Article 4 - "FOREST OF DOZEN DADS" October 2008 edition of First Church of The Streets

     When I looked behind me, back over the trail I had walked, it felt like I had been in the woods for hours. High on this hill, this place felt like it was in the middle of nowhere. With the tall pines that seemed to go on for long times, and hills with nothing but wildlife and woods, the crisp air that surrounded us gave the sensation of being deep in the West rather than living in summertime here in upstate New York. Certainly not in a place with a funny name like Forest of Dozen Dads.

     Finding this place had been somewhat an accidental reality of itself. Looking at our GPS for some random place to roam to, my husband and I stumbled across this place called the Forest of Dozen Dads. I imagined some wild forest where archaeologists ambled deep inside for treasures, coming upon twelves statues carved in petrified wood of men wearing signs called "World's Greatest Dad". It was in a county park in Middlefield, New York. I hadn't really known that Otsego County had county parks, which goes to show that even after exploring for years I didn't have my own region memorized quite yet. Just for the name alone, the park sounded interesting. But discovering a county park was a find to explore as well.

     On a rural road off of the state road 166, the turnoff for the park was at place which we had passed by many times, but never noticed as being anything but an entrance to private homes. That was because there was no indication a park was there. Not to be confused with the nearby and more visibly advertised, Davis State Park, there were no signs pointing to Dozen Dads, 12 Fathers or anything else. A rural road, the kind where you expect nothing but forest hermits and mountain men to live off of, was the only way to get there. You had to be looking for it. Up a hill, the state road disappearing far behind, this park really was hidden away.
copyright 2008 John B.

     A gate that opened to a driveway was the only indication that we happened upon this place, and as though we were driving on someone's estate. For several minutes, we drove like we were on some cavernous ATV trail. If this was some rich heir, he had decided either to go for the whole ATV thing or this road was one of those places where the natives put a large sign on saying "go away". Between keeping yourself on the road, looking for potholes, and watching around the bend for someone else to pop out heading the other way, it was a strenuous work out just getting to the park itself. But arrive we did, with both us and the car in one piece.

     The place had a feel of a nice summer camp. Or maybe, it was the backyard of a person with a summer home with 127 acres, complete with his own personal campground on his property. In this forest of dozen dads, some of the venerated fathers seemed to have cleared out this section to take their kids fishing or the family out on a picnic. There was a rudimentary cabin, looking like a place where the kids could go play fort or some other elaborate game of imagination while the adults could have a picnic by themselves yet be able to keep their eyes on the young ones. A pavilion for the time when all of the in-laws, outlaws, significant others, and insignificant others showed up for a family reunion, or disunion as the case might be. All topped off with a pond, where one could stock fish for a pleasant afternoon, located far enough away from all the picnic facilities that if one wanted to get away from all of the ruckus he could have some semblance of silence.

     Ambling around the perimeter of the park, past the miniature log cabin and other places, we wondered if we had taken in the entirety of the place. Although we were the only car in the parking lot at the moment, two people sat near the pond. As we circumnavigated the place, they headed down the bumpy driveway towards civilization with the vehicle that Creation had given them. It seemed fortunate for those who lived near here to have some place to go when one wanted a quick change of scenery from home.
copyright 2008 John B.

     The pond was relatively small, looking from a certain vantage point like a golf green that hadn't been watered in recent days. At the far end of the park, it was surrounded by the shade of pine trees, a cool refreshment for those days when the summer sun just got too hot. Today was too mild to be one of those sweltering days, but being a speck in the middle of the green angels felt like the comfort of paradise. At the very least, it was a nice respite after the off-roading experience just getting here. What kind of fish, if any, were in the pond, I had no idea. There were, however, frogs jumping here and there. I heard them, but never saw them. Every time I thought I tracked one down, they disappeared like some mirage. As soon as I gave up and walked away, that's when I heard them take off. It figured. So much for witnessing nature upfront. But I suppose being afraid of humans was a good thing for them, and I also suppose it was a reminder that nature is more than my personal YouTube video.

     Just when it seemed like there was nothing but this elaborate picnic facility, with one teaser path ending up being a water runoff, we found our hidden goal (or in this case, trail) hiding behind the picnic facility not far from where we had parked our car. It was cleared enough to make our way, but obscured enough to seem bushwhacking in the last year or so wasn't the top priority here. Burdock plants and other weeds were sprouting on the trail, trying to make a comeback against all of what they probably perceived as "granola hippies and other assorted yahoos doing this insipid hiking". But these two "granola hippies and other assorted yahoos doing this insipid hiking" prevailed, and up the trail we went.

     And up the trail we went. Apparently, the mountain we had climbed up with our car wasn't the last of it. A relatively steep grade met our feet, deceptively mild at first but never letting up at all. With the deep forest surrounding us, it reminded me of the times we would hike in the Catskills, thinking the trails were a piece of cake because they said it was only two miles, and after climbing fifty flights of nature's stairs and two hours later, find that we had only made it halfway. This place reminded me of those Catskill rambles. There wasn't any reason why it shouldn't have. A town in Otsego County, Middlefield was the tail end of the Catskills' foothills. Any illusion that we had come upon some valley on route 166 had now had been permanently dispelled. Up we went, and up we went. It was like going up some escalator to the heavens that had suffered a power surge.
copyright 2008 John B.

     Somewhere in the midst of this, we came upon a fallen or felled tree that blocked the path, preventing any tractor or any other man-made contraption from coming further to clear the way for us. The path did continue past this point. It was just that without man's mechanical assistance, the weeds were happily gulping up the terrain where they had full reign. The trail was not quite drowning in this quagmire yet, and there were no signs listing the area as off-limits or declaring it private property. So, the question was: should we rest our feet, take the fallen tree as a sign from someone divine, and go back? Or continue up the escalator and say hello to the stratosphere. Our legs were starting to ache, we hadn't eaten lunch yet, and it was beginning to get warmer out. So we made the only logical decision.

     We decided to continue up the Unknown Trail into Bramble World.

     Perhaps what helped fortify this decision of happy insanity was what we found as we sat on the log wondering whether to go here or there. Of course, the view was really nice, and wondering what it looked like from the top was some inspiring. But as we took in the surroundings, the kind I tend to sort of ignore while keeping my eye on the trail, we noticed something. Blackberries. It seemed like hundreds of them. Big, black, juicy berries surrounded us like we were living in some Eden and food was just there for the taking. Some kind of raspberry seemed to be there, but it had a shape that seemed a little mutative to me. Nothing indicated that it was prohibited from partaking in this bounty, so partake we did. The Frankenstein raspberry had a fuzzy texture, so I decided against eating any more of them. No sense in arguing with my better judgment.

     But the blackberries were as sweet and juicy as they looked; a product living up to its advertisement. It was a perfect antidote for the fatigue that seemed to be sinking me as the adrenaline of movement died away. Blood sugar levels and thirst satisfied, it only seemed logical to continue are trek until we could no more.
copyright 2008 John B.

     In keeping with the spirit of things, the blackberries followed us, which was a good thing because as the trail started getting weaker, we were getting more entangled in the weeds, brambles and bushes that normally held reign here, Sometimes the trail almost died away, but gave just enough of a clue to follow its path. It was just enough of an incentive for us to finish what we started, to see where the trail took us, and if it would somehow swing us back to the park down below.

     The end of the trail came up pretty much once we emerged from the brambles. As summits go, it probably wouldn't rank very high. Engulfed in forest, there was no view. The trail didn't take a turn, it ended simply enough with posted signs telling us we were on the verge of private property. But we had gotten here, a commendable goal in itself, thanks to many blackberries.

     I did take a moment, just as I had several other times along the way, to stop and notice what was around me. Trees with trunks taller than many of its peers grabbed up to the sky, resembling some bush that had been elevated on some poles as homage to some nature god. Bushes took the place of cement and even grass along the forest floor, and with the exception of some turkey flocks that we startled, even the birds seemed to be quiet here. It was a good place to go to pretend that civilization was some illusion that could be easily discarded. Here, in this quiet, it seemed possible to be something beyond the assigned roles man's civilization had assigned for its creator.
copyright 2008 John B.

     But hiking brought my focus down to earth, making me notice very small details right in front of me. Having my head in the clouds, literally, could get me tripped up, literally. So now there was the matter of getting back. This time, we took the other side of the trail by the pond, thinking that with less apparent large bushes, we could scurry around the pond in quick time. Apparent does not mean actually, as we soon found out. Perhaps there were less big bushes, but in their wake, we were confronted with an epidemic of blackberry bushes trying to choke and strangle our extremities and whatever clothing they could hook onto. I suppose they really liked us and didn't want us to go. Or perhaps this was why man created trails, which would have worked fine except for the pond sitting in the middle of it. Trying to extract ourselves from the thorns and looking for a way out of here, we started to lose where the trail was. At least we had a lot of blackberries to keep us hydrated.

     Getting lost in the woods is exciting for a short time, because it adds a thrill of spice to an ordinary walk; not that walking up the Mini Me version of Mount Washington wasn't thrilling enough. To me, it felt like a controlled environment, like a holodeck program with the safety controls on, because we had a GPS, a cell phone, being stuck in blackberry bushes we couldn't have gone far, and there was still seven hours of daylight left. But getting lost can certainly turn into a nightmare, and controlled as this experiment was, we needed to find the trail. Exciting as it felt to be in the wild like this, where man didn't have the illusion of control, the safety valve on the experiment dictated we find that mirage as soon as possible. Which we did within fifteen minutes' time. Safety valve or not, we had a slight taste for what could happen if we weren't careful. As said earlier, at least we had a lot of blackberries to keep us hydrated.

     Like it always seems for me, getting back to semi-civilization was quicker than the way up. A dad with his two kids were there, and I couldn't help but associate him as a metaphor for the park. A good place for a parent to take the kids, to appreciate the outdoors. He asked about the trail, and we told him about the blackberries. Asking if we left any made me wonder how many berries did I actually leave within hiking distance for an eight year old, I'd enjoyed them so much. A couple of guys just hanging around the picnic area drove off. As we headed out ourselves, a truck with government insignia drove in, perhaps to go bushwhack the trails I walked or to have a cup of coffee. This traffic caused me to have to pull off onto the side of the road. For a little place in the middle of nowhere, this place got a lot of traffic. Maybe it was the funny name. Whatever it was, it was a good thing to see people coming to a place like this.
copyright 2008 John B.

The sign at the front of the park told me it has been in existence since 1920, a place created for forest products in a region known more for its dairy products than anything else. I could find little information about this place, online or otherwise, to see what forest products in what capacity. This place was virtually unknown, on the internet and real life. But yet, the people came to visit. A place, perhaps, where word of mouth led people to venture, and the trickle of humans flowed. We were part of the stream now, fortified by blackberries and a quiet summer day in the woods.