Press Release: SSIRP Awarded $500,000 State Grant to Restore Sherburne Inn

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

CONTACT:

Chris Hoffman, Vice President

Save the Sherburne Inn Restoration Project, Inc.

POB 1102

Sherburne, NY 13460

607-674-2279

cehoffman2009@twcny.rr.com

thesherburneinn.org

STATE AWARDS SSIRP $500,000 TO RESTORE HISTORIC SHERBURNE INN

[December 11, 2013 – Sherburne, NY]  On December 11, Save the Sherburne Inn Restoration Project (SSIRP) was awarded a $500,000 grant from the State of New York to restore the historic Sherburne Inn.  The grant was part of $81.9 million awarded to the Southern Tier Regional Economic Development Council, and part of $715.9 million awarded to the ten regional economic development councils across the state.  Of the 87 projects funded in the Southern Tier, only 22 received more funding than SSIRP.  A total of 8 funded projects are located in Chenango County.  

Kathleen Yasas, president of the SSIRP Board of Directors, was informed of the award by a call from Senator James Seward’s office.  “A little over a year ago we were all wondering how we were going to keep The Inn from being torn down" Ms. Yasas said.  "Today, I received a phone call telling me that the State of New York believes in our project to the tune of half a million dollars!  Needless to say, we are very excited. We have a long way to go, but this is a momentous first step.”

Conceptualized as an economic driver for the Village and Town of Sherburne, Chenango County, the Southern Tier, and New York State, SSIRP plans to reopen The Inn with sleeping rooms, event space, conference space, a farm-to-table restaurant and bar, a tavern, and retail space for such things as a bakery and coffee shop, a gift shop, and salon.  Temporary and permanent part- and full-time jobs will be created both during the restoration and after The Inn has been re-opened.  

The project coincides with several of the focal points of the State’s economic development priorities:  downtown revitalization, historic preservation, tourism, and local agriculture.  

For more information on The Sherburne Inn and SSIRP, visit www.sherburneinn.org. SSIRP is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization.

It's A Wonderful Life

There was no Jimmy Stewart. There was no basket full of cash spilled onto a table to get George Bailey out of trouble. And there was no little girl telling her daddy that every time a bell sounds an angel gets his wings. But there is no question that angels were close by on Friday night, when The Sherburne Inn opened its doors for the first time in more than decade to welcome over a hundred people to gather and celebrate the rebirth of an historic landmark.

Those of us at Save The Sherburne Inn Restoration Project have spent the past 14 months thinking, meeting, talking, planning, and convincing others that the future we see for The Sherburne Inn is a bright one. On December 6, 2013, not much convincing was needed. On Friday evening, SSIRP's first fundraiser was held at The Inn, a building that only months ago was slated for possible demolition. People from Sherburne and its surrounding communities walked through The Sherburne Inn's doors to see a holiday wonderland. White twinkle lights on a live Christmas tree, gold and silver balloons, crackling logs in the fireplace, white vases filled with pine; garland and candles and all manner of winter delights were only part of what made the evening so special. The displays of food were remarkable: cheeses and desserts, breads and meats, vegetables and fruits and wine and beer and fresh-brewed coffee. There were live and ticket auctions, with baskets and other items donated not only by local individuals, but by Chef Charlie Palmer, author Andy Straka, Nike, and The New York Knicks. The lights of The Inn glowed both inside and out, although those lights had great competition: the faces of guests glowed even more with the realization that The Sherburne Inn is in fact coming back to life. 

It seems that is should be easy enough to thank an entire community, especially one as small as Sherburne. We could take an ad out in the paper, I suppose, and say "Thank you!" Such an ad, though, cannot begin to express our true appreciation for what has transpired over the past few weeks in getting ready for the December 6 fundraiser, and indeed, for the months prior when donations of money and services and good will have poured in. There is the person from Long Island who has sent not one, not two, but three checks, the last arriving in a Christmas card where she wrote "Thank you for taking such good care of my hometown!" There is the lady from Maine who watches our progress in The Sherburne News and who has sent two checks with notes of glad tidings. There are the people who have donated time to cleaning the building, and decorating the building, and making sure the fireplace is working and the water is flowing. There are those who send notes of encouragement through the mail and on Facebook. Those who call to say "Keep up the good work!" There are the politicians who commend us, the historic preservation representatives who tell us we are an example for others who want to save important landmarks, the local contractors who are eager for us to start work, and the local farmers who wait with great anticipation for us to open a restaurant where food will be tasty and healthy and fine (and local). There is the graphic designer who donates his services, the webmaster who donates his, the auctioneer, the mason, the businessmen who all take time away from paid work to help us go forward. There are the "elves" who cleaned and decorated and moved furniture, volunteers who could have stayed home but instead showed up with mops and brooms and muscles. There are, in fact, too many people to thank with a simple newspaper ad. The outpouring of support has been beyond our wildest dreams because The Sherburne Inn is part of everyone's dream. We at SSIRP weren't sure of that in the beginning. We are sure of it now.

Someone, who it was I'm not sure, once referred to The Inn as "that pile of bricks on the corner." I hope that person drove by The Sherburne Inn on Friday night. What he or she would have seen was nothing short of a miracle: lights shining brightly through once-dark windows, people inside smiling and toasting, music and laughter and life, a revival of our rural culture. People of this wonderful community stepped up on Friday night and said "We believe!" They were there for us at SSIRP, for others who will someday dine and sleep and rejoice within the walls of a building that is anything but just "a pile of bricks;" they were there for themselves, making new memories in a place that guards and celebrates the memories of a century, a special place in the physical heart of Sherburne -- and in the emotional hearts of our townspeople -- that was almost lost. 

No, Jimmy Stewart wasn't there. But angels were most certainly all around, those who walked through The Sherburne Inn doors on Friday evening in support of this journey, and those whose spirits are still there, one hundred years later.

As guests drifted away on Friday night, gentle snowfall began decorating our village. It was the perfect ending to a perfect night, and the beginning of a wonderful new life for The Sherburne Inn.

Looks Like I'm in Trouble Now!

Per the email below, which I received on Saturday, it seems the FBI is planning to arrest me. This may be the funniest swindle yet. I guess the scammers are giving up on "Give us your personal information so we can transfer Prince Yaba Daba Doo's estate riches to your checking account" and are going instead for the "You're in trouble now, Missy!" angle.  This fellow is telling me -- in slightly less than the King's English -- that I'm going to lose all my property and will go to jail for life on money laundering, drug trafficking, and terrorism charges unless I send some guy in Nigeria $98, which apparently will clear the whole thing up. I've read this a couple of times and still can't quite figure out what I supposedly did to cause this dilemma for myself. Of course, the "fbi agent" is going to send a letter to the mayor so he can further yell at me and close my bank account prior to my arrest. Heads up Mr. Acee, hope you'll give me a call when the letter arrives.

Anti-Terrorist and Monetary Crimes Division
Fbi Headquarters In Washington, D.C.
Federal Bureau of Investigation
J. Edgar Hoover Building
935 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW Washington, D.C. 20535-0001 Website: www.fbi.gov

Attention, this is the final warning you are going to received from me do you get me?

I hope youre understand how many times this message has been sent to you?.

We have warned you so many times and you have decided to ignore our e-mails or because you believe we have not been instructed to get you arrested, and today if you fail to respond back to us with the payment then, we would first send a letter to the mayor of the city where you reside and direct them to close your bank account until you have been jailed and all your properties will be confiscated by the fbi. We would also send a letter to the company/agency that you are working for so they could get you fired until we are through with our investigations because a suspect is not suppose to be working for the government or any private organization.

Your id which we have in our database has been sent to all the crimes agencies in America for them to inset you in their website as an internet fraudsters and to warn people from having any deals with you. This would have been solved all this while if you had gotten the certificate signed, endorsed and stamped as you where instructed in the e-mail below you sent to us and am using this medium to inform you that there is no more time left to waste because you have been given from the 3rd of January. As stated earlier to have the document endorsed, signed and stamped without failure and you must adhere to this directives to avoid you blaming yourself at last when we must have arrested and jailed you for life and all your properties confiscated.

You failed to comply with our directives and that was the reason why we didn't hear from you on the 3rd as our director has already been notified about you get the process completed yesterday and right now the warrant of arrest has been signed against you and it will be carried out in the next 48hours as strictly signed by the fbi director. We have investigated and found out that you didn't have any idea when the fraudulent deal was committed with your information's/identity and right now if you id is placed on our website as a wanted person, i believe you know that it will be a shame to you and your entire family because after then it will be announce in all the local channels that you are wanted by the fbi. As a good Christian and a honest man, I decided to see how i could be of help to you because i would not be happy to see you end up in jail and all your properties confiscated all because your information's was used to carry out a fraudulent transactions, i called the efcc and they directed me to a private company who could help you get the process done and he stated that he will endorse, sign and stamp the document at the sum of $98.00 usd only and i believe this process is cheaper for you.

You need to do everything possible within today and tomorrow to get this process done because our director has called to inform me that the warrant of arrest has been signed against you and once it has been approved, then the arrest will be carried out, and from our investigations we learnt that you were the person that forwarded your identity to one imposter/fraudsters in Nigeria when he had a deal with you about the transfer of some illegal funds into your bank account which is valued at the sum of $10.500,000 usd.

I pleaded on your behalf so that this agency could give you till 11/30/2013 so that you could get this process done because i learnt that you were sent several e-mail without getting a response from you bear it in mind that this is the only way that i can be able to help you at this moment or you would have to face the law and its consequences once it has befall on you. You would make the payment through western union money transfer with the below details.

NAME: Uzoukwu Cletus
ADDRESS: Lagos Nigeria
TEXT QUESTION: For
ANSWER: You
AMOUNT: $98
SENDERS NAME: =======

Send the payment details to me which are senders name and address, mtcn number, text question and answer used and the amount sent. Make sure that you didn't hesitate making the payment down to the agency by today so that they could have the certificate endorsed, signed and stamped immediately without any further delay. After all this process has been carried out, then we would have to proceed to the bank for the transfer of your compensation funds which is valued at the sum of $10.500,000 usd which was suppose to have been transferred to you all this while.

Note/ all the crimes agencies have been contacted on this regards and we shall trace and arrest you if you disregard this instructions. You are given a grace today to make the payment for the document after which your failure to do that will attract a maximum arrest and finally you will be appearing in court for act of terrorism, money laundering and drug trafficking charges, so be warned not to try any thing funny because you are been watched.

Thanks for your co-operation.

Robert Mueller

 

Anti-Terrorist and Monetary Crimes Division

Fbi Headquarters In Washington, D.C.

Federal Bureau of Investigation

J. Edgar Hoover Building

935 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW Washington, D.C. 20535-0001 Website: www.fbi.gov





 

Duck & Cover to Pack & Run to Coffee Table Time

As a child who was in grade school in the 1960s, I am one of those in the generation who experienced  duck and cover rehearsals. Duck and Cover, which was taught to children from the 1950s to the early 1980s, was a suggested method of protecting oneself against the effects of a nuclear explosion. The idea was if a kid went under the desk upon seeing the first flash of a nuclear explosion, he or she would be protected from a soon-to-follow explosive wave that would blow in glass and other debris. Duck and cover probably wouldn't have done much to prevent exposure to radiation, but I guess the thinking was that if kids were flat on their faces on the floor, they would at least avoid getting jagged pieces of window in their eyes.

Anyway, that's the age in which I grew up: nuclear bombs and hiding under desks. September 11, 2001, brought fear and preparedness to a whole new generation, and jangled the memories of us under-the-desk kids. While I remember only vaguely my duck and cover activities, I recall with startling clarity how in the weeks after 9-11 I was driven to get a go-bag together. Decades had passed and here I was, now an adult, who had transformed from duck and cover to pack and run.

The other day I was rooting around in my downstairs guest bedroom and came across a tiny blue suitcase under the bed, the contents of which I had forgotten. Turns out it was my go-bag. When I lived on Long Island after 9-11, I felt I needed this important tool in the event of -- you'll excuse the expression -- shit hitting the fan in New York City (grid shutdown, biological warfare, another terrorist attack, whatever). Where I would have gone with go-bag in hand, of course, was Sherburne. Now that I'm in Sherburne full time, the go-bag became a forgotten item and ended up under an infrequently used bed. 

I felt a little like Pandora when I clicked open the suitcase. What would be in this bag? What paths had my rattled mind been traveling when I filled a small suitcase with items I might need when hearing about some pending or actual disaster, grabbing the bag, and hitting the road in a hurry? What had I considered to be essentials for my five-hour trip north to central New York?

Here's what was inside:

-Box of Band-Aids

-Tube of Neosporin ointment

-Bar of soap

-Tiny tube of hand lotion I got once in an airplane give-away pouch

-Collapsable cup

-Six tea bags

-Packet of decaf coffee I apparently stole from a Radisson Hotel

-Sample packet of cappuccino I got from a promotional vendor 

-Flashlight with no batteries

-Folding hairbrush

-Tiny Phillips-head screwdriver

-Packet of tissues

-Two cellophane-wrapped toothbrushes and two really tiny tubes of toothpaste

-Tic Tacs

-Pen

-Lighter

-Pack of cigarettes

-Three books of matches, one of which was from Sherburne's Honky-Tonk Saloon

-Two candles, one taper and one tea-light

-Candlestick

-Roll of Scotch tape

-Pair of contact lenses

-Sudafed

-Aspirin

-Several packets of expired Vioxx (a drug now discontinued, and the only product that ever helped my periodic back pain)

-Razor (not for box cutting, for leg shaving)

-Box of rice

-Small (and I do mean small) copper pan

-Green magic marker

-Deck of cards

Rattled mind is right. WHAT was I imagining? Clearly I was worried about armageddon bad breath with two toothbrushes and Tic Tacs packed. And of course, when global meltdown occurs we ladies want to be sure our gams are smooth. Six tea bags? Okay, I suppose a person could drink six cups of tea in five hours, but where did I think I was going to get the hot water from? Oh that's right. I had the tiny copper pan. Maybe I was imagining that I would, for some reason, be unable to make it to Sherburne and would have to spend the night camped out by the side of the road (or more helpfully, by the side of a stream). So there I would be, sitting around a campfire by candlelight cooking rice, drinking cappuccino out of a collapsable cup, smoking cigarettes, popping Vioxx, and playing Solitaire. Later I suppose I planned to scrawl "Farewell!" on a bridge abutment with the magic marker before climbing back in the car for the final leg of the trip.

The go-bag has now been dismantled as I have no where to go but where I am. Should I get word that the world has melted down, I'll be sitting in front of my fireplace drinking wine from a crystal glass, slippered feet on the coffee table. I will ponder the age-old questions: man, woman, birth, death, infinity, and hope I survive. If I don't, I don't. I will not be chewing Tic Tacs, will not be brushing my teeth nor writing final notes on concrete. I will not be dealing cards. And I guarantee: the least of my worries will be hairy legs.

SSIRP Hires Preservation Architects Crawford & Stearns

Press Release

November 6, 2013, Sherburne, New York: Save The Sherburne Inn Restoration Project, Inc. (SSIRP), the nonprofit organization formed in January to save the historic Sherburne Inn, announced today that it has retained preservation architects Crawford & Stearns, of Syracuse (crawfordstearns.com).

It was a challenging decision," SSIRP President Kathleen Yasas said. "We received bids from four architectural firms and all presented outstanding services. In the end, however, the SSIRP board felt that Crawford & Stearns was the best fit."

Crawford & Stearns, founded in 1979, focuses on preservation of architecturally, historically, and culturally significant resources. The firm's expertise is vast, and includes main street and downtown revitalization programs and local landmark preservation.

Architect and partner Randy Crawford, with whom SSIRP will be working closely, is a licensed architect with an advanced degree in the history of architecture. He is qualified under Federal 36 CFR requirements to practice architecture, architectural history, and historic architecture, and has been in private practice for over 35 years. His principal expertise and experience lie in the areas of historic preservation planning and design review, small town revitalization, and commercial revitalization with a particular emphasis on the sympathetic adaptive reuse of historic properties. Mr. Crawford is a frequent speaker on various aspects of historic preservation and has served on the boards of several professional, private, and public boards including the Preservation League of New York State, the Regional Council of Historical Agencies, and the New York Chapter of the Association for Preservation Technology.

"We're thrilled to be working with SSIRP on restoring The Sherburne Inn," Mr. Crawford said. "We think SSIRP's vision is great for the community. This building is an important local landmark, and we at Crawford & Stearns feel its rehabilitation will help revitalize the entire region."

Successful projects require accurate on-site investigation and documentation, the sensitive accommodations of applicable building codes and life safety standards, the incorporation of specific spatial and programmatic needs established by those using the building as well as by various funding and regulatory agencies, the incorporation of environmentally responsible and sustainable design principles, provisions for handicapped accessibility, and an awareness of the physical limitations inherent with an existing structure, as well as the appropriate treatment of historically and architecturally significant features. Crawford & Stearns' partners and senior staff have actively pursued advanced studies in both academic and practical applications and are associated with professional organizations committed to these principles.

"We're looking forward to kicking off the planning stage of this project and working with C/S to bring back a commercial establishment that means so much to our village, "Ms. Yasas said. "SSIRP's goal is not only to save an historic landmark, but to encourage economic development in Sherburne."

The Sherburne Inn, which opened its doors for the first time in 1917 as a hotel and restaurant, has been a mainstay on Sherburne's anchor corner for almost 100 years. In late 2012, the building was threatened by demolition when a chain store proposed to buy The Inn and an adjacent historic building, tear both down, and erect in their place an all-night convenience shop and gas station. SSIRP negotiated an alternative plan with then-owner and local businessman Jim Webb, and purchased The Inn on April 25, 2013.

Good (and haunted) Times At The Earlville Opera House

I just adore Halloween. As a kid I loved dressing up as a witch or a ghost on this one day a year and heading out to trick-or-treat. Maybe I should have been an actress, so much do I get into the taking on of a different persona from the one I have 364 other days. I admit, I may have carried on a bit too much in my teens without benefit of costume, running around the park throwing eggs at classmates and getting squirted with chocolate syrup. We didn't vandalize, didn't steal pumpkins, didn't really cause any trouble. I suspect adults back then peered out windows and wondered if we would misbehave in a big way. We didn't. We just had fun, after which I went home late and washed eggshells out of my hair, the only victim of my night's events being a ruined pair of Hershey's- and yolk-soaked suede shoes.

Now I'm sort of old. Not exactly old, but...you know...older. Ah, but only older chronologically. My little Halloween heart remains young: I still like dressing up, although I admit eggs and chocolate are no longer in favor. And this year I got my Halloween fix early, at The Earlville Opera House.

For those of you who don't know (and who should mark it down on your calendar for next year), the wonderful opera house sponsors an annual haunted house night, free of charge. Dodie Page, of Black Cat Antiques in Earlville, and opera house executive director Patti Lockwood-Blais, put together a delightfully haunted evening at the opera house every Halloween. Last Saturday I was invited to participate as one of the volunteer ghouls. I couldn't wait...could...not...wait...and when Saturday afternoon rolled around I was in front of my mirror, globbing on black make-up and fluffing the wonderful ghastly hilarious horrible long black wig that I reserve for such occasions. There were still plastic spiders in the wig from last year, which of course I left in place. I smeared on blood-red lipstick, donned pointed shoes, selected one of the many masks that I keep in my special Halloween trunk, and roared off to Earlville, where I spent several spook-filled hours trying my best to scare the wits out of kids and adults alike.

Dodie and Patti deserve high praise. The historic opera house -- complete with skeletal piano players and eerie organ music and graveyard scenes -- did not disappoint. I was stationed in "the wedding reception" room, where table displays included nuptial treats like severed hands and rodent hors d'oeuvres.  I drifted among ghostly manikins, freezing when kids and teens and parents arrived, causing them to wonder if I was fake or real, and ultimately reaching out to touch an arm belonging to someone who shrieked in surprise. A few children ran away, wailing and strangely delighted. One young fellow, enjoying the festivities so much, kept going round and round, finally admitting that he'd traveled from lower floor to upper 21 times. Breaking character, I asked him, "WHY are you here again??" He said, "This is fantastic! This is so much fun!! I want to volunteer as an actor next year!!!"

Good for you, kid. And good for Dodie and Patti and all the other adults who showed up in costume. This is exactly what we want, for kids to participate in good clean fun.

How many times, I wonder, have I said that I love a city life? This life, however -- this rural life -- is so much more rewarding. Putting on a black wig and shuffling off to a place where people work hard to thrill some kids on Halloween. For free. Oh sure, there was a donation box, but that wasn't really the point. The point was to open doors to a fabulous, historic building that the rest of the year features art and music, a place where people spend weeks in October setting up scary creepy scenes to thrill and delight families, to make memories for children who will look back someday and remember The Earlville Opera House and say, "Wow, that was something really special." 

Both Patti and Dodie called me today and thanked me for showing up. Ladies, it was my pleasure. And please, put me on the list of October 2014.

I'm looking forward to seeing that 21-time kid next year. He got it, like I did 40+ years ago. Halloween isn't about stealing pumpkins or causing trouble. It's about good clean (scary) fun. Is that corny? Maybe. Probably. And so what? In my book, corny is a good thing. A fine and wholesome thing. In fact, in these strange days of violence and arguing and destruction, I'll take take fine and wholesome and corny all day long.

Kudos to The Earlville Opera House, and to all its volunteers. Thank you for taking time away from your regular lives just to give our kids such a good time.

The Sherburne Inn: One Year Down

A year ago yesterday, there was a very good chance that The Sherburne Inn, the century-old landmark located in the heart of Sherburne's downtown historic district, would be torn down and replaced by a convenience store and gas station. Twenty-four hours later -- a year ago today -- Save The Sherburne Inn Restoration Project signed a purchase agreement to buy the building.

It's been quite a year.

In just 12 months, SSIRP has:

- confirmed that The Sherburne Inn is listed on the National Register of Historic Places;
- incorporated as a nonprofit, and received nonprofit status, thereby allowing individuals and corporations tax deductible contributions to saving The Inn;
- formed a nine-member volunteer board of directors;
- secured legal and financial counsel;
- raised $165,000 to buy The Inn, purchase of which was finalized on April 25;
- launched a community fundraising campaign that raised more than $25,000;
- launched a website (thesherburneinn.org) and a Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/SaveTheSherburneInnRestorationProject);
- applied for, and received, a $50,000 grant from the Howard K. Finch Memorial Fund;
- applied for other grants, both local and state, results of which are pending;
- received dozens of letters of support from local, regional, and state politicians, from area business leaders, and from individuals in the community;
- met with Senator James Seward, who toured the building and commended our vision and our progress;
- been recognized by The National Trust for Historic Preservation on its blog, Preservation Nation http://blog.preservationnation.org/2013/04/10/the-sherburne-inn-how-one-community-is-keeping-a-local-landmark-alive/; The National Trust intends to follow our progress, possibly in the nationally distributed publication, Preservation, going forward. The National Trust also advised that SSIRP is doing what The Trust encourages all citizens to do when historic treasures are threatened -- that is, rise up and take action;
- presented its vision to area businesses, service organizations, and village and town representatives;
- produced a video about the project, with the help of the Chenango County Chamber of Commerce and Krazed Kat Media;
- launched an Indiegogo Internet fundraising campaign http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/save-the-sherburne-inn-restoration-project/x/3945800; (the campaign ends today);
- been featured on Mohawk Valley Living http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7RNi3k7QB0&feature=youtu.be&t=11m27s

SSIRP also has a sister organization, The INNsiders, which is collecting oral and written history about The Inn, with plans to publish. If you have a special memory about The Inn and would like to have it included with other INNsider memories, please visit our website and share your story.

These are the highlights of the last year, and we hope to have some exciting announcements in the coming months with regard to fundraising, professional consultants, and potential affiliations. As I've said to many people, SSIRP may have appeared quiet; but we've been very busy behind the scenes building a solid foundation for this project. It is a step-by-step process, and the correct steps take time.

Small towns are wonderful in many ways. In other ways, however, they are...challenging. Unfounded rumors tend to circulate, and diner talk is bountiful. SSIRP board members have elected to ignore most of the rumors because, quite frankly, we're just too busy to worry about them. However, there is one rumor that requires clarification, so allow me to put it to rest once and for all: no matter what you may have heard, SSIRP is paying taxes on the building. Taxes are part of our operating budget, as are costs for insurance and utilities. Bear in mind as well that grant funding cannot be used for operating costs, making donations from businesses and individuals vital to keeping this train on the track.

To all of you who have supported us over the last year financially, as volunteers, and as our "cheerleaders," thank you! And to those who are still on the fence about our bringing back The Sherburne Inn, we hope to change your minds as work on the building begins, and the next year rolls out.

Sherburne is a wonderful community, and this is a wonderful community project. It's been a long, sometimes hard, and frequently remarkable year. We feel the best is yet to come.

Save The Sherburne Inn Tee Shirts On Sale

2013 Save The Sherburne Inn tee shirts are still available, but as the saying goes, once December's gone, they're gone.

SSIRP will introduce the 2014 tee shirt design in January in a new color, and with 2014 printed on the back.

Please order your Preserve History tee shirt today, and begin your collection of tees with the very first one. Cost is only $15 + $3 shipping and handling. Mail your check, made payable to SSIRP, to POB 1102, Sherburne, NY 13460, and be sure to include your full mailing address and size request (S, M, L, XL, XXL).

It's never too early to start Christmas shopping! Join Rudolph in helping to preserve The Sherburne Inn!!

If Thine Eye Be Evil...Get Yourself a Chain

I'll begin with this: I am so lucky to have my eyesight. I am blessed. I can see.

However...

Aging is really rather interesting. A few years ago the glasses thing started. Now I've worn glasses for distance for many years, and in fact segued to contacts while in college. My glasses -- the one pair I owned -- spent most of their time on my bedside table, used at night, from bed, if I wanted to see what was happening on the TV across the room. I'm near-sighted, and back in those glowing days of youth could both see far and read close with the contacts in.

But eyes, as we all know or eventually learn, change as we get older. Suddenly I wasn't able to read with my contacts in. I either had to take the lenses out to read, or wear drug store reading glasses with the contacts in place. I vaguely remember buying my first pair of readers. They were multi-colored and kind of funky. Okay, I said, this is cool. My funky reading glasses make me look, you know, funky.

Sadly, a snowball only rolls downhill.

I can't begin to guess how many pairs of prescription glasses and reading glasses I've gone through in the past few years. If I'm not wearing my contacts, the prescription glasses go on and off: on to see, off to read. Inevitably, I'll set the glasses down somewhere ...on the sofa, for example...then I'll walk away and have no idea where I've left them. My glasses were missing for an entire week over the summer, finally found on a living room side table where, apparently, I'd been puttering with a curtain rod and set the glasses down so I could see; or I'll return to the sofa and sit on them. I've rolled over onto my glasses in sleep. I've found glasses under the bed, under the chair, in the car, in the washer (yes, in the washer). Not only do I have glasses all over the house, I also have broken glasses all over the house, and single bows. And the lenses of glasses that have fallen out. I have been known to be chatting with someone only to have the lens of a cracked pair of glasses pop out and fall to the table like an errant marble eye. As a contact lens person for so long, I'm like a dog that was never house-trained. If I didn't learn to take care of business early, there was no hope later on.

I have resisted, at the risk of looking like an old woman, making use of the glasses chain, that thing old ladies wear around their necks so when they take the prescription glasses off they fall complacently to the bosom where they stay until needed again to watch the squirrel running up the tree outside, or whatever. Instead, I've gone to the "one-eye method." The one-eye method is wearing a single contact lens in my dominant eye, and no contact in the other. This took some getting used to. There was lots of blinking and dizziness. I'm pretty much there now after a year of the one-eye method, but frankly it's still not quite right, although I am now able to read a restaurant menu and see who I'm dining with at the same time. I can't really drive at night with the one-eye method, though, so I have to be sure to tuck prescription glasses into my purse, along with a contact lens case. And contact lens solution. And handi-wipes to clean off contact-inserting fingers. No longer can I bound into the car unfettered and drive off into the sunset. With aging comes details with which I am not happy to deal.

A younger friend of mine mentioned last night that she's starting to go through menopause, and it's bothering her: vertigo and hot flashes. I wanted to say hahahahahahaha. Wait until the glasses thing starts. Right now she wears hard contact lenses, maybe the only person left on earth who does. She only wears her prescription glasses at bedtime. I haven't yet noticed if she has reading glasses, but she will. My hot flashes have come and gone, but I tell you what: I'd take them back every day if I didn't have to finally take the big jump and buy the glasses chain. Which I did. Today.

Yes, I am blessed. I have the wisdom that comes with age. I brush away drama that in youth would have caused tears and hand-wringing. I have friendships that are rooted in longevity and trust. I have a roof over my head, a working car, a couple of bucks in the bank, a brain with synapses still firing, a job, a house-trained dog. Yes indeed, I am blessed in so many ways, most importantly because I can see. 

And what I can see is the location of my glasses. They are there, 12 inches or so below my traitorous eyes. Dangling at the bosom.

12 Years Later

12 years later...I woke up this morning, turned on the news, and saw my TV was tuned to the channel that is replaying the newscast from September 11, 2001. 

12 years later...I can still see the dashboard on my way to work, and the radio's digital face, when I heard that a second plane had hit the trade centers, realizing, alone in my car, that we were at war.

12 years later...the feeling of horror remains as I drove into the parking lot of my office on Long Island and saw, across the bay, the towers burning.

12 years later...remembering the telephone calls that day from friends I hadn't spoken with in years, frantic, asking if I was okay. And finding out that my California friend Jan, who was in New York for a meeting, was scheduled to be on flight 93 from Newark to San Francisco...two days later. If the terrorists had waited until Thursday, Jan's flight would have crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. Jan was lucky...and not so lucky. She was four months pregnant when she was visiting Manhattan on 9/11. She lost the baby, a little girl we think, who would now be 12 years old.

12 years later...I can still hear the sobs of the fireman in the bar that afternoon, where I and co-workers went to have a much-needed drink. I wonder about that fireman now, who had retired just weeks before from the New York City fire company from which every person was lost in the South Tower. 

12 years later...my stomach churns at the memory of the rumors: that a 747 was crossing the Atlantic with a nuclear bomb, headed for New York City; that dozens of planes had been hijacked; that some might have chemical and biological weapons on board. My stomach churns at the truth: of fighter jets flying over my office; of the news that the towers had collapsed; at my conversation with a doctor friend, who said he rushed to Bellevue Hospital to help, and had nothing to do because most of the victims were already dead.

12 years later...when I see video of those jets blasting into the trade centers, obliterating people who were sitting at their desks having a cup of coffee, I cannot...cannot...get my head around it. That, and the images of people jumping from a hundred stories high to get away from the flames, and the sound of their bodies hitting the pavement.

12 years later...I still hear the voice of Memphis friend Gloria's husband Ed, shouting in the background while I was on the phone with Gloria that the Pentagon had been hit. This morning Gloria sent me an email saying how 12 years later she can't believe she's still so raw about the 9/11 attacks.

12 years later, I'm still raw too. And I'm still crying on the date our world changed forever.

Endings; And The Beginning of Something New

Like a wolf on a hill, I raised my head and inhaled deeply.

"Fall is in the air," I told a friend yesterday.

"We'll have more warm days," he said.

Maybe. But not too many.

Sometimes in summer, we (of course) have cold spells. It gets chilly, maybe with rain, then the temps rise again. This time of year the feeling is different. There's an edge to the chill, one that warns to enjoy what warmth there is because soon there won't be much, and for a long stretch. When I got up this morning I felt the warning in my bones, pulling on socks and scurrying downstairs for hot coffee. The green of the trees isn't so bright today. Grass is crackling. My cats are twirling and yowling. Harry has burrowed into his bed. We aren't much different from the animals, we humans, since animals we are (some more than others). We all feel it, autumn getting ready to boot summer out on her sorry behind.

Change is a good thing. I'm redecorating my fireplace room with a new floor and new paint, new window coverings, new artwork on the walls. It's a disaster at the moment, but come October I'll huddle back there with friends near crackling wood, watching through the glass as plump orange leaves -- Mother Nature's sailboats -- drift lazily out of blue skies, foretelling snow.

The kids are back in school and Jack-o-Lanterns are only weeks away. Facebook friends are lighting wood stoves, another season winding down. It feels good to put on a sweater.

Enjoy every one of these days -- every one -- even when work and laundry and dishes and life's mania get in the way. Spend a few minutes -- every day -- to stop complaining and take a deep breath to acknowledge that at least this day is a fine one, because you just never know when your days will end for good.

A Summer Respite in Maine

Harry's first trip to Maine

The end of the summer is always a little melancholy, although I'm not sure why. Weather promises to remain agreeable for another few months, and there's still plenty of time before snow falls. Maybe it's as simple as what fall used to signal, and still does long after such days are past: going back to school. At this point in life, the end of August for me isn't about school, it's about tee shirts and hot afternoons. Yet the feeling that change is just around the corner -- that maybe it's time to order some firewood -- is the same. Soon, it'll be time to hunker down, stay inside, get busy.

Stencil House at Shelburne Museum

This year, as I have in years past, I left town in August to visit friends Gloria and Ed who have a lovely old farmhouse on the coast of Maine, in a tiny place called Machiasport on the eastern-most point of the country. I left on August 12 and, before arriving at my final destination, spent two days in Middlebury, Vermont with pal Mark. Our mission there was to visit the Shelburne Museum

 http://shelburnemuseum.org/visit/about-the-museum/museum-story/, a remarkable repository of 150,000 artifacts established by philanthropist and collector Electra Havemeyer Webb. Mrs. Webb was a pioneer in the collection of folk art and Americana, founding this museum that is made up of 38 individual buildings, 25 of which were purchased and relocated to the museum from around New England and New York, and including the 220-foot steamboat Ticonderoga. Of special note is one of the buildings, The Stencil House, which we discovered was once in Sherburne...or Columbus...or Sherburne...or Columbus. Even the museum docents weren't sure, and have apparently argued for some time about where in fact the house originated. It was moved to the museum in the mid-1940s because Mrs. Webb learned of its stenciled walls, decorated (we were told) by journeymen stencilers from the 1800s right here in Columbus (or Sherburne). I promised the arguing docents that I would set about discovering where the house was located -- Sherburne or Columbus -- and let them know once and for all (clearly this a job for the folks at Sherburne's Historic Park Society).

View from the back yard of full moon rising over the bay

We arrived in Maine on August 15 and were greeted by shingle houses, blueberries, blue blue skies, bluer water, and lobstah. Lots and lots of lobstah. We relaxed and talked and listened to music in a house with no TV. We went to the local fish fry, and the fabulous blueberry festival. We wandered down to the Machiasport Historical Society's annual lobster luncheon and ate still more of the succulent sea meat, along with corn on the cob and fish stew and blueberry cobbler. Gloria and I sat in the screened-in tent overlooking the ocean and full moon until 3 a.m., and would have stayed longer had a black bear not drifted by, snorting and clacking its teeth. Harry, who remains unaware that he is only 15 pounds, scared the bear off. The bear, however, scared us off. We scrambled into the house dragging a snapping Harry behind, tripping over each other and slamming doors. We're told black bears are more afraid of us than we are of them. I doubt that, considering both Gloria and I came close to losing bladder function in our mad dash to safety.

lobster dinner

Bears and bladders aside, there is something truly special about Maine. It is not unlike central New York in many ways with its green fields speckled with late summer purples and yellows; with its cows grazing and peaked roofs on white houses. Yet there is a difference: a calmness of Downeasters, as the residents there are known, with their unusual Katharine Hepburn accent ("Yes, deah"); a rosy-cheeked honesty from fellows named Fuzzy; the enduring "Ah-yuh" signaling the affirmative from the bearded lobstermen. The seniors there are so senior, not in action but in age: "I'm three months into my 97th year, Deah" says Gloria's cousin Billie, who by looks appears to be in her seventies (if that). Billie's sister is 100 and going strong. The air is fresh with a touch of brine, and sunrise is worth getting up for (or sometimes, worth staying up for if not for bears). Maine is the tranquil land of Stephen King, who so accurately describes her clouds in 'Salem's Lot as moving across the sky, always west to east, white ships with gray keels. Maine gets into your bones, and when you leave there is an ache to return, having to do with an inexplicably nostalgic desire to be in a place of Revolutionary War sea captains and lighthouses warning fishermen away from rocky shores; of old wallpaper and velvet chair arms worn thin by generations of elbows; of family cemeteries, ancient and tiny and heart-wrenching (Little Frankie, carved on a tilting headstone, who died at six); of bald eagles circling fields and musical trees rustling an age-old song; and of people, who grow old with beauty and grace and who seem to understand that quiet simplicity in day-to-day life may be the elusive peace for which we all search.

Next year, I may go back for a month.

PS: I didn't see a moose,
in spite of roadside warnings

I arrived home yesterday to face other music: the seasonal tune. Yes, summer is coming to an end...again. And that's okay. When I have such dear people in my life as Mark and Gloria and Ed with whom to spend the waning days of summer in New England, I count my blessings. Now, with Maine behind me, it's time to order some wood.

SSIRP Launches Indiegogo Fundraiser

Save The Sherburne Inn Restoration Project's fundraiser on Indiegogo has launched! Please take a few moments to visit the site:

http://www.indiegogo.com/projects/save-the-sherburne-inn-restoration-project/x/3945800

Here you can read our story, see interior shots of the current building, and watch our video about the project. PLEASE SHARE this link with your friends, family, and all other contacts. All the tools you need are there. Get perks, make a contribution, or simply follow updates. The fundraiser will run for 60 days, help us reach our Indiegogo goal!

Indiegogo is a fundraising site seen worldwide.

“To sin by silence when we should protest makes cowards of strong men.”

The following op-ed piece appeared in The New York Times on August 3. Dr. Clark hits the nail on the head. We aren't just saving buildings, we're saving culture.

OP-ED CONTRIBUTOR

Appalachian Hope and Heartbreak

By AMY D. CLARK

Published: August 2, 2013 50 Comments

BIG STONE GAP, Va. — A PERSON just passing through Big Stone Gap may not notice the corner drugstore on Wood Avenue with the fading sign, its windows dark and hollow like so many others in these rural coal towns. But for people who live here in the heart of central Appalachia, the Mutual Drug Cafeteria was a community hub, an extension of the family kitchen. It’s where residents could fill a prescription, pick up an oil lamp or a strawberry huller, find a plastic pirate sword for the school play and get a good cup of coffee with a plate of pork chops, soup beans, pickled beets and blackberry cobbler.

I learned a lot about people in places like the Mutual, as I was raised by a family who believed that shopping local was as important as going to church.

I found comfort in the store’s dark paneling, the creak in the floor, the aroma of kraut and franks, the first names of everybody from the pharmacist to the cooks. My grandparents drove 30 miles past chain pharmacies to get medicine here. The pharmacist’s daddy was a lifelong neighbor and family friend, after all.

In the store, books by local authors like Adriana Trigiani were displayed beside tiny sculptures made of coal, all stamped with blaze orange price tags.

The Mutual inspired the setting for Ms. Trigiani’s Big Stone Gap novels, where her main character, Ave Maria Mulligan, works as the pharmacist. “It seems like such a small thing, a corner pharmacy with a cafe in a small town,” said Ms. Trigiani, who grew up here. “But the Mutual was everything to me when I was a girl.” She added, “The greater world lived in our corner pharmacy."

The Mutual is steps from Poplar Hill, where Victorian homes of 19th-century coal barons still stand. Many predicted that Big Stone Gap would be the Pittsburgh of the South. And years ago, the Mutual’s neighbors had big-city names, like the New York Cafe and the Monte Vista Hotel. Today, lower coal prices, fewer jobs and chain stores mean the Mutual has joined more haunted, vacant spaces in towns with decreasing populations.

Residents were still lining up for breakfast the week the Mutual closed. But in recent months, talk in the cafe had turned to hard times: a nurse worrying about the layoffs at the local hospital, or a teacher and her aide talking about losing their jobs. Miners, their hardened hands wrapped around coffee cups, were anxious about a changing industry.

I had hoped my children would have memories of the Mutual, that they would have studied the old pictures on the wall and learned about community while eating lunch in those brown booths. Memories aren’t made in superstores with their beeping and bar codes, with their automatic doors and drive-through windows. As the town inches toward homogenization, it loses a little more of its history, language, architecture.

I’ll miss the old display case in front of the pharmacy counter that holds medical relics. Beside those brown glass bottles was a quotation written on a worn notecard: “To sin by silence when we should protest makes cowards of strong men.”

There is wishful chatter about somebody opening the Mutual again, a cafe in the space where people can come together, where tourists can eat a piece of pie and see the fog rising from the river like spirits against the backdrop of ancient mountains. They could step over to a new tourist center, they dream, where they will get directions to landmarks like our museums and recreational trails.

They might find their way to the used bookstore owned by Wendy Welch and Jack Beck. Ms. Welch’s memoir, “The Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap,” chronicles how she and Mr. Beck managed to sustain a brick and mortar bookstore in a digital world, and became a ray of hope in a community where decades-old businesses can no longer compete.

They might run into Jack McClanahan, the chairman of the Southwest Regional Recreation Authority of Virginia. His and others’ Spearhead Trails project aims to turn our mountains into year-round recreational attractions.

There is potential in our rural community and those nearby for landmarks to be renovated and reopened, and crumbling buildings replaced with gardens, spaces for farmers’ markets and theaters. If towns want to thrive again, they have to focus on preserving and promoting their signature attractions. Small businesses like the Mutual must be part of that plan to draw people back.

After all, no one ever takes a road trip to see a CVS or McDonald’s.

We must make an agreement to support our small businesses and make the hope of saving our towns a reality.

Amy D. Clark, associate professor of English and director of the Appalachian Writing Project at the University of Virginia’s College at Wise, is co-editor, with Nancy M. Hayward, of “Talking Appalachian: Voice, Identity and Community.”

I'm One Of You Now

I went to a wedding over the weekend here in town. It was beautiful, the old-fashioned back yard type of event. White tents on grass, potted flowers everywhere, twinkle lights, lovely table settings complete with handmade origami birds, soft music, and the food...perfection. All from the bride and groom's own farm. Lamb, pork, and beef with delectable sauces; carrots, potatoes, and salad. Sausage and cheese, bread and cake, all local and all organic. Even the butter was "home grown."

The happy couple, Adam and Kelly Perrin, operate Quarry Brook Farms in Sherburne. Family and friends raised glasses with congratulatory toasts, saying with clear admiration that Kelly and Adam walk the walk. The newlyweds believe that going back to our roots -- to local and organic food -- is the way we all should eat, and I find myself joining this growing movement in spite of eating for years "the other way," because, frankly, the other way, the processed food way, is easier (and often cheaper). For some time now, and certainly since watching the movie "Food, Inc.," I'm starting to get decidedly jumpy about processed food. Quarry Brook Farms produces grass-fed beef and lamb, pasture-raised pork, pasture-raised poultry and eggs (their eggs are in a rainbow of colors, testament to the diversity of their laying hen breeds), and vegetables from certified organic seeds. As they say on their website: 

"We farm to provide our community with the best food possible. Sustainable farming methods are used to grow the animals and plants; no hormones, no antibiotics, no synthetic fertilizers, pesticides, or artificial inputs. Just good, clean food grown with respect for our animals and the environment."

I don't know about you, but hearing that makes me sigh with relief.

My grandparents, and for that matter my parents, all had gardens from which the family ate, and my grandmother had a chicken coop. I remember sitting in the garden with my dad and pulling carrots out of the ground and eating them on the spot. When, I wonder, did we go from wholesome back yard food to buying packaged everything originating from who knows where? I was aghast the first time I realized that the heart, liver, and gizzard stuffed inside my Thanksgiving turkey most certainly didn't belong to that particular turkey, but came instead from a giant vat full of hearts and livers and gizzards in some factory, scooped out and plugged inside a hanging bird at the end of an assembly line, a bird that had spent its miserable life in a darkened coop, gaining weight through unnatural feedings, often too fat to even heft itself off the feces-covered floor and crammed in among other similar poultry prisoners. Is this really the food we want to put inside our own bodies? I used to, because I was too lazy to think about where my food came from. Nowadays, things for me are changing.

Adam and Kelly sell their delicious, nutritious fare via CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) and at area farmers' markets, most notably on Saturday mornings in Hamilton. Last time I went, I bought some beef patties and a chicken. When I asked Kelly if the chicken was fresh, she smiled her calm smile and said, "We harvested yesterday." (Translation, that bird was hopping around the barn yard the day or so before, clucking and nibbling and living a good old-fashioned chicken life, the way it should be.) Kelly further advised the best way to cook the beef patties. Slowly, she said, because they're grass-fed. The patties hold their shape better when prepared over a low flame. There was a sense from her of real love for what she does, and for what her husband does: "offering good clean food grown with respect for our animals and the environment."

My hat's off to Adam and Kelly, who will now go forward in marriage, and who are also here for us, in this village, providing farm-to-table food that's good for the land, good for the animals, good for the farm, and good for those who realize it might be time to take a hard look at what we're eating; time to take the processing out and put the garden back in.  

As a person who has been less that devout when it comes to local and organic, I know my path on this particular journey is just starting. But as I said to Kelly when she handed me that chicken, and not unlike some character in a sci-fi movie about the pod people, "I'm one of you now."

All the best to Adam and Kelly Perrin. Thanks for a great wedding, and thanks as well for going back to the old ways, for working so hard, day and night, to provide all of us food that is, literally, from your farm to our table.

For more information on Quarry Brook Farms, please visit their website, http://www.quarrybrookfarms.com

And if you haven't seen Food, Inc., I suggest you rent it (for info, go to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Food,_Inc.). The movie is an eye-opener, one that will cause you to think twice when you see the happy-go-lucky farm scenes on almost every food label. 

Nina's Give Back Night, Tuesday, July 23, Supporting SSIRP

We live in such a great community, and I don't mean just Sherburne. Nina's, in Norwich, will be supporting The Sherburne Inn project on July 23 by donating 20% of proceeds to SSIRP. Please mark your calendar for Tuesday, July 23, and stop by Nina's between 4-10 p.m. on Give Back Night. Print and present the coupon below when you cash out and help Nina's help us! And please, share with your friends!!

Thank you Nina's!!!

You Know You're Getting Old And Crazy When...

...You save bread twist ties "just in case " (old)
...You try to brush the dog's teeth (crazy)
...You ponder cornering somebody at the cable company and, at knifepoint, asking them to explain why every six months or so they spin the wheel and change all the channels to different numbers (old and crazy)
...Even when the dog teeth brushing was a failure, you try it on the cats (really crazy)
...You glare at growing grass and wish your lawn was full of rocks instead (old)
...You break a worthless vase and glue it back together rather than throwing it out (old)
...You wonder where your glasses are and spend an hour looking and finally find them tucked into the front of your shirt (old, going crazy)
...You pull weeds for exactly eight minutes and then announce, "This just ain't worth it" (old)
...You toss out all the fancy coffee makers and go back to a stove-top percolator (old)
...You eat a pound of cherries, knowing you'll be sorry tomorrow (old and stupid)
...You kick the fully decorated artificial Christmas tree down the basement steps...in April (really old, really crazy, really stupid)
...You look in the mirror and say "Hey! I look pretty good for an old broad!" (certifiable)

Rain and Rain and Rain

Okay. As someone might say were they a biological product of a southerner and a Long Islander, this is fixin to be enough already.

Rain is one of those things we're all used to in upstate New York. In "the old days," a cloud cover would move in, hang around for awhile making everything gloomy, then it would rain some -- hard rain for a bit maybe -- drizzle for awhile longer, then stop. This might go on for a few days, but sooner or later the sun would appear and dry the place out.

This summer, however, things have changed. I started thinking about writing this post around five o'clock, when it was raining hard. Did a few things, made a few phonecalls. It's now 6:40 pm and it's STILL raining hard. Rain is pounding down off the eaves, as it has been for over an hour and a half. The windows are smeared with rain. Harry flat refuses to go outside. He goes to the back porch steps, sniffs, and returns to huddle in his bed. Having been psychologically programmed as an upstater long ago, I keep thinking the hard rain will stop pretty soon. But it doesn't.

Last Thursday we had another day like this. Much of the town was flooded, the river to the west of us having overflowed, and the creek to the south of us doing the same. Folks in town got robo-calls in the night advising them to evacuate various locations in town. Once again, just two years since the last time this happened, kids were floating around in boats on main street. I saw people standing in the road, staring hands-on-hips at their homes and businesses that were surrounded by water from gushing streams. Fields were covered with river water. The river itself roared beneath bridges. 

I don't even want to talk about golf, although I will say this: my Wednesday night golf league has been rained out four times, and we still can't find a time to make up matches because of the weather. Portions of the course are mudholes, and fairways are streaked with golf cart track marks, unheard of in late June.

I've personally been lucky. I live in an area of town where basements don't flood. But I've heard plenty of stories of people on the north and south ends of town who have been pumping out their cellars for five days. Now the rain is pounding down again. A friend mentioned yesterday we can only hope the reservoir dam to the east doesn't burst. If it does, heaven help those of us in "safe" parts of town.

At the risk of lighting fire under those who don't believe in climate change, I have an anecdotal comment: SOMEthing is different. We have two months left of summer, and the first month has been underwater. In my life of 57 years, I don't recall anything like this.

It's now 7 p.m. and the rain is finally letting up (sort of). That's two hours of steady hard water. Someone just texted and said her brother had to try five times to get into town, and finally found a route near Columbus because other routes were closed.

It may, in fact, be time to build a boat. 

Time to Build A Boat: Photos of Sherburne's 2013 Flood

Route 80 West

Route 12B 

Near Earlville

North Main St.

North Main St., near Chi Chi's Hair Salon

Route 80 West

North Main, just north of The Big M

North Main St.

North Main St.

North Main St.

North Main St.

Near Earlville

Route 12

Route 12 B

Route 80 West

Route 80 West

Route 80 West

Route 80 West

North Main St.

Route 80 West

North Main Street