Judy Jones knew nothing of Moose River Settlement when she took on a forlorn Adirondack camp. The house seemed lifeless then (most would say) but Jones, detecting a spark, believed she might coax a flame. As years passed there came intimations of a history larger than one might expect from a cottage in the middle of nowhere. Before long the early settlers began to speak. "There was a bountiful village here," they whispered, "with droves of folks coming and going, and your place was a part of it. There were tanneries and boardinghouses and a general store. There was a schoolhouse and a post office; there were the rich and famous, too; there was a fine hotel". But when was that? Why weren't they coming and going any longer? It was all so nebulous. Unlike Brigadoon, which reappears every 100 years, Moose River had vanished. Maybe . . . As the author learned of the generations that had passed by her doorstep she began to wonder when her doorstep had come to be. Thus began the adventure-the search for a place called Moose River. She would keep a diary in which to record her research along with the regular workings of her days in a little house free of plumbing, central heat, TV, Internet, cell phone reception or mailing address. Adventures are mighty fond of roadblocks, but whenever a barrier rose up another trail stood ready, and after that another spur. With husband and son for support and guidance, the author diligently prospected. She gleaned little more than that flash in the pan you hear about. But it WAS a flash. Then she met up with a local gentleman as much in love with Moose River and just as keen on reviving olden times as she was. "This is where the blacksmith shop was," he'd say. "Over there was the dance hall. I'll walk you down to where the vats were. The neighbors salvaged what was left when the hotel burned. A couple of the windows are part of my porch . . ." In addition, one way or another, descendants of those long gone eased in and took their places, each one with a story to tell. Antique books and newspapers and public records had a word or two to say as well, and gradually the town took shape. Judy was to learn that a diary flows in an orderly fashion, but a story is more willful, and that history, whether stubborn or shy, takes some time to reveal itself. The history and family stories do not overtake the diary, but add depth and substance to the chronicle. The result amounts to a detailed study, but also a scrapbook that is part history, part biography, part genealogy, part communion with wildlife, landscape, and the changing seasons, and part mini-guide for others on a quest. While the tale is unique and meticulously documented, it is written conversationally, with humor- truly, as they say, Adirondack.
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