Back on September 12, 1962 at Rice University when I was eighteen, I recall declaring to a spellbound audience, “We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.”

What? You say some well-heeled, PT 109 hero from Brookline, Mass. has been given credit for these inspiring words? Whatever. Since I’m not a journalist, I can’t be sued for plagiarism.

The longer a cyclical hangs out in the wintertime Big Woods, the more he finds that JFK’s words also apply to a great many Adirondackers. It’s usually not enough to hold down a full time job or two. There’s always some extracurricular activity going on that extends the work week far beyond a standard forty hours. First case in point is the annual ice cutting up at Raquette Lake. Hey guys, let’s get together, cut a hole in Raquette Lake with a 110 year old ice saw, pole 1,100 ice blocks over to shore one at a time, convey them onto a stake body truck, transport them to the Raquette Lake Supply Annex, convey them down into the cellar, cover them with sawdust, and chill a couple cases of Utica Club Golds.

Better still, let’s invent an air-conditioning system that uses lake ice to cool the Raquette Lake Supply building/hotel and the produce section in the grocery store. Every year, a gaggle of swarthy locals team up to carry on a century’s old tradition. I guess that back in the day, the ice was packed in sawdust, sold locally and freighted south to the big city. Not being a reporter, I don’t ask questions or care about facts. I’ll just assume this is what happened. But now, why do seemingly normal folks still gather together to cut ice for 12 hours for no obvious reason? They get a terrific lunch at the Tap Room and a hearty ham dinner at Jim Dillon’s. But more likely they’re accepting a challenge which they intend to win. Beeba Norris took the time to show us malingering gawkers the ropes and let us take a few pulls on a two-handed ice saw. I was worn out after sawing through three blocks in a row of twenty. Beeba looked like an old river driver when he hopped on a row of ice blocks and poled them over to the loading channel. I believe Raquette Lakers cut ice every year, not because it is easy, but because it’s hard.  

My reward for tip-toeing out on the slushy lake surface and trimming three ice blocks for posterity, was happily paying for a humongous plate of homemade chicken and biscuits and a couple of thirst quenching adult beverages at the Tap Room. Yes, all my hard work was worth hitting the right day for Tap Room chicken and biscuits. I’ll be out there hindering progress next year too, if Sandy’s cooking C and B’s. I must admit it was kinda embarrassing sitting at a cozy table enjoying a great lunch when those weary ice cutters came in for a break. I insinuated my old war injury was acting up, or I’d still be out there cutting three more blocks. I needn’t have bothered. Locals know a wuss when they see one.

Then there’s our friend, Kathy Riehle’s husband, Ted. Ted’s fairly typical of the local population. He not only works full time for TOW, but he’s incessantly cutting firewood for his wood boiler, relocating snow, killing animals, building his house, volunteering for community service, assisting family and friends, making moose sausage and maple sugaring. That adds up to a 30 hour day by my calculations. Making maple syrup may sound romantic, but I discovered it’s another one of those challenges locals are unwilling to postpone. I volunteered to help Ted haul 50 five-gallon pails of maple sap outta his woods in knee deep snow, but very soon my reoccurring malaria kicked in.

After carrying two pails, I decided I could be more helpful draining the sugar shack’s traditional bottle of SnoShoe Grog and stoking the evaporator fire. I can do those jobs one handed. But, all that hauling of sloshing, 40 pound buckets through rotting March snow is very reminiscent of cutting ice blocks. You know, another one of those challenges locals are willing to accept. Ted and I should be content to get together at the Blow Hole and discuss the ramifications of ceaseless hard work on mind and body over a couple pints. In the meantime, what if Ted’s unadulterated maple syrup, boiled down in an ageless wood fired evaporator, somehow made its way into Frankie Zammiello’s space age Italian gelato machine? The resulting potion will be the mother load of invention. I’m holding my breath.

One of my all-time favorite Adirondack inventions is the pneumatic beer can silo at the Ole Barn. It’s so logical to situate a bunch of goodtime Charlie’s around a bar, serve them cans of beer, and then flummox them as they watch their empties jet up, over and through clear plastic tubes to their impending doom in the recycling silo. Back in the day, before Kathy and Ron turned the Barn into a respectable family and ‘biler destination, Ralph and Eddie Murdock were sometimes forced to stuff belligerent, heavily armed bear hunters up those pneumatic tubes. Or, is my memory playing tricks on me. A fast approaching publication deadline is also a mother of invention.

How about one more Rube Goldberg invention. Our Camp Moosemaple cat ramp begins in a custom built living room cabinet, drops through the living room floor, and ends in the basement next to the kitty poopers. Even the Construction Effects guys who built it back in 1996 were awestruck. Price of admission to see the cat ramp, one six pack of Guinness Extra Stout. Two if you actually observe the cats using it. It’s as exciting as watching a lunar landing, Mr. President.