The train slowly pulled to a stop at the canal side station, a roomy earthen structure perched on the edge of the water. We exited the carriage and carried our bags a short distance to the pier, which extended directly off of the platform over the water. It was crowded with canoes and other travelers, all preparing to embark on their linear feasts.
My group of four was here on sabbatical, visiting the canal as tourists after a few years of work. Others were on an extended migratory work trip, providing seasonal labor to the chinampas. It was late summer and harvest was in full swing, creating the need for more hands than there were residents along the canal. Paddling from farm to farm while working the harvest was a popular form of seasonal labor.
We got our boats squared away—beautiful wooden canoes made from native Northern White Cedar—and put-in. This placid waterway, the 60-mile long Champlain Canal, was built in 1823 and abandoned in 1992. The Second Reconstruction had completed its conversion into chinampas—floating artificial peninsulas hosting small farms—in 2039. Thousands of people had worked on the project, forming a series of camps along the waterway during the course of construction.
These camps had not only built the chinampas, they'd also built the infrastructure to support themselves. The entire length of the canal had been mapped and analyzed by bioregional ecologists and agronomists, and the camp sites were selected for their long-term suitability as sustainable human habitats. The camp workers built the water, waste, and energy systems for their own use but also to support the permanent villages that came to occupy the sites after the canal work was complete. The infrastructure was built with this in mind, so nothing had gone to waste.
The villages were now the thriving centers of an agricultural and recreational economy along the Champlain Canal, which connects the Hudson River to Lake Champlain along the eastern edge of the Adirondacks. The gorgeous setting and remarkable fertility of the chinampas made for an exceptionally attractive combination.
Which explains why I was here, spending my sabbatical on the canal. As my boat gently cut through the still water, it was hard to believe this place had been abandoned. The Adirondacks rose up on my left, the great verdant peaks covered by towering forests, while the lush chinampas jutted out into the water on my right, their banks overflowing with leafy fecundity.