The rust-colored bridge—Thaddeus something—looms ahead.. The sign next to it: Mohawk River—Erie Canal. After two-and-a-half hours driving north, we enter the heart of the capital region, just south of the Adirondacks. I’m so excited that I tell Frankie. His reaction?

So what?

through the Gateway shimmering sunlight on rippling water

Lunch at the Glens Falls rest stop.

“The (same) picnic table we sat at last year,” Frankie says.

Our lunch: PB and J/Banana; cold cuts; ravioli salad with hard-boiled egg and hard cheese: “Beats McDonald’s,” Mira says.

Adirondack Chairs another handful of brochures as we leave

Land rising. A range of Adirondack peaks North and West—always ahead of us.

The ferry across Lake Champlain. I stand on the deck, arms outstretched. The mountains—Green and Adirondack—lie hidden in the haze.

gust of wind Frankie’s embrace as we approach Grand Isle

Lamoille waterfalls over the power station. Paul’s Cow Wash. Those weather-worn bungalows and county commerce in Cambridge and Jeffersonville. “Same as it ever was.”

peeling paint the road winding over the Lamoille River

Turning left into Smuggs. Flags fluttering above the beckoning Welcome sign. As we walk toward guest services, we can’t believe almost a year past.

Village Center everything welcoming us home

Tamaracks 8. It’s larger than Sycamore 56. It has an almost Adirondack interior, with dark wainscoting and beige paint. The deck overlooks a grove of Tamaracks, and one evergreen. Mira improvises a sautéed pork with a ratatouille lite, which we enjoy with a Pino Noir purchased at GI. After dinner, we visit the Fun Zone, where an older boy patiently teachers Frankie ping-pong. Afterward, we rock on an Adirondack swing and gaze up at Mount Mansfield.

First stars another child slides into the pool

Photo by Benjamin Voros

first published in Image Curve, March 28, 2019