Adirondack Life – September 2019

62 ADIRONDACK LIFE September + October 2019

I

n the weeks prior to my son’s birth, I would enter his

nursery and gaze at the furnishings. It had taken me

years to become pregnant, and spending time among

the stuffed animals and fresh linens reinforced that

my dream of motherhood was finally becoming real.

Two years later, as my toddler wailed and thrashed in the

throes of a night terror, those Hallmark moments seemed

far away. “Hudson, I’m here. Wake up!” I said, as we swayed

in his rocking chair. “Hudson, it’s OK! What’s scaring you?”

I reached behind me and snapped on the light. His sheets

were peeled off the mattress. Books and stuffed animals

littered the floor. I stroked Hudson’s hair and threw my

head back, fighting the dark emotions welling up. I’d had

tough nights with him before, but trashing his room was

Ghosts in

the Woods

Discovering Tahawus

BY KELLY GALLAGHER

a first. It felt like the start of a new

phase—a tough one—for which I was

ill prepared. I wasn’t prepared for any

of this, and there didn’t seem to be any

effective counsel. People with children

would chuckle and spew platitudes if

I told them about my struggles, while

non-parents would express relief that

they didn’t have children. Ten months

later, Hudson would be diagnosed with

mild autism; for now, there were just

questions and self-doubts.

My husband, Alan, appeared in the

doorway with a sippy cup of milk. “Let

me take him,” he said. “You look l ike you

could use a break.”

I agreed and slunk back to bed. Guilty

thoughts plagued me until I fell into a

shallow sleep. You wanted this, I told

myself. Can you do it or not?

Not all the time, I realized. It felt good

to admit it. Before Hudson came into our

lives, I would take off without warning

to hike. Now I was anchored to the house

most of the time. I decided to take a solo

trip to the Adirondacks.

I wanted to be a world apart from

my gridded suburban neighborhood

and the surrounding strings of chain

stores. I used Google Maps to survey

my options. Upper Works Road caught

my eye. I loved the way the long, iso-

lated passage wound into the wilder-

ness until its abrupt end at a trailhead

near Henderson Lake, the body of water

from which the Hudson River—my son’s

namesake—officially begins on the map.

In satellite view, an area just east of the

road looked like an old gray scab sur-

rounded by lush greenery. What had

happened to that patch of earth?

With further searching, I learned that

the earth had been scarred by mining.

Iron ore was discovered in the area in the

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