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Updated: May 21, 2025
Intermarriages between white people and red ones in this country were not uncommon in the days when our ancestors led as rude a life as the natives, and several places in the Catskills commemorate this fact. Mount Utsayantha, for example, is named for an Indian woman whose life, with that of her baby and her white husband, was lost there.
"We kep' summer boarders the past season," said Orlando McCusick, of East Kortright, to me as we sat in the springhouse and drank cold milk from a large yellow bowl with white stripes around it; "we kep' boarders from town all summer in the Catskills, and that is why I don't figger on doing of it this year.
The varying shades of the undulations grow gradually dimmer until they mingle with the Catskills on the far horizon. Between the bases of the hills winds the leisurely, majestic current of the river, clothed in those deep sunny hues that seem like some lovely dream in place of a reality.
On our return one of the finest landscapes of the Mohawk region was suddenly unrolled before us. Miles and miles away stretched the rolling swells of forest and grain land, fading into the dimmest blue of the Catskills where the far distant peaks were just discernible along the horizon. Such a superb and imposing view as we had was worth all the anxieties of the morning.
Ralph Sutherland, who, early in the last century, occupied a stone house a mile from Leeds, in the Catskills, was a man of morose and violent disposition, whose servant, a Scotch girl, was virtually a slave, inasmuch as she was bound to work for him without pay until she had refunded to him her passage-money to this country.
The porcupine's great chisel-like teeth, which are quite as formidable as those of the woodchuck, he does not appear to use at all in his defense, but relies entirely upon his quills, and when those fail him he is done for. I once passed a summer night alone upon the highest peak of the Catskills, Slide Mountain. I soon found there were numerous porcupines that desired to keep me company.
The walls were quite smooth and clean and new. I shall never forget the circumstances of observing a pair of yellow-bellied woodpeckers the most rare and secluded, and, nest to the red-headed, the most beautiful species found in our woods breeding in an old, truncated beech in the Beaverkill Mountains, on offshoot of the Catskills.
The other probably grew to maturity, as it disappeared from the vicinity with its parents after some days. The blue-back's nest was scarcely a foot from the ground, in a little bush situated in a low, dense wood of hemlock and beech and maple, amid the Catskills, a deep, massive, elaborate structure, in which the sitting bird sank till her beak and tail alone were visible above the brim.
A friend of mine who has a summer home on one of the trout-streams of the Catskills discovered that the catbird was fond of butter, and she soon had one of the birds coming every day to the dining-room window for its lump of fresh butter, and finally entering the dining-room, perching on the back of the chair, and receiving its morsel of butter from a fork held in the mistress's hand.
The sail-boats that lay at anchor on the still silver surface sent down long shadows, and the slim masts seemed driven down into the water to hold the boats in place. The little village was still asleep. It was such a contrast; the artist was saying to Marion, as they leaned over the taffrail, to the new raw villages in the Catskills.
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