As we crossed the “Blue Line” into the Adirondack Park, my husband said, “My heart aches for the Adirondacks”. It’s a profound statement really, about a place he loved more than any other. He went camping and hiking here as a boy scout. He picked a career that provided the opportunity to work here as a forester. He hunted and fished for trout in Adirondack rivers, ponds, and lakes and he did most of these things before the wide spread use of high-tech, light-weight, food and gear. Many trips were made carrying a canoe and a pack basket carrying real food and a cast iron frying pan, to the amazement of those he met on the trail. One would think he grew up here or at least lived here, but he didn’t. He grew up in the suburbs making him technically a city boy rather than the rugged adventurer he knew in his heart that he was. I think he was a man after his time, a rare sort in that physical circumstances could never alter who he really was. He was an “Adirondacker” no matter where he lived – in his heart, in his mind, and in his soul.