Latest news with #CatskillMountains
Bloomberg
30-05-2025
- Climate
- Bloomberg
Soggy New York to Get More Rain After a Month of Dreary Weather
A weekend storm is expected to bring one last dose of rainfall to an already waterlogged New York after a month of above-average precipitation. Persistent low-pressure systems have been funneling moisture into the southern half of the state, fueling round after round of storms. As of May 29, rainfall totals were up to 6 inches (15 centimeters) above normal from the Albany area south through the Catskill Mountains and into New York City, said Bryan Jackson, a meteorologist at the US Weather Prediction Center.
Wall Street Journal
23-05-2025
- Business
- Wall Street Journal
On the Market for $10 Million: a New York Estate With a Large Stone Maze
In New York's Catskill Mountains, a 280-acre estate asking $10 million has a peculiar amenity: an outdoor stone maze with walls up to 10 feet high. The Erpf family, which has owned the property since the late 1800s, constructed the labyrinth in the 1960s, according to seller Tolomy Erpf, who co-owns the property with his sister Cornelia Erpf. The property, which the family uses on weekends and holidays, is located in the hamlet of Arkville in Delaware County, and has numerous structures. The main house, renovated in 2016, spans roughly 5,300 square feet with eight bedrooms and a cupola.
Washington Post
18-05-2025
- General
- Washington Post
These invisible ‘wild neighbors' need our help
Carla Rhodes is a photographer based in the Catskill Mountains of New York. A hickory nut, opened with such precision it could belong in the Museum of Modern Art, lay at the base of a towering, dead eastern hemlock. That nut, its delicate grooves unmistakably carved by a flying squirrel, was a clue and an invitation to look through a doorway into a secret world. The elusive, acrobatic lives of flying squirrels — North America's only gliding mammal — range across the Northeastern United States, including in urban areas such as New York City and D.C. But they remain practically invisible to us. Not because they are rare, but because we aren't looking. Mostly silent and nocturnal, they glide like sprites through the canopy, planting seeds, spreading mycelium and keeping ecosystems alive in ways we are only beginning to understand. Story continues below advertisement Advertisement A flying squirrel peers from its nest box, placed on a dead eastern hemlock, quietly watching me, the real space invader, wander through my backyard. A flying squirrel pauses dramatically at a nest box. With incredibly delicate whiskers, these animals extend their vibrissae forward upon landing, using them to help pinpoint the perfect touchdown spot. A flying squirrel ventures down to the ground, navigating an eastern hemlock snag — the very snag that led me to the discovery of the hickory nut. A hickory nut, marked by the delicate grooves of a flying squirrel's teeth, signaled their hidden presence in my backyard ecosystem. Yet, when people do encounter flying squirrels in my area of New York's Catskill Mountains, the animals are often dismissed as pesky attic invaders, and their magic is downgraded to mere nuisance. Flying squirrels, like so many overlooked species, depend on dead and dying trees, called snags, for survival. We humans have a bad habit of tidying up nature, cutting down 'messy' deadwood, and, as a result, removing critical habitat. When we clear their homes, the fliers don't disappear, they adapt. That's why flying squirrels often end up in attics, seeking warmth and shelter. What others call a nuisance is actually survival in response to human encroachment. While it's easy to feel powerless in the face of climate disasters and willful habitat destruction, conservation doesn't have to start with grand gestures. It can start with something simple, such as pausing to notice the wild neighbors we share space with, whether in a forest, a city park or just the tree outside a window. Story continues below advertisement Advertisement A flying squirrel surveys the backyard winter wonderland. Since humans have a bad habit of tidying up their surroundings, snags — especially the nesting cavities they offer — are often in high demand. This proved to be true in my backyard, with an assortment of 'nosy neighbors' like this tufted titmouse, who would check out the nest boxes. A raccoon proved to be another nosy neighbor. Flying squirrels come alive while most humans are asleep, and often live in tight family units. Pulled by obsessive curiosity about flying squirrels, I took small steps in my own backyard. I left dead trees standing if it was safe to do so, planted natives and installed nest boxes to help steward my surroundings. Over time, my backyard has transformed into not only a flier-friendly habitat, but also a sanctuary for countless species, many that are overlooked, misunderstood or forgotten in the larger conservation narrative. (I'm looking at you, northern short-tailed shrews) What started as a quest to photograph flying squirrels turned into something much deeper: a practice in mindfulness, a way to remind myself that the world is full of small miracles, even when it feels like it's falling apart.
Globe and Mail
17-05-2025
- Health
- Globe and Mail
My summer at fat camp
Moira Dann is a former Globe and Mail editor turned author, currently living in Victoria. Her most recent book is Fat Camp Summer: Advice I Would Have Given My Parents. One early spring evening in 1971, when I was 13, my mother called me to our dining room table in suburban Montreal, slid a colourful, glossy brochure out of a white envelope, and pushed it to me across the table. It was a brochure for Camp Stanley, 'a non-medical slim-down camp for girls' in the Catskill Mountains of New York. The brochure featured photographs of idyllic summer-camp scenarios (smiling girls swimming, playing tennis, softball, and golf; eating meals together at long tables; expressionless girls in an outdoor exercise class). Additional photos offered Camp Stanley program specifics: weigh-ins on a doctor's-office scale, as well as before-and-after photos of campers' successful weight loss. My mother pitched Camp Stanley to me ('Daddy and I thought you'd like it, and it would help you') and ended by saying she'd arranged a phone call between me and camp founder, Gussie Mason. I said that wouldn't be necessary because 'I'm not going to any fat camp!' And I stomped out of the house in tears. This kind of insolent defiance was unheard of in my adolescent world. My mother called after me, but I ignored her, my heart pounding with anger. I walked around for as long as I could, but it got dark, cooled off, and my options were limited. When I finally went home, my argument with my mother escalated into a near fist fight, as I grabbed her wrists to stop her whacking with a rolled-up newspaper, as if I were a dog. When I dashed into my room and locked the door, I could still hear her yelling. Soon after, my father arrived home, mediated a truce, and got my mother and I to agree to apologize to each other. 'But not tonight,' he said. He fed me first, making me tea and cinnamon toast. Exhausted, and seeing no way out as I had no agency, I capitulated: 'Okay Dad, I'll go.' I remember telling my friends I was off to camp that summer, but didn't say what kind. To my surprise, I made a new group of friends at Camp Stanley, all of us dealing with varying levels of largely unarticulated self-loathing, loneliness, fear, hunger, fatigue, alienation and rage. Ms. Mason wrote a book: Help Your Child Lose Weight and Keep It Off. Right off the top, she said: 'Let's talk plainly. Your child is fat, and you would like to help your child lose weight. Well, I can help you.' This message (note the F-word front-and-centre) was at the core of Camp Stanley. Campers used the F-word comfortably among ourselves as a descriptor ('these are my fat pants') but not (as we often heard the word from others) as a pejorative and never as a slur. Things have changed, and that's good. Recently released Canadian Medical Association Journal guidelines for managing pediatric obesity recommend 'using appropriate language' when talking to children and families about obesity. 'Health care providers should … avoid using negative, stigmatizing language.' Like the F-word. I was sent to Camp Stanley the summer I turned 14. I was overweight, but I didn't consider myself fat; it was nothing I didn't think I could get under control myself with a summer of swimming, dancing, playing solo tennis against a backboard, and enjoying bratwursts with mustard (using a hot dog bun as a holder only). I was blindsided by being sent to Camp Stanley. I learned later the nuances of this decision, but not before damage was done. It would have been great if my parents had talked to me and had included me in any discussion of family circumstances that led to the Camp Stanley solution. I could well be wrong, but I like to think I might have bought in if it hadn't been sprung on me. The CMAJ guidelines recommend 'caring for children with obesity and families in a respectful, participatory manner.' They suggest the '5 As': ask, assess, advise, agree, assist. Ask about health and growth, not about weight. Assess comfort level, mental health, lived experience, and consider potential difficulties and barriers to healthy weight maintenance. Advise the family on how to improve health outcomes that aren't necessarily weight loss, have the family agree on a plan of action, and then assist however possible. Much better than my experience, about which I still have nightmares. After a long drive, I was dropped off into a regimented environment with my duffel bag, a new tennis racket, and two golf clubs. There were calorie limitations (1,200 to 1,500 per day) and scheduled activity most of the day: three one-hour blocks for a 'major activity' (swimming, tennis, or 'Slimnastics') and three one-hour blocks for a 'minor' activity, such as golf, fencing, track, badminton, baseball, archery and volleyball (among others). Meals, snacks and rest time were scheduled. I fell into bed at night, asleep before my head hit the pillow. I often felt lonely, frightened and anxious at Camp Stanley, and would probably have been sleepless if I hadn't been so exhausted. I often felt hungry and used my stash of (permitted) sugarless gum to stave off hunger pangs. Worst of all, I felt abandoned, sent away from home to be fixed because I didn't look right. That was the feeling that choked me up, made me cry in bed at night. There was a weigh-in once a week on Sunday morning, sometimes followed by tears. Girls who didn't lose as much as desired were advised to consider increasing their activity or lowering their calorie count to 900 calories a day – or both. It was clear to all who had undertaken this: on their breakfast tray was a plate with two hard-boiled eggs and a packet with two pieces of Melba toast. It would have been much more humane to have access to what the CMAJ now recommends: a 'multidisciplinary team' to offer medical and psychological advice as well as counsel on diet, exercise and help keeping everything in perspective, for both the child and the family. This might not always be available or easy, but it's a worthy aspirational goal. I lost some weight at Camp Stanley: 12 pounds total. Incrementally, it didn't feel like much at those weigh-ins, even though my clothing size diminished. After I got home, determined not to be sent back to Camp Stanley, I made some bad choices – the Grapefruit Diet, liquid diets (remember Metrecal? SlimFast?) and extremely low-calorie diets. Mercifully, I never veered toward anorexia or bulimia and I mostly managed, in my adult life, to maintain a healthy weight, using diet and exercise, each to extremes sometimes. I went to WeightWatchers intermittently, until Oprah Winfrey joined the board and became a spokesperson. While I thought the structure and camaraderie worthwhile, I was suspicious of the ever-changing point system, the ever-expanding food product line, and I didn't think Oprah needed my money. Some obesity treatment options are available now that weren't around in the 1970s. Bariatric surgery and weight-loss drugs (such as Ozempic and Wegovy) should be considered, according to the CMAJ's new clinical practice guidelines. This worries me. My own lack of agency as an adolescent saw me sent to a fat camp against my will. That's nothing compared to having surgery before being old enough to say no or being put on drugs whose full long-term effects are still being revealed – drugs you might have to take for the rest of your life. I know adults who've had bariatric surgery with varying results and difficult side effects. Ozempic works quickly on weight, as I discovered since taking it for diabetes. People I hadn't seen for a while would struggle for a way to comment on the change in my appearance while silently wondering if I was ill, so I volunteered that my physical changes were 'deliberate.' I wonder if the real reason I resist normalizing weight-loss drugs is because I want weight loss to be as difficult for everybody as it has traditionally been for me. And then I imagine myself in 1971: How would I have reacted if I'd been offered a prescription for weight loss rather than directed to a summer at Camp Stanley? I think I probably would have led the way, running to the pharmacy. To me, the most notable elements of the new CMAJ guidelines are the recognition of how complex a disease obesity is, as well as the evident insightful compassion motivating the guideline formulation: compassion for the suffering child and adolescent, compassion for the affected family, and compassion for the health care providers faced with this long-term chronic disease. Children need to feel certain their parents are motivated by love and will always act in the best interests of the family and the children, overweight or not. This is the optimal circumstance to undertake a child's weight control journey, with the best counsel and support of appropriate health care providers. I couldn't stay mad at my parents, although I stayed fearful throughout my teens of being 'sent back.' I resist saying fat camp messed me up (because the stoic in me says there are people with real problems), but it did. It broke my childhood belief that I was worthy, and worthy of my parents' unconditional love. If you have an overweight child in your circle, love them like crazy and make sure they know you love them, no matter what. Don't try to fix them, unless they ask for help. If they do, take an approach that's non-judgmental and encourage discussion with the child, other family members, and health care professionals in considering obesity management options – all of them. Don't use words such as 'fat' or 'obese,' particularly if the child hates them. And try not make any child feel as though they have to be 'fixed' to be lovable.
Irish Times
15-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Irish Times
Good One review: This low-key coming-of-age drama is a sneaky revelation
Good One Director : India Donaldson Cert : None Genre : Comedy Starring : Lily Collias, James Le Gros, Danny McCarthy Running Time : 1 hr 29 mins India Donaldson's Good One is a sneaky revelation, a low-key coming-of-age drama that deftly sidesteps familiar tropes in favour of keen cringe comedy and emotional precision. Set against the verdant backdrop of the Catskill Mountains, in New York State, the film follows 17-year-old Sam (the remarkable Lily Collias, in a breakout performance) as she joins her father, Chris (James Le Gros), and his long-time friend Matt (Danny McCarthy) on what was supposed to be a four-person hiking trip. When Matt's resentful son bails, Sam finds herself an unwilling third wheel to two middle-aged man babies marinating in nostalgia, insecurities and unacknowledged failures. Spooky campfire tales descend into stories of postdivorce resentment. A meal at a roadside diner culminates in food shaming. 'I've never been a vegetarian,' Sam explains patiently. 'But you seem like one,' Dad replies. READ MORE Under the guise of banter, Matt teases Sam about her queerness; Chris demeans her driving. The passive-aggressive barbs come thick and fast while Sam is left to cook the ramen, dismantle the tent and act as unofficial umpire. Her parentalised status is finally acknowledged in a moment of toe-curling inappropriateness. All subsequent attempts to flag the disconcerting incident are brushed off, leaving the weary heroine to enact a deliciously petty revenge. Donaldson, a first-time writer, director and producer, has written a fiendishly clever script enlivened by a quick-witted ensemble cast. Collias, who can do more with a raised eyebrow than most actors can manage with a soliloquy, brings exasperated pathos to every reaction shot and pregnant silence. The cinematographer Wilson Cameron frames the bickering and multiple microaggressions with serene woodlands, rushing rivers and tranquil hillsides. This sly, observant debut – a critical wow at both Sundance and Cannes last year – channels the bittersweetness of Kelly Reichardt's snappier moments, but from the youthful perspective of an eye-rolling teenager staring into the abyss of male privilege. In cinemas from Friday, May 16th
