Jim The Catskills — 1984 Mountains of the Sky

I drove that ancient pick-up all the way out into the Catskill Mountains. Even after that trek, that good old Ford was running strong. Still is.

I rented a place out in the woods about ten miles from Greene Village, New York. It was tiny; just bed, bath and stove but I didn’t need more. There was a big old barn on the property I set up shop in. The wood was grey from weather and holey from bugs, but it was fine. The ceiling was high and light filtered in, making loose cobwebs shimmer like strands of rainbow. Funny, I never thought I’d want to go back to the country again. But here I am, enjoying the peace and solitude. Some nights, I hear howling, probably just kyi-oates, but I like to pretend it’s wolves. Not that I don’t like coyotes. They’re amazing critters, survivors, the only large predator that prospers when we try to annihilate it.