The Ochre Clove Chapel

 

No need to drive my little one to school today.  School is on line.  I’ve been up since 1:00AM for a weekly call I had.  Tired, but not tired enough, I worked through the next few hours.  Stuff was flying around.  Calls on China Friday afternoon.  Needed to catch that guy  Needed to make sure to wish my stepson and my niece a big happy birthday.  They’re both in Beijing and they both turn a year today.  I know that I’ll need to meet my father by 9:00AM.  Why is it that 8:30AM comes so suddenly.  He calls.  He’s leaving now.  On time.  The laundry.  The pot of coffee for the Mrs.  Putting my insoles into the big winter boots like I said I wanted to.  I’ll be late. Perhaps. 

I wasn’t.  We saw one another there where we said we’d meet and drove the next mile down and off to the ochre Clove Chapel where there was a parking lot with one or two other cars already parked.  This is the head for the Undivided Lot Loop Trail and my father and I considered whether this line on the map meant the lot was not divided or if we were walking along the division.  The chapel itself is pleasant. Looks a rather Hansel and Gretel-ish.  Apparently you can rent it out.  Apparently there’s no heat.   And clearly this isn’t where the trail starts.  We plodded around the back yard and bushwhacked over to where we assumed the trail was and met it properly. 

Not too far in there is a remarkable rock face of thirty square yards or more with a fabulous view of the valley down below and the Catskills off in the distance.  I mentioned to my father and I hope that one day we will, go first to the Hard Roll deli we both like and get some subs and chips and come back here and have a feast out on this shelf.  Yes sir.  But for now we headed on.  Three miles in or so was supposed to be a turn that we could take to loop back.  Started to be a bit steeper on the incline, right around where we should have met it.  Now to turn left would mean some climbing.  It must be in the ridge right there.  But it wasn’t.  The leaves covered rocks now and some of them were loose.  I suggested I go ahead a piece.  I fooled myself once, and then again into thinking the next little ridge was certainly the turn.  Lost patrol, I reluctantly turned around and headed back, imagining the next time I visited when without a doubt I’ll find that it was indeed over the next little ridge. 

 

I shopped later at Shoprite.  Shoprite’s all right for me.  Know why?  They have been smart about their target audience of forty/fifty somethings I suspect.  The soundtrack is always classic rock.  They played “Hey Mr. Fantasy” by Traffic the other day, and I was air guitaring, uncontrollably shaking my ass by the pasta.  Last time it was “Who’s That Lady?” by the Isley Brothers that slowed me right down and demanded I waltz while I bought my eggs.  And that ain’t all.  Unerringly, in the most ill-opportune time, they always interrupt the songs to announce a special on pickles or to remind you about the need to wear masks.  The Electric Light Orchestra’s “Living Thing” and I struggled for a while to place it.  I always hated that song and determined for myself, right there, that I still do. 

 

 

 

Friday, 11/20/20