Author Archives: Gary Sanderson

A South Deerfield, Mass., native, Gary was the longtime sports editor at the Greenfield Recorder, a daily newspaper in Greenfield, Mass., where he retired in June 2018, having worked parts of five decades over 39 years. A senior-active, nearly 40-year member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association and the Outdoor Writers Association of America, his Thursday column "On The Trail" ran for nearly 40 years, ostensibly focusing on fish and wildlife, conservation and issues pertaining to them in the Connecticut Valley, where his roots reach deep into its oldest burial grounds. He and wife Joanne live in a historic Greenfield Meadows tavern today known as Old Tavern Farm, which has a rich history dating back to the mid-18th century. The home, which became a National-Register-of-Historic-Places building on his watch, served as a small, seasonal bed and breakfast from 1999-2015. Gary's other interests include history, anthropology, archaeology, literature, genealogy, Americana, country auctions, and early-American architecture and landscapes, as well as hunting, fishing and especially reading. His primary focus is the Pioneer Valley, its people, places and critters.

River Reflections

That light orange sliver of a hot new crescent moon had long ago set in the dawning horizon and it was  boys’ day out on the Green River, three of us, grandfather and grandsons. You know what they say about the apple falling not far from the tree? It was palpable. Questions, questions and more […]

Razin’ Cane

It’s weird how wandering thoughts are triggered. With me, often they’re launched by the senses, this time scent, a soft, alluring sea-borne aroma, fishy and salty, that we all know. Some would wrinkle the bridge of their nose, say “eeeyuew” and run like frightened hare. Not me. It’s just harmless body odor, have smelt much […]

Holdiay Musing

The patriotic summer holiday is here, flags proudly waving to passersby and, yes, my wheels are spinning out of control. So let’s begin with those tall browning hayfields you’ve probably noticed in your travels. If they seem odd, well, they are — the result of prolonged wet weather we’ve endured, preventing what farmers call first […]

Sixty

A young colleague I often tease with playful barbs beginning “Hey Curtis,” followed by some lighthearted quip, wore a grin as he handed me an old, yellowed, Recorder sports section Tuesday night and said, “Here, I thought you may want to look at this. I found it in Irmarie’s desk. Nice hat!” He was referring […]

Twists of Fate

Summer’s at the doorstep with my 60th birthday, late, great Mississippi John Hurt finger-picking and singing background blues as I sit here at my customary Wednesday station trying to come up with something. It won’t be difficult. I can feel it. But I really must discipline myself to stunt all those random thoughts flittering through […]

No Escape

The iron bridge connecting Springfield, Vt., and Charlestown, N.H., is straight and narrow, similar indeed to the live-free-or-die creed of rugged individualism and no taxes on the Granite State side. So, no, I can’t say it’s a bit surprising that this contemporary, libertarian mind-set squares nicely with that of the hardy Massachusetts Bay Colony pioneers […]

Blasphemous Riverside Ramble

Monday, the morning after, gray and muggy following hard overnight rains. Heavy wet pods topping tall orchard-grass stems droop low, seeds shedding onto my shoe-tops, collecting on the shaft of my tiger-striped chestnut crook cane. My feet are wet, getting wetter with each step as a hidden yet discernible sun fights to penetrate deep cloud […]

Bull Head Pond Conclusions

I’ve been tempted lately to jump back into the anadromous fish fray, for which local gadfly Karl Meyer has so capably taken the baton and sprinted off toward a distant, cluttered finish line. But first things first — specifically closure on the location of Greenfield’s Bull Head Pond, which I know much more about since […]

Fishing For Forgiveness

That mournful flute was entrancing, spooky. Its deep, hollow, haunting moans filled the bright, airy, riverside chamber called Great Hall and pierced a private internal sanctuary in me that few can penetrate, entering through a slim wound that oozed grief, gushed guilt. The handsome wooden instrument still resonated the next morning, like a spiritual echo […]

Strange Bedfellows

A rattler it wasn’t, but still, how would like to find one in your lingerie drawer? Yes, it seems dangerous-looking reptiles are lurking in my neighborhood. That’s what I’m chasing this week. Just another interesting little tale that piqued my interest after arriving as an email tip from a friend and neighbor. Why? For one […]

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