Swimming in Paradise

Today was a fabulous day. I studied french for an hour or two, though when I went to read Le Monde, it still seemed like greek. Then I headed up to Livingston Manor where there is a wonderful bookshop called Hamish and Henry, in search of some good books on the Catskills that might be useful for my project. LO! I happened upon a relatively new book, published last year, called: Making Mountains: New York City and the Catskills. THIS is a FIND. Almost exactly what I was looking for - a study of the inter-relationship between urban and rural places and the history of the development of their identities. A windfall from the Gods.

Then I ran into my friend Kurt, and we had an interesting discussion about my ideas and grad school and the catskills and the radio station. You know, one of those conversations where you wish there was some sort of cosmic tape recorder you could just press play on when you wanted to. As it was, I scribbled down some of Kurt's comments, quickly reconstructing them after he left on the back side of a receipt.

The afternoon was hot, but I was restless, so back home in Jeffersonville, I took my new book and went for a walk in town and peeked in the windows of a print shop just down the road. I had hoped to stop inside and look around, but it was closed. You can see straight into the huge glass windows, though, and see three or four old iron printing presses, and shelved and shelves of type, all in labeled drawers. Hanging on the walls were cards and posters, examples of wedding announcements and invitations. They looked beautiful. I'm hoping maybe they will be open tommorrow so I can stop in and find out more about the place. It is called Echo LetterPress.

Walking home, my phone rang, and it was my friends Kurt and Challey asking if I wanted to go for a swim at Crystal Lake. I think I had been waiting all week for someone to suggest it! Kurt gave me directions over the phone, and I drove up into the hills, past North Branch, past Fremont Center. I missed the turn the first time and had to turn back, looking for an unmarked road in a hay field. But I knew it was the right one when I saw the big bright red hay wagon. The gravel road led back into the woods, and there, on what must have been the grounds of an old resort that has since vanished, are the shores of a beautiful clear lake. There are a few other people there, but mostly it is empty. Challey leads me down the path to the spot Kurt has set up, and along the way we pick blueberries off the bushes and eat them - all tart and sweet. Challey brought a little feast of a picnic - crackers and goat cheese and peach jam and wine. But first, we put on our bathing suits and wade out into the lake. It is so clear, it is like a mirror, surrounded by forests of birch and maple and pine. But where we are must have been the yard of the old resort, because there are brilliant red japanese maples, and the remains landscaping - a giant conifer that is certainly not native to the area. But these artful domesticated species have been gradually surrounded and absorbed into the landscape, so that you almost don't notice. A barely perceptible ghost of past habitation.

The lake is perfect. A layer of water on the top is warm, though just below, it is chilly. We swim out into the middle of the lake, float around, and then go back to eat our picnic. Twilight slowly falls, coloring the growing mist a faint purpleish pink. The birds chatter. We have the lake all to ourselves. We go for another swim. And then suddenly, HEAVY METAL starts blaring from a car that pulls up. Ah well. Such is the interaction of human and nature.