosphere of the Bush Administration, but we didn't care. Duty, first, to the words in the Constitution. Honor, second, to the person who can successfully explain the words in the Constitution to George W. Bush.

So, in the end, the Pentagon's modified SM-3 missile not only destroyed the wounded satellite, but also shattered our collective dream. Our cash cow was shot out of the sky. To top it all, the contact blast was a disappointment - the earth didn't rumble, the heavens did not light up in a spectacular show. No bang, no boom, no "ooh and ahhs" like at the county fireworks display. It was all a frustrating, dispiriting dud.

Disappointed but undaunted, Steve and I have vowed to get back to the drawing boards and PowerPoint presentations to configure a new economic recovery plan for Turkey Hollow. Starting over. Back to the basics. Such is life.

Or such as life should be.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: I Can See!

This week saw most people "Looking through the eyes of love", as the old song says - giving flowers and chocolates and Valentines. In that spirit, I gave myself some long over-due cataract surgery. While not especially romantic, it was eye-opening. Literally.

Who knew that my house was painted a bright lemon yellow? That my cat had spots? Or that my blue pin-stripe was actually a bright lime green zoot-suit that any pimp would love? And wait until I find that furniture salesman who sold me an orange Naugahyde sofa instead of the sexy brown leather Restoration Hardware sectional I pointed out in the catalogue!

But seriously, there is no way to describe my surprise and delight when I finally could see clearly again. Coming back to Turkey Hollow from the surgery, my face was plastered to the window of the car as I once again discovered the nuances of color, depth and detail. It was as though I was seeing things for the first time as the outside world unfolded to me in glorious crystal clear vision. Like HD-TV for the pupils! Because of my struggle with my throat tumor at the end of last year, I had postponed having my cataracts removed. By the time Dr. Coad got me in the operating room, my vision had gotten so bad that, for months, life for had been one, big, creamy blur.

The thought of someone operating on my eyes didn't exactly thrill me. Having Dr. Coad who is viewed as one of the best in the business helped to calm my nerves but I still wasn't wild about the idea. But I knew it was time for surgery when driving down Turkey Hollow I mistook a mailbox for a deer.

What I didn't know was how easy it is, with the right surgeon, to successfully remove cataracts. You go into the hospital, get into the gown with the drafty open back, have a few tests and then wait. Finally onto a stretcher you go, wheeled down to a parking space outside the operating room for your turn. Before you know it - bingo - you are inside. While chatting with medical team, you are painlessly operated upon and within a half an hour you're outside in the recovery room. If you would have - or could have - blinked, you would have missed it!

They give you a warmed-up muffin and coffee in the recovery room just like the old days when you gave blood at the local blood bank. A little leather kit with a regimen of eye drops and a really cool pair of sun glasses make up your post-op gift swag bag. I ended my day back in my dark hotel room watching "Enchanted" - the modern day "Cinderella" - and falling asleep wondering if my eyesight would be much better in the morning.

Well, I hate to employ the hoary gay cliche, but I woke up feeling like Dorothy - going from the dull black and white of Kansas to the dazzling Technicolor of Oz! It was extraordinary!Days later, I still can't stop looking at everyone and everything, taking it all in, comparing and contrasting, examining every fine detail. If I didn't know better, I would swear they had slipped me some mushrooms or psychedelic drug! The colors and textures were jumping out at me and I could see road signs again! No more heading to DC when I thought I was going to New York!

Most of all, I am just totally grateful for science, good doctors and rejoining the world of beautiful colors.

Now, about moving out that orange sofa.......

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Growing Up Country

Turkey Hollow doesn't present our young people with a whole lot of options for the weekend. The nearest movie is about a forty minute drive and the nearest town, Livingston Manor, closes up at eight sharp each night. You can drive through downtown on a Saturday night and think you have come upon a scene from the nuclear holocaust movie On the Beach. All that's missing are tumbleweeds blowing through the center of town.

For me, it is just fine -- although I do miss the theaters. So, I snuggle up with a good book, have friends in from the city for a weekend or watch the latest on DVD. But being young in such a rural and isolated environment in today's world must be tough. You often can find the local students 'hanging' out somewhere. With access to the entire world via television and the Internet, it must be hard to have it so close yet so far away.

For my family, growing up country offered a lot of options -- most of which would no doubt be greeted with hoots and hollers today! The early years of my life we had no television and even when we got our first one, an amazing Philco console, it often didn't work and money to fix it didn't come easy. But it didn't matter. Because there was always something to do on weekend nights. In our tiny old elementary school in Daretown, I remember square dances being held in our small wood-floor auditorium. Young and old alike would line up to do the "Virginia Reel". Oh, how I loved to dance those evenings away as a youngster --even when I felt relentlessly silly twirling a big, overly-perfumed adult woman! Indeed, for a while, being a square dance 'caller' seem like the best job in the world.

Other evenings would be covered-dish suppers at the church or grange hall - tables piled high with food from all the best cooks in the county. During the meals, laughter and lively conversation would fill the hall, followed by some form of local entertainment. Once in awhile when I was really young (back when the earth's crust was cooling...) there would be a local 'minstrel show' benefiting some neighborhood group. The men would appear in actual black face and full drag singing songs and attempting Vaudeville-like skits. All of us would laugh until our sides ached, obvilious as to how racist these shows were. In retrospect, of course, one can look back and see how steeped in racism a community could be - behavior that seemed so innocuous and ordinary to this naive but well-meaning populace.

When Elmer Grange Number 29 built its big new hall - a long white concrete block building - it became the center of community fun. Often we would have Polka challenges as the ethnic city bands would tour the rural areas. My sister, Patsy, and I became great Polka dancers and often would clear the floor. To this day, it's still not clear if the floor was swept clean because we were so good or because we knocked all the other dancers off the floor! "Dancing With The Stars" had nothing on us, believe me! The Hall would also be the place of annual benefit Turkey dinners. The women would cook all week and everyone would go door to door selling tickets for a reserved place setting at the communal dine. People, by the hundreds, would come from all over to get their all-you-can-eat Turkey-with-all-the fixings-spread. The kids served as bus boys and waiters and everyone, at least in my happily selective memory, had a grand time.

My moment of personal glory at the Elmer Grange came when I was asked to escort and lead the dancing with Miss New Jersey Grange. It was a high local honor in to be chosen to escort her majesty. My mother was so proud that I was picked to escort the beautiful visiting debutante as she made her appearance at the local hall. Mom spent the entire week explaining to me the proper etiquette toward royalty -- the manners, the deference, the gallantry. Confident and beaming from ear to ear, I flawlessly guided her from the main entrance to the stage and then into the first dance. My shoes never were shined so bright; my trousers were never pleated so crisply.

My favorite nights were FFA (Future Farmers of America) "Fun Night". On these occasions, the entire town would crowd into the small gymnasium for an evening of bucolic challenges. The greased pig contest would have us howling. As the poor, squealing pig ran around the gym, guys would attempt to catch and hold it for thirty seconds - a triumph that would accord them a bonafide win. Nowadays, I would feel horribly sorry for the pig and probably be tempted to call PETA! The greased pole contest was equally as funny and even somewhat erotic for a gay man. Guys would in teams tempt to climb a grease telephone pole to get the prize at the top. Shirts off, covered in grease and sweat, the guys would pile on top of each other to tempt to get to the top. The cheering and laughter from the crowd raised the roof. And it was sexy to boot!

Finally, there was the Cumberland County Fair - the big event of the summer. It dwarfed all the rest of the local festivities, bar none. Tent after tent was filled with all the best baked goods, prized livestock and home made quilts. Various games of chance and skill offered up plush, stuffed animals. But the culmination - and most envied accolade - was the Miss Cumberland County Fair contest. One especially memorable year, my sister Patsy was a contestant as Miss Seabrook Farms. My entire family, collectively holding our individual breaths, sat in the decorated grandstand, craning our necks, assessing the competition. After all, whoever won would be crowned by New Jersey's own Governor Robert Meyner! The thought of the Governor crowning our sister sent my brother Melvin and I into spasms of giggles. Unfortunately, my sister only made it to the Court and just missed being Miss Cumberland County Fair. The injustice of it all! Solace could only be provided by more cotton-candy and salted pretzels.

Admittedly, these recollections may have gotten a little burnished over time -- smoothing over the rough patches enough to leave behind only fond memories of growing up country. Still, even in this age of I-Pods and I-Phones, I my hope is that the local youth here in Turkey Hollow are able to slow down enough to have similar experiences. My formative years as a country boy taught me a real sense of community and neighbors. It's what makes me who I was, who I wanted to be, and who I am. And gave me moments to cherish for the rest of my life.

TURKEY HOLLOW ALMANAC: New Kids In Town

In Turkey Hollow, we’re half way through winter, though the brutal months of February and March still lie ahead. Snow has covered Turkey Hollow since about the middle of November, but there have been no big storms. A couple of eight-inchers are about the best we have been able to produce so far this winter.

The deer have been holding up, but there is change in the air. The big bucks have shed their antlers for the winter and the young yearlings are starting to develop their personalities and claim their place in the herds. The cute little fawns are becoming young bucks and does and seeking their rightful place.

This is not easy for Attila.

First, he had to survive hunting season and then he shed his massive eight point rack in a terrible blow to his masculinity. Now, instead of being the dominant force in our backyard, he is like most any other deer....buck or doe. You can only distinguish him by calling out his name – he’ll jerk his head upwards to acknowledge the call. It can't be easy for him.

He was Kate’s beau last year, but now she is too busy raising her young twins to give him much attention. Without the rack, he just doesn’t seem to be her type anymore. The twins follow Kate around everywhere. One has adopted her serenity, though the other is very timid and is literally scared of her own shadow. Kate seems to never give Attila the time of day anymore.

To make the situation worse for the proud buck, there are new stars in town.

First and foremost, there is Baby.

We named this yearling Baby because she is smaller in height and a little heavier than the other young ones. Her fur is thick and she seems to always have a mischievous smile. Well, cute little Baby has become the new kid on the block. She is totally fearless, challenges the older deer and demands to be noticed.

Once in awhile, even in this serene setting, the deer will rise on their hind legs and starting kicking at each other like kangaroos. Recently, as one deer was grazing, Baby pushed forward and challenged the other deer for its food. The much older and taller deer stood on his back legs to kick at "Baby". When Baby raised herself to meet the challenge from the older deer, the young one found herself standing at about half the other deer’s height. When Baby realized that she was clearly the small one in the match, she forgot about kicking and without hesitation, head-butted the other deer square in the belly. It ran off immediately and Baby triumphantly enjoyed her meal.

Attila is going to have his hands full with this one in the coming months! But I bet that once his extraordinary new antlers emerge over the next months, Attila will quickly be back in charge. Baby better not push her luck since I imagine Attila has a long memory.

Photographs by Steven Guy taken in Turkey Hollow.

 

Turkey Hollow Almanac: We Shall Overcome

Up here in Turkey Hollow, the big news of the week is that we missed two big storms and a brutal cold wave is heading our way, with wind chills plummeting to minus 20 below!

We can handle the cold and snow, but when political ugliness intrudes into our life up here in the Hollow it is a different story. The element of race being injected into the presidential campaign is a great sadness. Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed and Senator Obama, Senator Clinton and John Edwards agreed to call a truce. The question is - has the damage has been done or will we rise above the ugliness and judge this election on the pressing issues of the time?

Interestingly, as the storm raged around race last week, it appeared that those of us who had lived through the dark days of segregation were offended the most. Those who were not heavily involved in that historic struggle tended to treat it as a political issue. In some ways, no matter who we support, Obama’s success is a validation of our efforts during the 1960s, and we want to see his candidacy judged on the merit of his ideas and the content of his character. Those who lost their lives, were jailed, beaten and bombed dreamed that some day a man like Barack Obama would emerge from the ashes of their sacrifice.

This past week, many people told me that I overreacted to comments on racial undercurrents in the campaign. Perhaps, but the jarring images of racism in real life from childhood and as a young political activist are in my head forever. I will never forget the horrors I witnessed or courage and inspiration of those struggling for something better.

My family lived in Southern New Jersey, which along with Southern Delaware and the Eastern Shore of Maryland, was know as "Little Dixie." The region had sent troops to fight with the Confederates and separation of the races was a way of life. My father worked for Seabrook Farms and my mother kept books for a farm equipment company. They didn't have much, but worked hard and were good people and I loved them very much. But, they also were for segregation. Not the variety preached by the KKK or White Citizens Council, but just viewed it as a way of life. In some sense, along with others in the community, I think having someone below them made them feel better about their own struggle. Nevertheless, they felt strongly about preserving the status quo and hated the Civil Rights movement.

The memories are still stark today. Even when the schools were integrated in our small farming community, African American children usually sat on one side of the classroom. In the movie theater, they had to sit in the balcony. They lived in their own community – Yorktown, which was commonly referred to by the adults as "N- Town." In our town, it was commonly understood that no African American should be in town after six in the evening.

I remember one class trip, when we stopped for food at a restaurant which would not serve African Americans. The white kids went in while the Black kids waited in the bus and were not fed. I refused to go in and led chants of “Freedom” from the buses, much to the dismay of my principal. I recall a time when some African American field workers made a home in an old shack down the road from our house. There were so many holes in the wall, you could literally see through the entire house. One day, as I was hanging out in our front yard with my father, who was visiting with a New Jersey State Trooper friend, the law enforcement officer said to my dad, "Had any problems with the "N.....s" down the road". My dad replied, "Not yet." The trooper said, "If any of them give you any problems, just shoot them and throw them through the window and we will write it up as a robbery."

My father and I got into raging arguments while I was in high school about going South to join the sit-ins. My dad, who was known among the workers as a good man who was always there to help others, was in a rage. I didn't win that time, but as soon as I left home for college, I joined the Civil Rights movement as a participant and not a leader.

When my classmates and friends John Atkins and Russell Garrison died in Vietnam, Russell, who was white, got a park with a memorial. John, however, got nothing.

Most of my inspiration, my heroes and my energy came from those early days of the Civil Rights struggle. Today, while I find myself supporting John Edwards and many others support Senator Clinton, the candidacy of Senator Barack Obama is a testimony to all those who gave so much in that time. Obama is proof that anything is possible in one's own lifetime.

We Have Overcome.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Change

The debate over political change has taken over America. Some argue for an aggressive vision for the future and others defend the status quo and plea for caution. At times, it just all seems to be too much and the thought of getting cut off from the outside world by a nasty snowstorm doesn't seem so bad after all.

Besides, real change takes place every day here in Turkey Hollow.

This week, there were record high temperatures almost every day. Nearly two feet of snow melted, exposing the frozen ground and flooding streams and rivers. Even though the temperature only rose into the 40s, the spring-like weather was a reprieve from the harshness of winter in the mountains. Miami had nothing on us as we left our coats inside and even debated whether to wear sunscreen!

The locals greeted the change in weather with a weary eye. Some have exclaimed, "Can you believe this Spring-like weather?” However, most see the warm weather as a precursor to more snow.

“Don’t be fooled,” they said, “This warm weather simply means we are going to be slammed soon.” Still, 25-pound bags of rock salt were on sale at Pecks Store this week.

As the snow and ice melted, we saw our lawn for the first time since November and the deer returned in great numbers. Even they have experienced change - the bucks no longer have antlers. Poor Attila, who took such pride in his eight-point spread, now only has a slight stump on his majestic head. The does seem more lively now that the pushy bucks have lost their symbol of masculinity.

After Attila lost his rack, he was a little embarrassed to be seen. He hung back in the woods like someone who had been caught outside naked. Finally, after I had thrown a few apples out for him, he appeared with head hung down low. But as soon as I started telling him how handsome he looked for the winter, his tail wagged and he was right up on the lawn claiming his rightful place. Pity the poor does who giggled after that!

All this change has enabled us to rejuvenate quickly before the bitter Northwest winds return with frigid arctic air. We’ve placed a new wood chest filled with sand and snow removal tools by the front door, repaired the backdoor that was damaged during the last Nor’easter, and put up stripping around the basement door to keep that cold winter wind out of the house.

So here in Turkey Hollow, we deal with real change. We cope with it to survive and be smart in the woods. We all want our troops home from Iraq, we want people working, and we want clean air and our woods protected. We hope that the candidates who have embraced change in so many different ways will be able to make the world a better place.

In the meantime, we must encourage and influence change in our own communities in order to take care of our land, our wildlife, our neighbors and ourselves.

Photograph by Steven Guy in Turkey Hollow

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Passing Time

For the last three weeks I have been basically house bound recovering from surgery and only recently have I been back to my old zippy self. When told that I had to stay inside, rest totally and that I most likely would not be able to read a lot because of medications , my self pity kicked in.

However, I had no idea that, besides the discomfort, that the enforced 'imprisonment' was a real gift. Over the period I became a marvelous observer of news, weather, my animals and the small daily gifts that most of us overlook when rushing around to complete our mission in life.

Two snowstorms hit over the holiday period providing me with great entertainment. With huge windows in my home, I could lay in bed or sit in my favorite chair in front of the fireplace watching nature roar into Turkey Hollow. The first storm was a gentle one with heavy intense snow falling straight down with little winds. For hours I was fascinated with the consistency of millions of flakes piling up endlessly. At the end of the storm, it was simply magical outside.

The second storm over the New Year's holiday was more a classic "Northeaster" with winds blowing snow and plunging temperatures. By the end of both storms over 16 inches of snow had blanketed the ground and the temperatures were well below -20 degrees! Now I had a reason to stay in the house besides my illness and that made me feel better!

How do the deer and other animals survive in such brutal weather? As I watched them cross the backyard, the snow was up to the chest of the young yearlings. The temperature was in the single digits and they just kept moving. As they came close to the house to get a couple of apples, I look carefully at their fur and wonder how warm it really kept them or were they saying to each other, "Damn it's cold!" Assuming they have their special place to go during storms, they must huddle together under the Hemlock Pines and wonder when Al Roker is going to announce the end of all this madness.

My cats, Uganda and Sheeba, who were great companions during the period, seem to look at the deer from the warmth of the house with a slight smirk on their face . During the storms, they would dash from window to window looking at the swirling patterns being created by the white outs. Then when nap time came they knew they had two options of either crawling in bed to snuggle against my body or to pose majestically in front of the roaring fire.

The cats are house cats and with the exception of summer time on the screen porch they never go outside. The coyotes or eagles would quickly make a holiday meal out of them. Nevertheless, the fear of being eagle bait does not deter pesky Uganda from every once in awhile attempting to make the great escape. On the morning when the wind chill was near -20, I opened the door and invited Uganda to take a stroll outside. She made the mad dash, hit the doorway, did a complete flip and ran to the fireplace. Guess she wasn't interested. Grin.

Television did provide some relief and I continue my addiction to Judge Judy. Her no nonsense, take no prisoners approach for some reason has me hooked. But I also got to see daily the antics of tragic Britney Spears with great sadness and the triumph of Obama's victory speech on election night.

So, back on my feet and zipping around again is a great feeling but I will miss having plenty of time on my hand to enjoy the details of the world around me.

Onto a peaceful, healthy and love filled 2008 for us all!

Photographs by Steven Guy in Turkey Hollow

 

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Great to Be Back!

Happy New Year everyone.

First and foremost, it is great to be back. My surgery was an astounding success thanks to Dr. Donald Annino and his team at Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston. While I will have a sexy scar across my throat, everything went perfectly and I will even still be able to sing very badly.

In difficult times, you learn so much and I was blessed with the knowledge of how many friends and family members were there for me. The amount of love, concern and support I received was simply overwhelming. No matter how difficult the surgery, it was far surpassed by the love of friends and family. In fact, there is no question that my recovery was greatly enhanced by that love.

There is no way I can thank you all enough except to simply express my gratitude and promise to continue to work side by side with you all to make the world a better place.

As I navigated the complex healthcare and insurance system over the last couple of months, I began to really understand how difficult this process must be for people without resources or a robust network of contacts. Thankfully, I’m blessed with the ability to shake a few lemon trees when needed. However, most American’s can’t do this and more importantly, they shouldn’t have to in order to receive adequate healthcare.

How horrifying it must be for a mother and father to find proper care and treatment for a sick child. Even if they are lucky enough to be insured, they may be denied necessary and timely treatment due to reimbursement restrictions and technicalities. As I worked through this process myself, I found the system to be a total disaster.

Many of our country’s best medical professionals spend far too much of their time fighting insurance companies rather than providing care to their patients. Increasingly, regulations, rules and uncaring bureaucrats force healthcare professionals to give up or settle for less than perfect treatment.

Our obligation is to ensure that every American receives proper healthcare. We must fight for the young and old, especially those are too ill to advocate for their own care and treatment. The right to good health in America is sadly absent for many citizens. This national healthcare crisis is a disgrace to a prosperous nation. We must change it.

Again, my personal deep thanks for all of your love and support.

An Extended Holiday, Surgery and My Sincere Thanks to Readers and Friends

For more than a year now, I have brought you uninterrupted daily commentary on the happenings of our world, from environmental concerns to LGBT rights to raw presidential politics. I’m honored and humbled that so many readers have logged on to DavidMixner.com, and I have enjoyed each of your thoughtful comments. I will continue to work hard to provide fresh and interesting content in the New Year.

Unfortunately, I have to take a break from blogging for the next two weeks. On Monday, I will have intensive surgery on my throat to remove a massive tumor, which is thankfully benign but troublesome nonetheless. Since this procedure will be more invasive, I have been ordered to rest completely for two weeks afterwards.

We all expect a full recovery and no complications. Everyone should have such good news!

With sadness, I feel that the best approach is to give you all a two week holiday while I recover. So, please know that I’ll be back online on January 2 to greet you on your first day back to work in 2008. More importantly, rest assured that I will be back in time to provide my unvarnished thoughts on the Iowa caucuses on January 3.

There is no way that I can thank you enough for all your support during this past year. Our readership continues to grow by leaps and bounds and for that I am very grateful.

Now is also a good time for me to personally thank all those who have helped bring this blog to you everyday, including Jim Baker, Steven Guy, Jonathan Stoller, Brian Gratwicke, Patrica Annison, Rhys Gerholdt, Attila and all those contributors who stimulated our mind and touched our soul.

Much love and peace.

David Mixner

Picture taken by Steven Guy

Turkey Hollow Almanac: Peace

In many ways, “peace” has almost become a cliche.

Think about it. "Peace" is the usually first word out of any beauty pageant contestant’s mouth. Hallmark Cards has made an entire industry off holiday cards proclaiming "peace” printed over beautiful white doves. Old hippies flash the peace sign and in a smokey haze mutter "peace dude."

Church choirs sing on Christmas Eve of "heavenly peace" and religious leaders are constantly looking for a new angle to give freshness to the greater concept of peace. New Age spiritual leaders give lectures on inner peace. Many columnists have written about the peace of an empty home, absent the usual noise of their children. There are entire television channels consisting of nothing but a burning log or the ocean waves repeating themselves endlessly to create a so-called peaceful ambience.

The holiday season is the time everyone embraces peace. One can be for peace and wish for an early return from Iraq for our soldiers and not get beaten up by some construction worker with a flag on their hat. I always love saying it every chance I get, but I still look over my shoulder to see if someone is going to let me have it. They think a proclamation of peace might be some left over Communist ideology from the old days. Stomp it out before it spreads too far and wide.

Today, I found myself thinking about peace. My buddy Steve Guy is in Hawaii with his family and I have the house to myself. The landscape is covered with snow and the deer are posing perfectly. There is a strange calm in these hills and not a single tree is blowing in the wind. The road coming down from Wayne Kellers is very slippery today, so it is a good day to stay inside. In fact, I have to admit that I am still in my pajamas, being somewhat lazy today. Guess that is peace too.

Peace is not a cliche for me. It is a way of life. My mother always said you have to live your life the way you want to see the world. Otherwise, how would you be able to describe it to others if you have never experienced it or seen it? So, I have attempted to the best of my ability to live a life of peace. In all aspects of my life from the way I treat my friends to my politics to caring for my neighbors. It is not always easy, but I do my best.

So this year, for the holidays, I will join the worldwide chorus and hope that our soldiers are all home to see the flowers in the Spring. That the bloodbath in the Congo is ended and that children will play there instead of carrying US-built weapons. My vision includes an end to HIV/AIDS and other epidemics that have plagued our planet. Wouldn't it be more peaceful if we just accepted responsibility for our own spirituality and not demand everyone else believe it too?

The music that is playing everywhere will give me joy and make me sing along (badly). The cards from Hallmark will make me smile and I will put them out for others to see. My peace ornament is already on the tree. I will listen carefully at midnight mass to hear what angle the pastor has come up with this year. The construction worker, the hippie and I all will exchange a “peace bro.” I will do my best to tune the candidates out over the holidays and let the voters of Iowa and New Hampshire watch Joe Biden carve their turkey for them!

So in that spirit, I wish you all peace on earth this year both personally and globally. Much love to you all.

Turkey Hollow Almanac: The Holiday Season

The cold has taken Turkey Hollow, leaving no doubt that winter has arrived just in time for the holiday season. The wind chill has hovered at about 5 degrees for several nights, and that unmistakable cold northwest winter wind howls through the trees in the woods. My neighbor Wayne Keller posted his truck at the top of Turkey Hollow for the UPS and Federal Express packages, since the trucks usually can't make it down the dirt road in the winter. The drivers simply call and we pick them up from Wayne's pickup truck when we can make it out.

Only one week remains in the hunting season and so far so good for my clan. We are keeping our fingers crossed that all of our favorite bucks make it through the season. There are a lot of people up here in the southern Catskills that need the deer for their food supply for the winter. I only hope that if one of my clan falls, it will feed a family rather than hang on a trophy wall.

The holiday spirit has hit Turkey Hollow. I put my lights out on the pine trees and they look a little uneven, much to the dismay of my designer friends. Given the fact that maybe a grand total of 40 people might see them throughout the entire holiday season, I thought, hell, they look good enough!

In the house, the tree is up early since I have to have surgery just before Christmas. I wanted to enjoy it as much as I can. The fireplace is roaring and carols are filling the house. My buddy Steve Guy baked some pies and the house smells like a gourmet bakery on the best street in Paris. My favorite decoration is the musical stuffed Santa's and Snowmen that play carols when you push their plush stomachs. But everyone else hates them, even my cats. Steve keeps threatening to burn them if I push their stomachs one more time to hear "Silver Bells.”

There are dozens of ornaments on the tree and each has its own history. Every year for several decades, my sister Patsy has given me a new baccarat ornament and they all shimmer on the tree. There is a crucifix made out of pop beads that my mother made just before she passed away about 20 years ago. My dear friend Peter, who passed of AIDS in 1989, gave me toy soldiers for the tree so I would always have men in uniform on the tree. Then there are the home made decorations that my ex Patrick and I made on a houseboat in Amsterdam when we were cold and poor that year. I can sit next to the fire and stare at the tree and be filled with warm memories.

Winter comes with the holidays and we are preparing for a snow/ice event this weekend. That means we have to check the generator, get the salt ready, bring the shovels close to the porch and double check the snow blower. Brutal cold and howling storms never seem to respect holidays or travel schedules. We want the ambience of the snow but it always seems to come as you have to fly somewhere or while we wait for a visitor in the Hollow.

So, as you all in the southwest decorate your Palm trees and cacti, we will sit back and enjoy a classic winter wonderland with my Santa's and Snowmen singing "Silver Bells.” I love it.

Pictures taken by Steven Guy in Turkey Hollow

Turkey Hollow Almanac: November 22nd, 1963

Funny how a simple date has the capacity to define a generation. For my parents, the date always carried in their heart, was December 7th, 1941. Today's young people will most likely have September 11th as their foremost remembrance. For my generation, every time the date November 22nd appears on our calendar, we flashback to the horrific day of President Kennedy's assassination in Dallas.

That date is etched into my heart and mind. It changed the world forever and took the innocence of an entire generation. Many of us considered ourselves the “children of Kennedy". President Kennedy represented a new moment of hope in our history. He convinced us that to honor our country and to serve others in the world