Summer Road Trip - New York: Kayaking River Waves & Crossing the Border

The day started off not looking so good.
I want to catch myself here, because who's to say what a "good" day is supposed to look like? If you are a wedding photographer you probably want an overcast day, but if you are a bride you want it to be sunny. If you are a macro flower photographer you want the air to be completely still, but if you are a sailor you want it to be windy. So instead of assigning certain weather a label of "good" or "bad" maybe I should just try to describe it, as it is, as a fact.

The day started off with massively oppressive, dismal skies; goose-bump inflicting, soggy air and a looming threat of torrential rain and monstrous thunderstorms.
Is that better? Maybe that's too much? Sounds a little bit like I don't approve of the weather, right? Okay, let me try again, with something more objective, if I can manage it, without being devoid of expression.

The day started off with heavy, gray skies and cool, humid air.

Clayton

We took off, not too early in the morning, back to Clayton for kayaking. Since our camping trip was canceled, we decided that we would kayak for a few hours in the morning before the weather got bad around 2pm and then head to Montreal. At the kayak shop they warned us about the weather and then helped us into the water. The push off dock is a very calm inlet off the river and we headed along the channel out into the wide open Saint Lawrence River. With the wind at our backs, we started paddling along, downtown Clayton on our right. After some discussion, we decided to head across the river and around the bend. "Susan" had my handheld GPS to determine how far we had traveled and our speed. With an eye on the weather, we took off, the current pulling us in circles as we tried to head toward our agreed destination.

Paddling away from Clayton

The water was surprising clear, probably even clearer when the sun is out. The wide river had many islands, spread apart, some with houses on them and some only big enough for a few trees and shrubs. I was armed with my point-and-shoot camera, safely enclosed in its underwater case. I had packed my SLR camera in a dry bag secured at the end of the kayak. As soon as I got in the water, I could not understand why I brought it. I think I had some romantic notion that we would be able to kayak out to an island and on dry land, I could take some photographs. But that was not happening today.

Therese paddling past an island

As we got further and further out, the wind helping us with speed, the sky kind of cleared a little bit and it sort of got sunny. Or at least, the sky got a little blue. This was fun. It was fun seeing the flat islands and the houses built on them, although they were starting to kind of look the same. They were all pretty much covered with trees, but it was still neat. I wanted to go around the bend in the river to see what was there, so I continued in that direction, ahead of Therese and "Susan". I completely ignored the large, light gray swell of a cloud that was beginning to overwhelm the sky. It just didn't look like more than a rain cloud. We were already wet so why not kayak in the rain? Eventually, I decided too not get to far ahead of the other two and when they caught up Therese told me that "Susan" was worried about that cloud. I took a good look at it. What time is it? Is it almost time for the predicted thunderstorms? I decided that the cloud probably wasn't that threatening, but the water was starting to get kind of choppy so, I guess we could head back.

An island

I would like to say, for the record, that my judgment of the situation was, um, well, it was not operating at its peak. Okay, I underestimated the severity of the situation. I admit it! When we turned around, to face the wind, and kayak against the waves back from where we came, the story of kayaking the Saint Lawrence River completely changes. What was before, a fun, enjoyable, kayak trip in mild waves and weather, turned into a nerve racking, white-capped wave, hand clenching, lose-your-hat-in-the-wind, ocean liner dodging kayak trip.

Passing the steamship

Our speed back was much, much slower against the wind. The waves suddenly whipped up forcing us to greet each one head-on to avoid being overturned. Before, I had my camera clipped to the kayak and I would unclip it, at my leisure, to take a picture. Now, I didn't want to let go of the kayak paddle for fear of losing the paddle or fear of being rolled by a wave. I took no pictures. Luckily my hair was secured in a twisted knot and this was helping to keep my hat from blowing off my head. Suddenly, the "rain" cloud looked more menacing. How had I not read it properly? How easily I am fooled by my own desires and optimism.
With anxiety, nervousness and determination, I pull my kayak towards the shore. If we could at least get close to the other shore, we could pull the kayaks out and maybe walk back to the rental place. I am keeping my kayak near the other islands, in case we can't make it and we need to get out of the water anywhere for solid ground. I am seriously considering one such island that has exactly three trees and some shrubs. It is tiny, but we could at least be out of the water there, in case lightning started. Then maybe, we could somehow get the attention of the coast guard to come get us, or a passing motor boat. I am making these plans, thinking, thinking, backup plans, Plan B, if all else fails. Or maybe, we will just make it across the river and be fine. Okay, let's shoot for that, we should try to avoid being stranded on an island in the middle  of the river.

"Susan" pulling the kayak out of the water

Feeling a little better about the "plan", I continue up and down the white-capped waves. Then it suddenly dawns on me that this too could be fun. Just think of it as a roller coaster, a thrill ride, a challenge, an adventure. Yes, this is fun. My anxiety, nervousness and fear vanished, all that was left was determination. With renewed energy, I paddled my way up each wave, digging in and enjoying the ride down the other side. The shore was getting closer and closer and then the weather starts to relax and the waves lessen. We make our way back into the channel, to our landing and pull our boats out of the water. The guy from the rental place comes out to help. "Its good you came back when you did, I just heard that a huge swell is on its way in." he says. Good thing? Maybe it would have been even more thrilling to kayak in that swell... or, maybe not. Maybe its better to add on thrills incrementally, to keep from jumping into something that you can't get yourself out of. Okay, maybe next time I'll go for more thrilling.
We drive into downtown Clayton for some lunch, stopping at Koffee Kove. We had scoped this place out the other day, there had been a line out the door, but it kind of looked like a dive, and it was, but the good kind of dive. There were old fishing relics on the paneled walls. There were harried waitresses rushing around. Therese and I ordered the Haddock Fish Sandwich, which was supposed to be what they are famous for, their fried fish. It was probably the biggest fish sandwich I have ever seen. It was long, with an equally long piece of perfectly cooked fried fish on it. It was amazing. I think I ate half and "Susan" who only got a salad, ended up eating most of mine and Therese's sandwiches. 
Okay, on to Montreal. It seems as soon as we get in the car to leave, it starts to rain. At the border, while going through the tollbooth-style customs, the young Canadian customs official grills us with:
"How does everyone in the car know each other?"
"Where do you live?"
"Why do you live in New York but have a Pennsylvania license plate?"
"Why are you going to Canada?"
"What are you doing in Montreal?"
"Why Montreal?"
"Where are you staying in Montreal"
"What's the address of your hotel in Montreal?"
To the last question, Therese feebly answers, butchering the pronunciation of the street name, Boulevard Rene Levesque. Suddenly, he seems satisfied with his questioning and smiles, "I guess you didn't have time to practice your French before going to Montreal. Its pronounced Ren-ay La-veck. Have a good time in Canada."

Small house island

Once in Canada, we miss the highway and end up on the scenic road that travels along the water all the way into Montreal. On a clearer, sunnier day, I'm sure this scenic road is well worth it, but it is pouring rain and we would prefer to get into the city before it gets dark. But even in the rain, I can see many islands in the river, some only big enough to hold the house which seems to cover every square foot of land. It is there that Therese suddenly remembers that she forgot to pack undergarments. We are off on a hunt for ladies undergarments. She uses their GPS to find the name of a store in a nearby town and punches in the address. We follow it into this town, downtown where everything is closed on a Sunday afternoon in pouring rain. We pass the darkened store which is our destination, "Pauline's Lingerie." The GPS seems to get into a hysteria about this and the computerized lady's voice says, "Arriving at Pauline's Lingerie. Recalculating. Turn around for Pauline's Lingerie. Recalculating. Pauline's Lingerie. Recalculating. Pauline's Lingerie. Recalculating."

Small island

Geez, I guess she really wants us to go to Pauline's Lingerie. I stare in awe at the small device which has the ability to be so emphatic, annoying and persistent, that you either want to throw it out the window or just do what it says. Well we finally find a store, like Target, and Therese took care of her garment needs. They did want to charge us 5 cents for the plastic bag, which I liked, but was a little surprised about too. Evetually, we made our way onto the Canadian highway, with unfamiliar kilometers per hour speeds. In the car I call Paul to find out the names of some restaurants for dinner. He looks it up on the internet and gives me some phone numbers. I call to make a reservation, where the man on the other line answers in French.
"Bonjour. Parlez-vous anglais? S'il vous plaît?" I say, nervously, while also trying to muster up my very best, yet awkward feeling, French pronunciation.

Therese on the Subway

"Yes, I speak English." he says. Oh good, and I make a reservation for nine o'clock.

Near Sherbrooke station

After a couple of hours we navigate our way to the Travelodge on Boulevard Ren-ay La-veck. The rain is coming down in sheets as we lug our already wet stuff inside and up to our room. Then we head out into the foreign city jungle. We wander, a little lost, Montreal's underground, a series of underground hallways and passageways from building to building. I imagine it was intended for cover in the extremely cold winters, but it works out quite nicely in pouring rain as well. Then, we manage to buy three subway tickets, get on the right train and get off at the Sherbrooke stop.

"Authentic" Montreal?

We walked the streets of "authentic" Montreal, I believe this is the Latin Quarter. It is raining, but I can still admire the old buildings, which remind me of other older sections of East Coast cities, but our architecture is different. This definitely feels more, French. After several blocks we arrive at our restaurant, a rather small one, called L'Express.

L'Express

L'Express has a black and white checkered floor, brass fixtures, men-only servers and a long, dark wood bar. It reminds me a bit of the Tadich Grill in San Francisco, kind of old-fashioned. It is nice to get out of the rain, but the waiting area is muggy and hot and they can't find my reservation. The maître d' assures me there is no worry and we are sat at a table about fifteen minutes later.

Pickles & Mustard

We talk about appetizers, we somehow figure out the menu in French, I order a bottle of wine, a Côtes du Roussillon. We must reek of English, because no one even attempted to speak to us in French. Maybe they heard us speaking to each other in English, I don't know. After ordering, they bring over a large glass jar of baby pickles and a jar of spicy mustard. I don't know this custom, but we used the wooden tongs to fish out the pickles and the small spoon to slop some mustard on them. They are quite good and we are starving so we probably ate far too many, but I was really trying to hold back. 

Bone Marrow Appetizer

Our appetizer came, we were adventurous and ordered bone marrow. Yes, bone marrow, I think Anthony Bourdain calls it "butter of the gods" or something like that. So we slathered our "toast" and bread with bone marrow. I have had this before, but tonight it wasn't striking we with awe like it has in the past. It has a very rich, oily, meaty taste but does not spread as nicely as I would like. We finish maybe half before giving up. 

Therese

"Susan"

Then comes our entrees. I had ordered the lobster risotto, which was okay. The lobster pieces were good, maybe a little overcooked but the risotto could have used more flavor. Therese ordered the duck confit, which was amazing, with amazing wild rice. "Susan" ordered meat & mushroom ravioli, which were probably the best of the three entrees. After all that we even ordered dessert, which was hazelnut chocolate torte. 
Feeling very full, we decide to attempt a cab ride home, since we are really not that far from our hotel. Miraclously, we do find one and he even understands some English. In a slur of French, I only managed to recognize the sounds of the street our hotel is on and it sounds like a question, so I guess he is confirming the address. 
"Oui." I say, and we are off. 

Montreal from our hotel

Now, before I go most places, I will study the map. Even in San Francisco, when I have to drive to a part of the city which I am not familiar with, I will study the map. I will memorize cross streets, parallel streets, one way streets, number of blocks and estimated distances so that I have some reference when I try to find my way around. But I am not afraid of getting lost in San Francisco and not finding my way back. In other places, especially when I don't know the language or the place could be somewhat dangerous, I will study the map beforehand and often discreetly, while turned away or under a table. This is helpful when trying to figure out which bus stop to get off at, or which direction to walk in when exiting a train station, without looking lost. It is also very helpful when you don't want to get ripped off by a cabbie.  Our cabbie seemed to head off immediately in the right direction and, although he did got a way that I thought was a little bit out of the way, we did end up at our hotel without an exorbitant fare. I am glad there are honest people in this world.

I pulled out the sofa bed of our tiny, shared Montreal hotel room. Before turning in, we are all exhausted, I take a few photographs out the window, since this will be my only opportunity to see a Montreal night.  I reflect to myself, "What an odd day. We kayaked amongst islands through white-capped river waves before a storm. Then we had a gourmet dinner in a French-speaking city. Now I am going to sleep on a sofa bed in a cramped hotel room in Canada."

Sackets Harbor to Clayton, New York to Montreal, Quebec, Canada:

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Summer Road Trip - New York: Wine Tasting

The green field in front of Madison Barracks

Wildflowers

Since I was a kid, I have known that New York had a wine region. On the rare occasion that I found myself eating in a restaurant with my parents, my Dad might order some wine, but he would ask where it was from, California or New York. After living in California for ten years, it seems silly to think that any American wine, other than a Californian wine (or Oregon or Washington) would ever make its way onto a wine list, and even more, be compared to a New York wine, but growing up in a Mid-Atlantic state, I guess this was not too unusual. He always avoided New York wines, something about the yeast they used that made him ill. Of course, since then, there has been an explosion of wineries across the country. Working in the wine industry for three years, I got to know many wines from all over the world and I mostly considered the West Coast to be the only serious wine growing region in the country. Sure, and maybe here and there, New York could be considered too, after all, I had tasted a couple of New York wines that were good. In general, the wines I have tasted from other states have been, um, well let's just say, they are doing the best they can (I have had AMAZING sparkling wine from New Mexico, even special ordering the Gruet non-vintage Brut rose for my wedding reception). But I like to approach new wine tasting experiences with an open mind, so when I heard that the wine tasting festival, "Taste of New York", was going to be held in Sackets Harbor that Saturday, I was intrigued.

Behind Madison Barracks: Lake Ontario

Sailboats on Lake Ontario

Our day started early, when a potential dog sitter for Merle came over to see if he was a suitable client. Our plan for tomorrow was to kayak out to one of the islands in the Saint Lawrence river to camp one night, so we needed someone to dog sit for Merle. When you walk out of Therese and "Susan's" front door there is a green field from military times and around the back of their building is Lake Ontario. Therese has a great routine of playing ball with Merle in the huge green grass field. He will play fetch forever. Sometimes she will take him to the lake and throw the ball in the lake for him to fetch. Merle loves this too. Sometimes he can not contain himself and will go for a swim when he is not allowed. Therese does not like this, she is a disciplinarian. Upon walking outside we enjoyed the views of the lake and watched some sailboats racing. This part of the lake is actually a bay of the lake and you can see farmland across the bay. It was a beautiful morning, not too hot, not too cold, not too humid and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. A nice breeze was making it a great day for sailing. Susan, seemed wistful, wishing we were sailing Hobie Cats today, rather than in the sparse wind we hard on Thursday.

Lake Ontario

Taste of New York Wine Festival

Less crowded tent

We decided to walk to the wine festival in town and did so along the lake, past Madison Barracks marina, a small marina will a small stony beach, available to the residents of the barracks. We walked along the pleasant streets with colonial and modern houses, yet all unique all inviting, all quaint in their own way. We walked downtown to the end, across from the Gazebo where the wine tasting festival was taking place under a large, white tent. There were already a lot of people there. There was a line, taking money and checking IDs.

Downtown

Once inside the tent, it was so crowded it was making me crazy. We had to wait five or more minutes at each winery's table to taste their wines. The first winery seemed to have a dozen different wines to taste. I looked around, ALL the wineries seemed to have a dozen or more wines to taste. There was no way I could taste them all. So I looked at the tasting list, when I could finally get close enough to the table to see it, to see what they were tasting. "What to taste, what to taste, what are these grapes?" I thought. The woman pouring wine looked at me impatiently, like I was supposed to know what I wanted already. Out of nervous pressure I said, "I'll taste something red."
"Dry or sweet?" she asked.
"What?" I was thinking, "they have sweet red wine?"

Kids outside the tent

"Dry." I said, a little startled sounding, and she poured me a taste of wine in a itsy bitsy plastic cup. I tasted it. It was sour, thin, fruity, but it had a strange taste, like too much alcohol or like it was way too young to be pouring and needed to age another couple of years, yet if they did that it would completely fall apart and then just taste like an old wine that passed its prime three decades before. Hmm... interesting. Maybe I am just a wine snob. Maybe it is not so bad. Maybe this is the best they can do with the less-than-optimal growing conditions and weather. Maybe this is inexperience. Maybe this is the unique New York terroir. Maybe this is the unfamiliar grape varietals. Maybe this is just a Taste of New York. At this moment, I decided to accept it for what it was and even though I could not forget all the experience I have had with hundreds and probably thousands of wines I have tasted, I could at least taste these wines on their own merit, for what they were, instead of what I might have thought they should have been. Now I am having fun.

View of Downtown Sackets, from the tent

Returning Sailboats

We went from table to table, winery to winery tasting wines. I learned to ask for dry wines and avoid any sweet wines. I learned to ask about the amount of residual sugar and taste only those with the lowest percentage. I learned to taste grape varietals I had never heard of before such as Baco Noir, Cayuga, Chelois, Delaware, Fronternac, Niagara, Marechal Foch, Seyval Blanc, Vidal Blanc and Traminette. And I discovered fruit wines. Yes, fruit wine. I remember hearing about Strawberry wine when I was a kid, but I had never had any. Here, they had blueberry, cranberry, peach, plum, cherry and pear wines. There was one winery that only made fruit wines. Montezuma Winery had a cranberry and blueberry wine and they were both good, in fact, they were both really good. As wines, they just were too different to compare to typical grape wine, but as finely made beverages they were really, really good, so good, in fact, I bought two bottles of their cranberry wine, and one bottle of their blueberry wine. Therese also bought one of each and a bottle of their Honey Mead.

Therese & "Susan"

After going around the entire first tent's wineries we decided it was time for lunch. We watched some sailboats heading in and a party start to get lively inside the Gazebo next to the marina. We wandered back to Sackets Harbor brewery, since they have good lunch and outdoor seating. We sat outside, where Therese and I sipped iced tea, trying to settle our overly-wined palates, while Susan had a beer. I had an amazing Cuban pulled pork sandwich for lunch.

Gazebo party at the marina

After lunch, we went back to the wine festival, but my original enthusiasm had waned and I wasn't sure how much more wine I could taste. But taste on I did, slowing down at each table and finally, giving up. The wine just started to taste worse and worse and some of it just tasted downright awful. Instead, I started tasting fudge of all imaginable flavors, melon, peanut butter, hazelnut, cotton candy. I did find a maple sugar producer who had amazing New York maple syrups and heavenly maple fudge. I bought some of the maple fudge; it was sticky, gooey, creamy, soft, and not too sweet. The air filled with Beatles music when a band started playing in the Gazebo. It has been a long time since I've heard "Day Tripper".

Old McDonald's Farm

Here I was going to tell the story about McDonald's, the farm, not the fast food place, and not Old McDonald-had-a-farm, but the ice cream place. But I have decided that it would just be me opening up some unnecessary, drawn out, negativity and I don't want to do this, for the same reasons I don't watch Nancy Grace, it is just a way to waste your life away. I will say this, something I learned again about myself, I think it is the experience like the one I am not telling you about, where I feel like the beaten dog, kick me while I'm down, I don't ask for much and you still deny me so little. I am not the type to ask people to make an exception for me. I obey the rules, follow directions, willingly suffer when I am to blame. But when I do everything right, I except others to do right by me, because this is what I would gladly do for them.

View of the Barracks from Sackets Harbor

The next matter at hand was dinner. The next day we were supposed to kayak out to an island for camping, kayaking back the next day, but the weather forecast was scattered thunderstorms, so we canned that idea. I was sorely disappointed (again on this trip) but to make the best of the situation we decided to trade camping in a storm for gallivanting around a foreign, French-speaking city. We would go to Montreal. I was very excited and less disappointed. But to get our camping fix, we decided to have our campfire and roast our hot dogs and S'mores on the Madison Barracks marina beach. That is where we would have dinner.

Sackets Harbor at Night

Sunset

We had appetizers of River Rat cheese and maple fudge while waiting for the sun to set. Only when night was fully upon us did we make our way to the stony beach. It was dark with only a sliver of moon. There was a small, rock-enclosed fire ring and we began collecting dry twigs and sticks for kindling. Soon, our fire was roaring. In the distance, across a bit of the lake, we could see the twinkling lights of Sackets Harbor and we could hear the last few songs of the Gazebo Beatles band. We roasted our hot dogs and our marshmellows while the night became quiet, except for the crickets and the small lake waves crashing gently along the stony beach.

Summer Road Trip - New York: The Land of a Thousand Islands

Tin Pan Galley

Sackets Harbor Marina

On this somewhat chilly morning, in Sackets Harbor, we go to breakfast in town, a place called Tin Pan Galley. Tin Pan is in the center of downtown Sackets, with a large, shaded, garden patio and a hard-wood, almost colonial feeling interior. They serve excellent food for breakfast, lunch and dinner. For breakfast, they are supposedly famous for the stuffed French toast and their creative eggs benedict dishes. I get the lemon ricotta pancakes, amazing.

War of 1812 Battlefield

After breakfast we venture down to the end of Sackets Harbor to admire the marina and the War of 1812 Battlefield. The sky is brilliant blue with lots of fluffy white clouds. It is a little humid, but comfortable, it smells like summer.

North Country New York Farmland

We drive north toward the Saint Lawrence River and the Canadian border, passing farms and fields and wildflowers everywhere. It is so beautiful out. I miss this kind of countryside. The rural areas of the West feel so different, they have an expansiveness, a dryness that is different. Here, it is more intimate, you know more because you know of less.

Wellesley Island State Park

We reach the Thousand Islands Bridge. I am in the Land of a Thousand Islands. You may hear "Thousand Island" and think of salad dressing and, rightly so, since this is where it came from, the chopped vegetables in the dressing looking like thousands of little islands in a large river. The Saint Lawrence River runs between Canada and the United States, flowing from Lake Ontario out to the Atlantic Ocean. The part of the river between Ontario and New York is called the Thousand Islands. This extremely wide river, is speckled with islands of various sizes. Some islands are tens of miles long and some are only big enough for a couple of large rocks and a tree. In the late 1800's and early 1900's many wealthy people from the Mid-Atlantic, especially, New York City, bought islands or property on the islands and built large houses, "castles" and often more humble, moderate, summer homes. So not only is the river dotted with green, tree and shrub covered islands, but it is dotted with last turn-of-the-century houses. It is a remarkable area, full of island romanticism, a youthful summer play atmosphere, and a mix of working locals and relaxed vacationers.
Our destination today is Wellesley Island State Park, which is one of the largest islands in the Saint Lawrence River and it is still part of New York. We drive past lots of campsites to the nature center parking and begin our hike.

East Coast Woods

The trail leads us into the woods and I am at first, a little confused because I thought the trail description promised us breathtaking views of the Thousand Islands area. My expectations were not aligned with reality. Then I realized, I was not going to get the Western Mountain vistas that I have grown accustomed to. This is the east coast, where expectations are different. People do not go hiking expecting their breathe to be sucked out of their chest because they are so dazzled and speechless over the endless beauty. Ah, no, it is different here. I ponder this for a while, soothing my disappointment.

Islands

Merle

The trail leads us out of the woods and back along the water. There, we do enjoy views of several islands out in the wide, wide river. It doesn't even look like a river, more like a lake since the water does not seem to be flowing. Maybe the thousand islands slow down its flow, I like this idea, your flow is slowed by a sprinkling of islands, all different, all unique in shape and size. There is one island in particular that is very small, with a house, a tree, some shrubs, a raft, some kayaks, maybe some people lounging about. Not really a yard to speak of. At a couple of places we let Merle throw sticks out into the water, which Merle, my sister's dog, is happy to swim out to and retrieve. At one spot my lens cap rolls down the rock and into the water and Merle enthusiastically retrieves it. Thanks Merle, for preventing the loss of another lens cap.

Golden Grass Pasture

Overlook of many islands

The trail leads up and out into a smooth, rock laden pasture of long, golden grass fringed by trees. There is a viewpoint of the islands spreading out amongst the riverlands. We stop for several moments to enjoy the views then continue on, descending back down into the woods.

Therese & "Susan"

It is this second time in the woods that I begin to relax. Relax because I can not help it. The hills roll gently, because they can not help it. The air is fresh with life and dirt and rock. The trees stand quietly, allowing their smaller branches and leaves to rustle in the breeze. Movement and stillness. The trees stand apart from each other, not crowded, allowing the sunlight to move through them, quilting the forest floor with light and dark. How can we know darkness without light and light without darkness? Both can exist here. Here there is space. The trees and ferns and rocks and trail and stillness and movement and light and dark all have their place here, there is space enough for all of it. Maybe this is peace. The ages that have washed over this place, and it has listened and learned, has made it wise. It does not try to amaze you or bore you, it has settled into its own, knowing and allowing itself to be known. No one sensation outshines the others, they are all equal and whole and you can remember all of them at one time and it allows you to experience it more fully. It is in the fullness that you can go deeper, you can know this place and when this understanding opens up, you can know yourself, absorbing it all and allowing yourself to be absorbed into it. You are no longer just seeing or hearing or feeling or smelling or tasting it, you are not even in it, you are it. And it is you. And all the things that might trouble you, can melt away, because when you let it all in and lay down your defenses, there is nothing else you can be, you are the amazing expansiveness that is what is. This is joy.

The pond

Wildflowers

We exit the woods, Therese, Merle, Susan (brother-in-law) and I, and we come upon a pond, a pond on an island in a river. The pond is surrounded by the forest and the perimeter has a line of wildflowers. Merle gets himself in trouble with his Mommy because he tries to go swim in the pond water. Eventually we are led back into the woods and finally, back to the nature center parking lot and our car.
Back in the car, we drive around the park as Therese scouts out campgrounds for possible sites for future family camping trips. It looks like an excellent place for a large, extended family to gather. Camping, kayaking, boating, fishing, hiking, group meals, campfires and even that funny bag-flying-on-campfire-smoke thing that my cousins like to do.

View from Thousand Islands Bridge

We head back towards mainland New York, again over the Thousand Islands Bridge, but this time, we stop and Therese and I walk to the top of the bridge to get a look of the Saint Lawrence River and the islands found in this part of the river. The view from this bridge is not as breathtaking as the part of the bridge that goes over into Canada, but we don't want to deal with turning around at customs because we don't all have our passports. But it is still beautiful and sometimes hard to tell islands from mainland because they are so big.

Clayton

At this point in the day we are famished but it is too late for lunch and too early for dinner so we decide to stop in the Thousand Islands town of Clayton, where the Thousand Islands dressing supposedly as born, to get a snack. Clayton is larger, more bustling, more excitable and less charming than Sackets Harbor, but it is still very nice. We go into the 1000 Islands Cheese Shop to buy "River Rat" Cheese, as it is called. We come away with several cheeses, aged cheddars, soft goat cheese, string cheese and the North Country New York specialty, fresh cheese curd. The fresh cheese curd we dig into immediately and it is sweet and salty and squishy and delicious. We walk next door to Lyric Bistro and get small servings of amazing gelato, my flavor is peanut butter. I walk down to the end of the street, where the downtown meets the Saint Lawrence River. There are some nice views of islands but it seems like the muggy clouds are rolling in, making the air seem a bit murky.

From Outside the Brewery

Evening

We head home a different way, through small towns and Amish farms. Then, we head to dinner at Sackets Harbor Brewery, which has a nice pub area and a dining room overlooking the marina and Lake Ontario. The sun is starting to get low in the sky, so after we order, I go out to take a few photographs. I walk along a rose vine covered wrought iron fence to the marina where people are talking and boats are coming in for the evening. Everything moves slowly and fluid, the boats gliding across the water, the ducks swimming in the lake, even the setting sun. When I return to the brewery our duck nachos have arrived and we enjoy our dinner.
When I lay on Therese's futon that night, trying to fall asleep, I feel homesick. Except not homesick for a place or a person. I miss Paul, but we talk every day and I know I will see him at the end of my trip, which is not so long from now. I know it is impossible to feel homesick when I am with a member of my immediate family, so it must not be homesickness for family. Maybe it is something else. A yearning for... something. I don't know, maybe it is for a part of myself I lost long ago and have forgotten. Maybe this trip has somehow reminded me of her and I am feeling the pain of loss for that space within myself that is missing. But it feels like homesickness. Maybe it is homesickness for a time in my life when I felt whole and the only way I have learned to cope in this world is to fragment myself, shedding and hiding parts of me. Maybe being with my sister takes me back and reminds me of that time when I knew her, that part of me, that younger me, that knew life differently, more fully. I think, of course, that this is it. She is looking for me and I would look for her, but I can't remember her name.

Sackets Harbor to Wellesley Island State Park, New York:

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