This must be the place: 'All these places had their moments, with lovers and friends, I still can recall'

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This must be the place: 'All these places had their moments, with lovers and friends, I still can recall'

Poke-O-Moonshine Mountain. Garret K. Woodward photo

I turned 40 years old today.

This morning, I awoke in the guest bedroom of my parents’ farmhouse in my native North Country of Upstate New York. It was 12 degrees outside with a frigid breeze, the sun shining brightly. I rolled over and looked out the second-story window onto a backyard blanketed in snow, each flake sparkling.

To preface, I decided to make the 1,000+ mile and 18+ hour drive from my apartment in Waynesville to Plattsburgh, New York, to spend my birthday with my mom. Even though my folks are still together and my father and I are always on good terms, it was my mother who I felt I wanted to spend this juncture of my life with. After all, she’s the literal reason I exist.

Even though I could smell fresh hot coffee and hear the crackling of the wood stove downstairs in the 1840 brick farmhouse, and I also knew there was thick bacon ready to be cooked in the refrigerator, I decided I wanted to head out the front door and go hike a mountain to celebrate this milestone birthday.

So, I threw on all my winter running gear and jumped into my truck, the nose of the vehicle aimed for Poke-O-Moonshine Mountain. It’s a hiking spot in my beloved Adirondack Mountains that resides at the deepest depths of my heart and soul, this trail I’ve been traversing since I was a little kid.

When I pulled up to the trailhead, the temperature was 10 degrees with a wind chill knocking it down to four degrees. The trail is 4.8 miles roundtrip with an elevation gain of 1,450 feet to the summit and fire tower. I emerged from the truck, threw on another layer of gear, then pulled my Yaktrax grips over my trail running shoes.

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Trudging through ankle-deep snow, I hustled my way up the peak, all while large maple and pine trees hung overhead, soon passing by a frozen pond, jagged cliffs covered in thick ice and a cherished lean-to enroute to the summit. Eventually, I reached the top in just about an hour. Standing atop Poke-O, I felt immense gratitude to be turning 40, where my mobility and wits are still intact, where if you can harness those things as time marches on, well, you’re truly good to go, my friends.

I also felt such a genuine love for the ADKs, these ancient mountains of my youth, so much so I have the outline of the Adirondack Park and the silhouette of Poke-O both tattooed on the back of my leg. There’s something uniquely magical and mesmerizing when you disappear into the woods up here.

The ancient dirt, hardscrabble rocks, stoic trees, flowing water and pure air of this sacred landscape will always possess a large piece of my heart. And it’s only when I return to this place every-so-often to where I can once again hold that piece, but only until the moment before I leave and head below the Mason-Dixon Line to my humble abode in Haywood County.

I left the North Country for college when I was 18 and never really looked back. Always wandering and pondering this great big country of ours. Always in search of the story and of genuine interactions with kind souls. And I continue to chase after the horizon on my intent, only to purposely circle back to the Champlain Valley and ADKs to refuel my body and mind.

And, for the last almost 13 years, I’ve lived and worked happily in Western North Carolina, where nowadays I find myself in this continual boomerang up and down Interstate 81 between Southern Appalachia and the North Country. Endless miles between my current home and my hometown. Endless phone conversations with loved ones way up on the Canadian Border or in-person bonding with loved ones here in Carolina.

Atop Poke-O, I stood there and scanned the enormous, frozen landscape. I smiled and thought of those who I love and miss, whether thousands of miles away or somewhere out there in the ether of the great beyond of our universe. My body remained content underneath thick layers of Dri-Fit clothing. My exposed face warmed up by the rays of the sun combating the inevitable cold air of early February in this part of the globe

Turning back around from the Poke-O summit, I bolted down the mountain in a joyous trail run, ultimately making it back to my truck in just half an hour, a grin of gratitude from ear-to-ear as I bounced along the trail without a care in the world. Back down underneath the canopy of maple and pine trees. Back by the lean-to, jagged cliffs covered in thick ice and that lone frozen pond.

Later in the evening, my folks and I dressed up and went to dinner at Anthony’s Bistro, a longtime fine dining establishment on the outskirts of Plattsburgh. It’s been a culinary staple of the North Country for decades, the kind of place you go to mark a special occasion or merely want to feel special on an otherwise dull day.

Hunkered down at a candlelit booth in the corner, we ordered a hearty bottle of pinot noir from the Willamette Valley in Oregon (my favorite kind of wine, in flavor and in origin). Three glasses of red wine now hoisted up and in celebration of the moment at-hand. In that time and space, I felt very loved and happy to be there with them.

I then ordered the most expensive steak on the menu, a nine-ounce filet mignon. Why the hell not, right? You only turn 40 once. To that, I’ve retained this mantra of sorts in recent years, one of “order the filet,” seeing as you never know what tomorrow may bring. So, order the damn steak and eat it with gusto. More wine, too, good sir.

Onward into the unknowns of what lies ahead. And although I don’t know what the future holds, it doesn’t matter, for it is truly about being present and in the moment. My head is held high and filled with a sincere sense of love and optimism for what comes next.

Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.

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