Watching the sun rise through the slatted gaps in the blinds, an anxious restlessness came over me. I had to get out. But where to? Why was my social battery already dragging? To be fair it’s not like I was starting at 100%, it’d been an eventful past few weeks and I realized then if I was going to find rest this trip I would have to make it. Despite feeling objectively godawful, I was grateful to at least be frontloading the trip with my burnout day. I’ve just accepted at this point every trip I go on, there will be a day I feel overwhelmed, anxious, and have my mind shrink into the shell of my body, before coming out the other side the next day more or less fine. What I needed was a mountain lake – and fortunately, I was surrounded by them.
The one other thing I needed was an earl grey – if you want to be able to gauge my base mood, just ask me how I’d feel about an earl grey. Most of the time I’d rather a cold brew, an iced americano, a beer, a cocktail, but when I’m at my lowest, most runout, ragged, haggard, god does an earl grey sound good. Unfortunately, I hadn’t thought to pack any teabags and I’d have to wait another hour and a half for a cafe to open. A slow wave of panic came over me – for me, anxiety attacks are more like sieges, a slow war of attrition, with the occasional full frontal assault. The siege would last most of the day, but my opening gambit was to just stare at the wall until my body told me it was time to go to the cafe. I don’t know why I didn’t just go by a lake or stream to wait, but logic isn’t exactly in charge during such times.
As I got up to leave, I texted the chat I was going out to Schoolhouse Cafe, fifteen minutes north in Blue Mountain Lake. Stilly replied “without me?” to which I responded “yeah.” I drove off, blasting lonely steel guitar instrumental tracks, watching the world transform around me from dawn to day. A young family beat me to Schoolhouse Cafe, spending an eternity deliberating over what to order while I waited behind them. I extended them some grace, I couldn’t imagine handling toddlers that early in the morning. Anybody else, though, and I would’ve been pissed. I ordered an earl grey and a New Jersey imported bagel. In the same time it took for me to get my order, I think I could’ve gone to Jersey, gotten a bagel, and gotten back. Still, I was in no rush and spent my time waiting admiring the innards of the old schoolhouse. A century later, and there’s still children there, go figure.
I sat on the porch and read some of Kerouac’s Big Sur as mist rolled in from the lake, premonitions of rolling showers to come. If it was up to me, I think I would’ve stayed there all day, watching clouds and cars roll in and out, letting the fizz of my mind settle and air out. Time waits for no one, however, and a bigger breakfast and bigger plans awaited. I got up to leave for the cabin. Stilly, at the last moment, wanted me to grab him a coffee, but knowing a black coffee would be a 20 minute wait, I drove back with only my earl grey in hand.
The cabin slowly rose as hunger overtook tiredness. The rough plan was to go to Chef Darrell’s Diner for breakfast and then head on to the Adirondack Experience, a sprawling museum which I had figured would serve as a good first day activity to acclimate folks to the North Country. I attempted to feign some sense of lucidity coupled with sociality to no avail as I drove the group down the twisting byways. The diner was busy when we got there, and I opted to wait on the steps to watch the rain rolling in until our table was ready. It took a while to figure out if this would be Stilly and Melanie’s last meal if they ate there, as a slightly exasperated Chinese J-1 student, to no fault of her own, floundered to their lines of questioning. Finally, Darrell himself, or so I presume, came out and in under a minute was able to placate everyone’s fears and then some.
It took less time for us to get our food than it took to order it. All I remember from folks’ orders is that Stilly had some cinnamon roll pancake that could be used as a case study in American decadence while Audrey and I had identical orders, which confused the hell out of the poor waitress when it came time to pay. The table next to ours was filled with fellow dirtbags probably ten years our senior, loudly talking about the different hikes they had done like they were hoping somebody would overhear, pinch their cheeks, and tell them how proud they were of them. I wanted to be annoyed, but it was endearing in a way.
We finished up and headed to the Adirondack Experience. I let my camera be the social actor for me as we walked the grounds. We started off in a building dedicated just to wooden boats, from 19th century guide canoes to 1950s luxury motorboats. They had some vintage boats available to take out for a spin, but the weather soured us on the idea of that. I appreciated that the group was enamored by the displays – a person’s opinion on museums tells you a lot about them. Maybe that’s the cultural elitist in me talking, but I can’t stand folks who find museums boring, assuming the museum is well-done.
The building housing Adirondack art was a surprise favorite for everyone. With more nooks and crannies, I quickly separated from the group, preferring to go at my own pace and collect my own thoughts. The way it made people of all ages think about and interact with art was commendable, I don’t know that I’ve seen any other museum help its audience engage to that degree. Not that I expect most art-specific museums to hold the audience’s hand, but somewhere like this I can appreciate the effort they put into it.
I went outside to wait and gaze down at Blue Mountain Lake. The others soon joined me, and I think it was then that it really hit us as a collective of how lucky we were to be there. It was nice just existing for a moment, no words, just a hive mind moment. We simultaneously got up and headed to the main exhibit hall. Stilly and Melanie were excited for the old luxury rail car they had inside, and admittedly it was pretty cool. They did an effective job communicating the history and culture of the Adirondacks at a healthy pace that was holistic while not being overwhelming. A hard balance.
Despite still being deep in my head, I was glad there was something there for everyone. Part of the issue you run into when planning things is you get selfishly attached to it, if folks have a good time since it was your idea after all. We ate lunch inside as the rain rolled in. I went to stand outside for good shots of the lake and the privilege of being under another North Country rain.
We finished up the loop of buildings and descended upon the gift shop before heading back. My head was still clouded, and after everybody got situated I left again to go sit by the steam we had checked out the night prior to continue my Kerouac and communing with nature before dinner. It was… needed. A true moment of peace. Eventually I put down my book and started talking with the crows and any noise that would respond to me. Wading knee-high in the water, it was as if I was submerged and had returned again, baptized by the North Country waters. How lucky was I? Best to maintain balance, to find those moments to recharge. To relax. I’d been told to relax in Washington and I failed at that to my detriment, so now I’d display I’m capable of making right on my mistakes. I meditated, arguably prayed, and in response I heard what sounded like a bear from some nearby trees. Confessional with ursus americana.
As much as I have an affinity for bears, I didn’t plan on finding out if my hunch was right and it was getting near dinner time. I blared The Only Living Boy in New York on the way back – here I was. Here I am. A fog lifted. I was there, nothing else mattered, because I was there. Don’t waste time being where you are preoccupied with somewhere else. Back at the cabin, I watched as the light from outside the blinds got replaced with the lamps inside, as we ate a delicious dinner together. Thanks for the chicken Elaine’s mom.