On Indian Lake

To celebrate America's birthday, James and I explored a lake of hers in Upstate New York for the weekend. We arrived Saturday in time for a quick lunch of hotdogs and hamburgers before our kayak trip across Indian Lake. Having not worked my upper body adequately in some time, I immediately felt the burn spread across my back from shoulder to shoulder. Cold water splashed on my legs as my rowing partner cut through the water in front of me. The air was crisp and delightful to breathe in. After a mile of paddling... left, right, left, right, we docked our canoes and headed to the top of the mountain on foot. 

The men said this was one of the easier hikes in all of Indian Lake, and the one with the best views. To me it hadn't felt very easy, but I made it nonetheless. The last 100 yards were nearly vertical, but with some reassuring words from myself to myself as I struggled for breath, I made it to the top and snapped this photo.  

The view after our hike. 

Once our energy was restored, we set out for the bottom, accompanied by a young family- a baby girl in her Dad's backpack carrier and a voracious bulldog. Three children were on their way to the top with springs in their steps and smiles on their faces. A short distance away we rowed to a series of cliffs, and I mustered the courage to jump off not once, but twice. The minute my feet left the cliff, I felt a moment of panic that I might die when I hit the bottom. Moments later I emerged from the cold water, unharmed and relieved.

 For dinner, James made homemade chili and grilled corn over an open fire using his Dutch oven. The women had wine, and the men had beers as we tucked in to hearty, cheddar chopped chili served with tostada chips. We walked to the fireworks in town and grabbed a spot on the hill just in time for dark to fall.  Before the firework display, a few youngsters released a lantern in to the air. I found it lovlier than the fireworks that followed but it was a fitting spectacle for Uncle Sam. 

Sunday we woke exhuasted, and sore, but embarked on another momentous day. James and my uncle went on a hike that ended in fishing, while my aunt and I went to a charming little beach. After swimming, reading, and a short snooze, we visited some antique stores and were inspired by the skill of local artisans and their creations. Grilled pizzas were dinner with a slew of toppings - assorted peppers, onions, yellow squash, zucchini, and pancetta. I snuck in an additional swim as the sun was setting on the dock. We will be returning, and often, as I have been won over by the allure of the lake. 

We adjusted our route home to pass through Lake Placid and watched some young hockey players skating on the ice where the Americans defeated Russia in the 1980's Olympics despite the incredible odds. After a ski lift and an elevator ride, we stood atop the launch pad for the Olympic Ski jump. Overwhelmed with admiration for America's athletes and the beauty of her lakes, we drove home grateful. 

Less is More (5)

Old becoming new again

My late grandmother and her family, used to cook on this very stove in my summer kitchen. I live in a two family house that my dad and his cousins grew up in. There is an additional kitchen downstairs because Italians can never have too many kitchens. It is fueled by a pilot light and has a nifty retro label in cursive. I feel like the value of cursive has been lost on our generation, but I still have this stove. It's so old that despite scrubbing with abrasive sponges, it will not come clean, but I feel this is to our benefit. It's a reminder of where we come from, and that old becomes new again. 

There is great comfort in remaining connected to my roots. They are strong roots, caring and resolved. Proof etched in grease remains from the makers before us, who prepared food for their families, my family, in the summer heat.

The unstoppable summer kitchen stove. 

A new flavor of iced coffee at Dunkin Donuts

I said once before that I look forward to my three o'clock iced coffee break, like a kid craves a visit to Disney World. And it is true. I allocate my projects and tasks at work around that three o'clock break, and frame it as a reward and indulgence. While coffee for some is black, mine is more like dessert especially since Dunkin Donuts partnered with Baskin Robbins to release ice cream inspired coffee flavors. I am weak in the knees for the Cookie Dough. I get my medium iced with one squirt of the Cookie Dough syrup (that stuff is sweet!) and some, well, cream. So much for a mere coffee break; how about a mini vacation. 

A bouquet

The littlest bouquet I ever received, and one of the more special ones. 

Children are remarkably resilient. They are creative and find solutions in the rarest of places. Along those lines, they also find joy in under appreciated situations. There are like walking, talking mini ambassadors for simple pleasure seeking. I've been spending some time with three special kids. The middle child walked up to me in the backyard with this tiny bouquet. It was only the size of my thumb, but it was beautiful, a gift from her to me. 

Making pickles

So far this season I have made pickles twice, with darling little gherkins from the Farmer's Market. The first pass was a great success and I thought to myself that I must have the pickling touch. The second pass, I parted from the recipe and improvised, adding additional items and in different orders to the brine. My mason jar filled with cucumbers nearly exploded two days later. I had even gifted one of the jars from the second batch to friends, and was horrified to tell them, "I think something is wrong with the pickles. Proceed with caution."  I do love pickles though and will certainly try again; the summer is long. James bought me a pickling book so I can build a stronger foundation. 

“Okay, this is the wisdom. First, time spent on reconnaissanse is never wasted. Second, almost anything can be improved with the addition of bacon. And finally, there is no problem on Earth that can’t be ameliorated by a hot bath and a cup of tea.”

— Jasper Fforde, Shades of Grey

Flying high

One of the pleasures of living on the East coast is the variation in the seasons. With Autumn come the bright hues and crunch of leaves, cable knit sweaters, and pumpkin spice lattes. We ease in to Winter with temperatures that drop steadily, snow falls, and the buzz of the holidays. When it has been dark for long enough, Spring greets us with warm sunshine and fresh blooms. 

​At last it is Summer. There are popsicles, roasted marshmallows, and late nights around the fire. Weekends are for the beach or picnicking. Weeknights, we grill outside greeted by warmth, a setting sun, and the smell of fresh basil from the garden.  There is an abundance of activities outdoors. My boyfriend James has a keen sense of adventure, which is aided by his appreciation of small things. Consequently, ordinary endeavors become grand adventures.  

One night, on a whim we went to the State Fair in search of a deep fried confection and a ride or two. Fortunate for us, there happened to be a traveling Circus group performing, the entertainers dressed head to to in red, white and blue, the picture of Americana. We grabbed seats next to a sweet family of six, and watched on in amazement.  ​

The first performer climbed a massive pole, and hung from the very top by just a wrist strap. In the wind, the pole swayed back and forth, as she stood atop and balanced with no net below her, and I ached with anxiety. There was a human cannon that flew through the air, and two young men that maneuvered a massive rotating apparatus with ease. A family of performers walked the tight rope, then rode along it on a bicycle. My heart beat faster with every step. Planes from the nearby airport roared overhead all the while, and  American flags waved as these talents were flying high against the backdrop of the evening sky.   ​

After the performance, we wandered, mounted the sky ride and caught a breathtaking view of the New York City skyline. James kept his eyes closed as he was reminded of one too many drills at high altitudes from his time as Marine. We had french fries with malt vinegar and a coffee milkshake to split, an end to a fine summer night.

“Everything you see, I owe to spaghetti.”

— Sophia Loren

Carbonara recipe from the gorgeous Extra Virgin cookbook by Debi Mazar and Gabriele Corcos.