After living almost two months in the city I could feel my heart aching to see some greenery that wasn't so reluctantly and apparently afforded a spot amongst a sea of concrete. Fortunately, Chris is lucky enough to have a small cabin in rural upstate New York, and I am lucky enough to have Chris (and his dad is lucky enough to have just gotten a new snowmobile that needed transport north). So after a very hectic friday workday, Chris and I managed to make the trek upstate with the dogs just as NYC was probably turning the corner from buzzed. After a glass of wine and the stark realization why I had been the first woman up here since the mid 90's (they share the place with a few timid but startling feildmice), I had the best nights sleep I had known since moving into the city (at the very least). While it is chilly and windy on top of that mountain, you can see more stars than I have seen since my vermont sleep-away camp days, and it is nearly dead silent (a nice change from the nightly fire engine roar I can't seem to grow accustomed to...speak of the devil! It's early tonight!).
Saturday morning brought with it a $9.50 organic breakfast for 2, good luck finding that in the city for even one, and a jaunt further into town to fill up the quads gas tank. After careening through the backwoods trails, flying through puddles, and sufficiently iritating the eager hunters on opening weekend, we were back on the property skeet shooting off of the back porch with Chris' new Binelli shotgun (an apparently casual purchase from what I could gather).
After my shooting went sufficiently uphill, his, sufficiently down, we found toby timidly hiding under the bed and went off on a hike. Quite intrigued and impressed, we watched Toby navigate the trail with his nose, seemingly finding his way by the scent of burnt gasoline, duke following closely behind, trying to understand what his silly big brother was after. Soon we happened upon a creek, and ever the avid swimmer, toby hopped right in and trounced around in the least dainty fashion, while Duke, ever the land-lubber, stood on the shore contently looking on until we coaxed him in. On the way back we encountered the imfamous two-foot-tall ant hills which Toby quickly discovered were not to be toyed with, and after stripping off my puffer, fleece, sweatshirt and hat, we wheezing pathetically, made it up the steep embankment and were back at the pond.
The evening found us in town (40 minutes away, naturally) at an italian restuarant that was quite impressive for being run entirely by Irish. We managed afterwards to find the only open store in town, Middleburgh Hardware, where chris picked up some lighbulbs for the lampposts along the driveway and I, ever the avid shopper, found the upstairs with its abundance of Carharts, which I, in the spirit of being rugged, immediately snatched up.
After dinner I got out of the shower to find toby hiding under the bed again, and after asking what daddy did, I looked out the window to find my answer: a large bonfire smack in the middle of the feild. I don't care what anyone says, an evening can't get much better than Jack Daniels and a warm fire. We managed to get Toby out for a stint, though he hid under our chairs the whole time. Then, after Chris had sung me a jack daniels induced song about the man who carries you across the river styx (lalala boat song lalala, incase you were wondering) I had the second best nights sleep I can remember.
Sunday morning was a succesful attempt at leaving no skeet intact, and then the usual series of cleaning up, packing up, storing the snowmobile, hiding its keys and fighter-pilot-esque heated helmet, and sadly heading off back to reality. It was exactly what all of us needed, though far too short for our liking. Now I feel as if I'm simply biding my time until snow comes to the mountain and we can come up with another excuse to trek up there.
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