SITTING NEXT TO A CELL TOWER There has never been any mistaking the fact that the Adirondack mindset is a unique one, not always easily translated to summer folk, second-homeowners, day-trippers, or fearful people just stopping for gas on their ways to Montreal or points south. And thats probably for the best. The average Blueliner has learned through brutal experience that being only half heard, somewhat misunderstood, mysteriously vague, deliberately obtuse, slightly mistrusting, publicly stoic, privately reticent, nearly qualified, closely guarded is the only way to survive the half-year encounters that must be endured with flatlanders, downstaters, and outsiders, including Tug Hillers, Saratogans, and a certain percentage of Queensburians.
Communication even between like-minded Adirondackers can at times be problematic. Iced telephone lines snap like telephone lines covered in ice in the winter time. (Wait a second . . . No, never mind.) There are not a lot of cell towers marring the park yet, and theres no iPhone service anywhere near here. Not only because there isnt any AT&T Wireless service in this neck of the woods, but also because the name of the product itself seems so blatantly egotistical. i Phone? A true blue Adirondacker who owned a device that referred directly to its owner would be the equivalent of having an expensive brand-new foreign car. Youd be shunned and rightfully so.
So what about a BlackBerry, you might (if you were insane) think? Please. Blackberries are something we fight black bears hand-to-claw for the right to eat. (Luckily, this summer the local bruins seem focused on garbage cans dumpsters, leaving the local berry crop for humans to harvest without the threat of the big bitey teeth.)
Which brings us, somehow, to the topic of text messaging. The Star Trekesque communicator of the suspicious present and the dubious future.