Trading Infirmities for Laurels

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I knew it had snowed overnight, probably a lot. Therefore, there was no reason to force myself out of from under the covers. Sleeping in was the name of the game. However, eventually it was time to get up and access the damage. I walked across the room and threw back the curtains. The hotel parking lot had not been plowed, my car was buried under a mass of snow, and the flakes continued to fall. I got my breakfast out of the mini fridge, turned on the tv, and hopped back into bed.

But all good things come to an end. It was time to put on my winter jacket, new gloves, and knit cap. There was work to be done, bad back and all. Standing outside my car in the still falling slow, I gazed at the ten inches of snow that was already piled on my car. Opening the trunk of the car was more difficult than usual, but I needed to get to the shovel inside.

The snow was a really heavy damp snow. This was not going to be fun. I pushed, brushed, and shoveled the snow off of the noble Baron von Zoom. I then had to shovel the snow away from the wheels and clear a path on all sides of the car. As I bent down to lift the snow-filled shovel, my back twinged in agony. There was no turning back now, I gritted my teeth and continued until the job was done. Afterwards I walked across the open snow-covered lawn to check on the road conditions. The traffic was moving decently and the roads were more or less cleared. If the hotel actually shoveled the rest of the parking lot, we might get somewhere today.

Exhausted and with an aching back I retreated back to the room where Mom was peacefully watching Matlock. Tired and sweaty, I decided to try a swim in the hotel’s indoor pool. I had packed my swim trunks after all. However, as I walked down the corridor to the pool, I could hear the maniacal squeals and righteous cannonballs of what sounded like a huge group of kids. This was not going to be my day, so I went back to the room and settled for a hot shower instead.

It was good and perhaps needed for my back to spend the day in a languorous relapse. After an afternoon spent alternating between reading and watching old tv shows, I checked out the window once again. The parking lot was finally and belatedly plowed! To prevent us both from going stir crazy, we decided to go to a nearby Japanese restaurant for an early dinner. It was really icy and slippery out. This would have to be door to door service for my dear old mother.

Inside the restaurant was quiet and peaceful. I requested a booth so that I could shift my back around and not be crammed into a small hard chair. The Japanese waitress exclaimed worriedly that we had ordered too much food for just of the two of us. We compromised on the jumbo sushi platter, along with some tempura and yakitori for starters. The music that they played was relaxing and meditative. It was the music that the great Japanese composers create for their wistful anime movies. Sounds classical, but it is uniquely Japanese piano music. The everydayness of life brought to the sublime.

The music put me in that warm “natsukashii” feeling. That is the Japanese feeling of evoking fond memories of the past. I thought back on my five years living in Japan. Back to my travel memories of all my trips, particularly the Asian ones. I thought about how my dad once said how his cherished memories of his time in Japan as a young midshipman got him through many of life’s hard times. It was true. Travel memories, no matter how long ago, are sustaining. Will I ever again travel to faraway lands? Can I be at peace with that? The big questions mingled with life’s small details. Mom and I wrapped up the night finishing off dishes of green tea and sweet red bean ice cream.

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When I was designing this trip, it was going to be Catskills on Day One and Hudson River on Day Two. Well, because of the snowstorm our Hudson River day got bumped to this final day. It was a beautiful and incedingly bright day. The sunshine now enhancing the snow-covered scenery. We opted for the picturesque route up and along the Hudson as we drank in the cheeriness of the day.

We were going to Olana House, which I had researched as a good destination and Mom’s friends had also suggested that she see while she was up here. As we approached the Rip Van Winkle Bridge to cross the Hudson, we could see the majestic ornate mansion perched high above on a hill.

After winding along snowy wooded paths we arrived and made our way to the visitor center, which was down the hill from the main house. Inside we simultaneously warmed ourselves and learned about Olana House and the famous landscape painter, Frederic Edwin Church, who had it built in 1870. Like me he had travelled all around the world, but it was this view of the Hudson that he enjoyed painting most of all. His paintings bursted with the feelings of a travel dream with no detail spared.

Mom and I walked forth up the icy paths towards the house full of newfound knowledge. We forgoed the formal tour and simply showed ourselves around. The house really stood out as a travel artist’s house. It was itself a work of art. It was red with many intricate details and exotic tiles. It was like a little bit of a Moroccan Kasbah dropped right on the banks of the Hudson. Through the front window we could glimpse his famous painting of Petra.

More than the house though, it was the magnificent view out over the Hudson and the surrounding area that captivated. Mom absolutely loved it and said it was the most beautiful view she had ever seen. Recency bias? It was hard to tell. Happy clusters of people wandered throughout the hillside property. The bright white snow adding to the purity of the moment. A man who died more than a century ago had created this for everyone here today to enjoy. Amazing.

The mention of Thomas Cole being Frederic Church’s mentor sent us scurrying to find Cole’s nearby house as well. That house was actually part of the National Park System, so I hadn’t made it part of our original itinerary as I didn’t feel like dealing with the federal mask mandate. However, turned out not to be an issue because the whole site was closed for the winter. We were however able to still walk around the property and get up on to the porch of the main house.

We stood there looking out through the branches towards the Hudson River. Someone had smartly displayed one of Cole’s paintings so we could compare what the vista once looked like to what it looked like now. It was a little bit eerie to think about the passage of years and how we were standing on the same spot of Earth seeing the changes. We read how Cole had continuously lamented man’s progress and the nature that it built upon.

Something Mom read on the porch sent us on one final wild goose chase. She had discovered that there was something called the Thomas Cole Art Trail nearby, which incorporated many of the sites that he had painted. My back was beginning to tire out, but Mom was really keen so we gave the day one last whirl.

Our first destination on the trail was going be the Catskill Mountain House, but that turned out to be in ruins so we decided to check out Katerskill Falls. The road was challenging and full of bends. We were fully back in the mountains again, but this time the whole scene was white with ice and snow. When we finally arrived, we found a parking lot, but no falls. We would have to hike on a snowy nature trail to see it. This would not be an activity for Mom.

I didn’t think it would be for me either, but I wanted to stretch my back a bit after the drive. I left Mom in the car, saying I wanted to check out the sign at the beginning of the trail. The sign said the falls were 0.3 miles away. This seemed doable. I started down the trail, which was covered in slippery snow. I quickly skittered along it, trying to get to the falls and back before Mom began to worry. However, it took a lot longer than I thought.

I finally reached a viewing platform. The falls were mighty and had carved out a hole in the ice below. I snapped a couple photos to show Mom, and then immediately started back. I didn’t want her to think that I had been kidnapped for the white slave trade. However, my downhill skitter had now turned into an uphill slog. By the time I reached the car again I had begun to break out into a light sweat. Mom however, had not been worried in the slightest and was happily reading.

We were going to go out for an early dinner in Saugerties, but nothing in the historic downtown really appealed to us. It was all restaurants inside dark bars. There were roving groups of young people enjoying a Saturday afternoon out on the town. Something I really would have enjoyed ten years ago. We settled for authentic New York style pizza and a Syracuse Orangemen basketball game back in our hotel room. We could rest on the laurels of our accomplished goals. We had successfully cobbled together a road trip, infirmities and all.

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