ome of my kin consider it odd that a person who already “lives out in the woods,” as they say of me, spends much of each summer many miles away, in the deeper woods of the Adirondacks. I suppose they are right. My home is at the end of a long gravel driveway in the Alleghenies of southwestern New York and is surrounded by forest, and my Adirondack cabin, located on a forested hillside at the end of a seasonal road between Blue Mountain Lake and Long Lake, is two miles from the nearest power line. The cabin lacks running water, even from a pitcher pump, but a short walk takes me to the running Salmon River. To some of the people I
