Kaaterskill Falls

I’ve grappled with the idea of religion from a fairly early age. I was brought up in a loosely Roman Catholic household. I was never required to go to mass (except when my grandmother was visiting from Germany) but I did have to go to Sunday School every week from kindergarten until my freshman year in high school. At that point it was time to make my confirmation. After a good amount of arguing with my mother about it, I refused to go through with it on the grounds that I did not feel that I was Catholic and to go through with it would be a lie, which is a sin. CONUNDRUM!! Naturally Mom wasn’t happy about this then, but we’re good now.

Somewhere in my 20s my then-budding, now full-blown Zen Buddhist older brother turned me on to American Transcendentalism. I struggled through half of Walden by Henry David Thoreau (which I have yet to finish) and thumbed through essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson. While I found some things that resonated with me more than any scripture did, I was still too distracted to absorb much of it. At around the same time I stumbled across the work of Thomas Cole and the Hudson River School painters. At the time I knew virtually nothing about the visual arts, let alone a group of 19th century landscape painters, but something clicked. I’ve always been drawn to the Hudson River; First as a place to hang out when there was nothing else to do, but later as a place to go to quiet my mind when there was too much going on. As it turns out, my family on my father’s side lived throughout the Hudson Valley for generations dating back to New Amsterdam. Call it what you will - instinct or genetic memory, but I refuse to call it coincidence.

In the years since I’ve brushed up on Emerson and Thoreau (why Walden is still taught in high schools is beyond me. Kids need to read LIFE WITHOUT PRINCIPLE!) and I’ve become mildly obsessed with the works of the Hudson River School painters, Thomas Cole, Frederick Church & Asher Durand specifically. I’ve volunteered several times with Hudson River Sloop Clearwater which gave me the opportunity to live on a replica of an 19th century sloop for a week at a time, sailing from as far north as Kingston, NY down to Chelsea Piers in Manhattan. And just a few months ago I finally made my pilgrimage to the house and studio of Thomas Cole in Catskill, NY.

On that initial trip I was on a mission to not only see where he had lived and worked, but also to hike out to the Kaaterskill Falls which is the subject of one of my favorite Cole paintings. After taking a guided tour of the house and studio, I found directions to the falls which were about 10 miles away. Clearly I was not hiking this. I jumped in my car and picked up route 9 headed for route 23 which would take me into Catskill State Park. I drove along this winding two lane road up into the mountains and eventually found a sign on the side of the road just before a big bend that said “Kaaterskill Falls -->”. I eased on the brakes to take it slow around the bend and was surprised to see a portion of the falls right at the roadside! I drove a little further to a small parking area, found a spot (barely), grabbed my gear and headed in. It’s a short hike - less than 1.5 miles round trip - however it’s anything but level. In some areas the parks service was kind enough to build actual stairs, in other areas they placed large rocks in a stair-like fashion. I tried to imagine Cole lugging his paints, canvas & easel through the then-untouched terrain. Did he paint on site or did he sketch first and paint at the studio? He must have sketched first.

As I looked around me I had this uncanny feeling that I knew this place. It wasn’t a case of deja vu. It wasn’t a matter of looking familiar. This knowledge was intrinsic. As peculiar as that was to realize, it was almost reassuring. If I was ever supposed to be anywhere at any point in my life, clearly I was meant to come here. I continued along the trail, scrambling over rocks and seemingly ancient tree roots smoothed by centuries of providing a steady hold for those who walked this trail before me. All the while the sound of rushing water filled the small valley.

As I approached the falls I was almost in a state of disbelief. It was like finding out Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny really do exist. It’s been nearly 200 years since Thomas Cole painted these falls, yet there they were right in front of me. A massive testament to his artistic brilliance, and his work a testament to the beauty and importance of our environment (and conservation thereof). I let that thought circle around my head for a while and then I allowed my mind to become still. Allowed. I didn’t have to force it. Standing at the base of the falls, dwarfed by the 260 foot drop, there is an effortless stillness. Well, for me at least. Some people may just think it looks pretty, which it does. But for me there is this amazing sense of peace. Of quietness despite the roar of rushing water cascading down nearly 30 stories. It takes more effort to speak of anything, rather than just be still and feel connected to something bigger than myself.

This is where I find my peace.

This is where I can be still.

This is my church.

To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven...

Written January 28, 2014

My father loved sailing. He loved anything about boats, really. His line of the family can be traced  through the Hudson Valley all the way back to Dutch New Amsterdam so you could say it's in our blood. After he was discharged from the Navy in 1945 he became involved with the now defunct Sea Scouts - the maritime equivalent of the Boy Scouts. I remember him taking me down to the Hudson back in the 70s and issuing stern warnings that I wasn't to go anywhere near the water. I'm sure the concern was that I may fall in, get swept away and drown but also what I'd be exposed to should I simply fall in and not get swept away and drown. The river was essentially an open sewer back then.

Years before I was even a thought - some time in 1969, Dad and one of his brothers brought my oldest brother, then 11 years old, down to the Alpine Boat Basin. They caught word that some people built a replica of an 19th century Dutch Sloop and were looking to get people out on the river. It was right up their alley!! However what could have been a great collaboration between people who wanted to reclaim the river was dashed when my dad and uncle found the man behind the operation to be Pete Seeger. Pete was a communist in their eyes so they turned tail and never looked back. Thank you, Senator McCarthy.

Flash forward 30 years...I'm working my first job in advertising sales at The Record having just moved back home from a brief stint in Massachusetts. I get a call one afternoon from a woman wanting to put together an ad schedule for a music festival on the Hudson River. As we go through figures and creative options I come to find out that it's been an annual event. For the past 30 years. It's the main fundraising event for an environmental organization founded by Pete Seeger!! Long story short (sort of), I got the ad schedule and made my way to the Clearwater Revival that summer. On Father's Day weekend.

That was 1999. In the 15 years since I've volunteered at the festival as well as on board the Clearwater as an educator in their environmental outreach program. I've crossed paths with Pete several times but out of respect I always kept a polite distance. I'm sure he wouldn't have objected to a brief greeting but that was all the more reason why I wanted to give him his space. He was always being approached by people. I felt bad jumping on the pile.

I last saw Pete in 2010, the last time I sailed on board the Clearwater. We were docked in Beacon. He was down at the Beacon Sloop Club doing yard work. Days later we sailed up to Poughkeepsie where he happened to be performing on the waterfront. 91 years young and still committed to the cause.

When his wife Toshi passed last year I suspected it wouldn't be long before he joined her so I suppose I've been coming to terms with this probability over the past 6 months. It doesn't make it any less heartbreaking though. Pete was a treasure, a National one at that. I don't kid myself that if Dad were still here he'd soften up on his political views and find some degree of appreciation for the work Pete has done to restore the Hudson, but I am forever grateful for myself and on his behalf.

Thank you, Pete.