Ireland Travel Journal

December 2, 2025 Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

It’s December, friends. Can you believe it? The last month of our exhilarating year of adventure is here before I’m ready for it. There’s frost on the leaves on the steps outside and festive lights twinkle throughout our little corner of the world. Our November trip has come and gone, our farthest reaching destination this year, and we’re eleven down, one to go. It’s all gone by so fast. But I’m getting ahead of myself. The reminiscing on it all will come later this month or perhaps early next year. For now, there are green hills, rugged mountains, valley vistas, coastal cliff views, and pints of black stuff to discuss.

Howth

We landed at Dublin airport having each managed about two hours of sleep on our six hour red eye from Newark. We breezed through immigration and were soon off to pick up our little rental car to hit the Irish roads. The first destination in our sights was the seaside village of Howth, just outside of Dublin city. Mike was quick to reacquaint himself with the right side of the car/left side of the road situation and we were navigating our first of many roundabouts and tight left-turns in no time.

The colorful fishing village of Howth, nestled along the coast of the Irish Sea, is an idyllic, manageable daytrip from bustling Dublin city. Accessible by car or a short train ride from Dublin via DART service, this makes for a great destination for those traveling to the Dublin area with limited time who would like to get a broader sense of what this beautiful country has to offer outside the limits of its largest city. For us, Howth was reminiscent of some of the towns we have visited in the west of Ireland without the 2.5+ hour drive to get there from Dublin.

With limited daylight (and sleep), we set our sights on doing some of the Howth Cliff Path Loop to take in the stunning views of the sea and the cliffs along the coastline. On a sunny, Saturday afternoon, it was easy to follow the like-minded crowd of scenery-seekers to the start of the trail and after a bit of a climb, we were perched upon the side of the cliffs on a dirt trail that wound past the gorse, the heather, and the green high above the crashing waves.

About forty-five minutes into our hike, we decided to turn around, wanting to have time for a quick lunch before hitting the road to our next stop, in hopes we could reach it before dark. Racing the daylight was certainly a challenge on this trip versus our previous summertime trips to Ireland. We ordered some takeaway fish and chips from Beshoff Bros to share and enjoyed them as the clouds began to roll in over the harbor.

Kilkenny

Our drive from Howth to Kilkenny felt long and arduous as we raced our waning energy, though in actuality it took less than two hours from Howth harbor to the door of our hotel.

Driving through the Kilkenny town center was a welcome reprieve for our heavy eyelids and we wound our way through the town to our lodging for the next two nights, Pembroke Hotel Kilkenny. We checked in and parked in the designated lot a few blocks away then took in the view of Kilkenny Castle and the Kilkenny Arts building from our room’s large window for the briefest of moments before settling in for a must-needed, strategic nap to try to “get on Ireland time”. The grogginess we felt after our ninety minute nap was a familiar sensation that we have experienced on every one of our Ireland trips. It’s just a necessary evil, we have learned, to help make the most of a short vacation. We begrudgingly willed ourselves to get out of bed and head out for a bite to eat and a pint.

Sullivan’s Taproom fit the bill for what I was feeling to escape the damp chill of November in Ireland. Inside, the taproom was warm and decorated for Christmas. Every table inside, but one, was taken so we claimed that last as ours, shrugged out of our jackets, and settled in. The place was packed with fans who were zoned in on a rugby match between Ireland and South Africa. We sat on the outskirts of it all near the kitchen pass-through and perused the menu. We ordered a margherita pizza to share and I opted for a red ale on rotation, while Mike went for a pale ale. The atmosphere was festive and excited and it was a great way to wake up a bit from our jet-lagged stupor.

Our next stop for the night was The Dylan Whiskey Bar for some after-dinner cocktails. The place was pretty empty when we arrived on that Saturday evening, but filled out over the couple of hours that we spent there. I ordered a Jameson Triple-Triple old fashioned to start, followed by my first true pint of the trip and the memories flooded back of how Guinness just tastes better in Ireland. We decided it’s both a texture thing and a color thing. The foam is creamier and smoother than back home and when the light hits it just right, rubies glimmer at the bottom of the glass.

Cahir

We checked the forecast Sunday morning before heading to our first stop for the day, a medieval town about an hour west of Kilkenny called Cahir. Discouraged by the rain that had accompanied much of our drive, despite one rainbow sighting, we pulled into the public lot next to Cahir Castle and checked the forecast again to see if the rain would stop soon. According to Google Weather, it wasn’t supposed to rain in Kilkenny all day (but it had already rained on us that morning), it wasn’t supposed to rain in Cashel (though it would be raining when we got there later), and it was certainly raining in Cahir. We changed into our waterproof hiking boots, zipped up our waterproof jackets, and grabbed our umbrellas because in Ireland, there is no bad weather, only bad clothes.

Cahir Castle did not offer the shelter from the rain and chill that I, for no logic-based reason, imagined it would. Still, umbrellas up, we wandered the walled, green grounds and stone courtyards and ducked into the medieval banquet hall which was heated to 7°C (44.7°F). We climbed stairways that wound up to sparse, wooden floors with whitewashed stone walls and skimmed information boards on the Easter Rising and the history of Medieval women’s dress and customs, stealing long glances through the deep, paned windows at the colorful street outside.

We did a short exploration of the town on foot due to the wet conditions before driving through the streets and on to our next stop, Cashel, in hopes of escaping the rain.

Cashel

“It’s not raining in Cashel,” I said, remembering the lack of raindrops forecast on Google Weather for this next little medieval town of the day.

“It’s not raining in Cashel,” echoed Mike.

But, of course, it was.

We climbed from the parking lot up the hill to the Rock of Cashel historic site, our umbrellas tested by strong winds and rain. We purchased our tickets and hurried inside the impressive cathedral ruins to escape the wind, though it was quite the wind tunnel inside anyway. There were people huddled close to the stone walls, trying to evade the wind’s reach as they waited for their tour to begin. I couldn’t help but laugh as I heard a teenaged, American boy voice his opinion.

“Why are we DOING this?!” he shouted against the wind.

Rock of Cashel, 13th Century Cathedral Ruins

Valid question, I thought, ready to leave as well. We hastily wandered the ruins, pausing at the gravesites only briefly and taking in as much of the sprawling view of the countryside from the top of the hill as we could in only a few moments. It would have been a beautiful spot to linger and really take in the view of the rolling hills and farms on a warm, sunny day, but a warm, sunny day, it was not, my friends. It was November in Ireland.

Mike proposed we find somewhere to get out of the cold for a while and we settled on a place for lunch on the recommendation of a barkeep who informed us the kitchen was closed at our first choice restaurant. The barkeep guided us to Bailey’s Hotel Cellar Bar & Restaurant and it ended up being a very welcome, cozy suggestion.

As we enjoyed pints of Smithwick’s and waited for our lunch to arrive, we scrolled through my pictures from our visit to the Rock of Cashel. Mike said, “Funny. No one would look at these and think there was actually a hurricane up there.”

Kilkenny (cont’d)

We reached Kilkenny again before dark and took some time to warm up, rest, and take in the view of Kilkenny Castle from our room before heading back out to dinner. We decided on Matt The Millers Bar & Restaurant for some traditional Irish fare and music. I ordered Guinness beef stew with brown bread and Mike opted for the seafood chowder with brown bread and both were excellent, hearty, and blissfully warm. We sipped our pints of Guinness and listened as the live performers sang familiar songs like Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl and The Cranberries’ Zombie amongst a wider selection of more traditional Irish songs. We ended our evening back at The Dylan Whiskey Bar, much quieter on a cold Sunday night than on the previous night. Still, the whiskey was warm and smooth and the surrounds cozy and pleasant. This spot was worth two visits.

Kilkenny Castle & Kilkenny Arts building, earlier that morning

The Wicklow Mountains

In researching for this trip, one place in particular kept coming up as a suggestion for places to visit near Dublin. Glendalough. (Pronounced Glenda-luck) In all my planning for Glendalough though between what trail to hike, where to park, and where to get lunch afterwards, there was one thing I hadn’t planned on for our visit and that was me behind the wheel of our little rental car from Kilkenny to the Upper Lake parking lot.

This was my first time driving on the “wrong” side of the car and the “wrong” side of the road and boy oh boy did it feel a little harrowing at times. Irish country roads are teeny tiny- think a one lane road in the US or better yet, two bike lanes smushed together and hey presto! you have yourself an Irish country road.

I’ve learned that driving in Ireland, sometimes you just have to throw your side-view mirror into the bushes or chance the solidity of the “soft shoulder” (just grass and mud), if you’re so lucky to have a shoulder available at all, that is. Irish drivers have a level of confidence or recklessness that I can only aspire to. I wasn’t as sheepish as the painted, white, fluffballs grazing in the pastures and hills along the sides of our route, but let’s just say I was happy to arrive at the Glendalough car park only having run over one curb with my front left tire.

We changed into our hiking boots and hit the trail, opting for The Spinc Walk Blue Route as an out an back to the summit viewpoint rather than as a loop. The trail guided us past the Lower Lake and through a pretty wood of evergreens. This wasn’t the Ireland we had seen before on our previous trips. This was wild and towering and rugged. We loved it. We followed the path up the mountain and out of the trees, through heather and grass and dirt and mud, soaking nature into the soles of our boots to mingle there with that from our previous adventures this year.

After not too long, we were rewarded with views of the Upper Lake and the vista looking further below and beyond past the valley. This place was a beauty, a highlight that made me question why people say to see the true Ireland you need to go to the west. I agree you should definitely go to the west if you’ve only time for one trip to Ireland in your lifetime, but I am going to throw the suggestion out there to make this place a priority as well.

For lunch, we went to a beautiful, cozy restaurant in the village of Laragh called Wicklow Heather Restaurant. The whole place was twinkling with the soft white glow of fairy lights. There was antique, copper crockery suspended from beams and hooks in the ceiling. Vintage portraits and artwork climbed the walls and looked down upon it all from the wooden eaves, and gothic paned windows looked out on the road. Mike ordered a Guinness and an open faced slow roasted ham and smoked applewood cheese sandwich while I went for potato, cauliflower, and coconut curry and a cup of tea.

We made our way towards Dublin after our meal, racing the daylight once again as we marveled at the breathtaking, wild scenery that surrounded us on our drive through the mountain pass called Sally Gap. If you are visiting Ireland as a tourist, I recommend doing this drive with a tour company rather than driving it yourself, as the road through the mountains is very isolated and cell phone service is minimal. We made a stop at Lough Tay, also known as Guinness Lake before heading back towards Dublin, both of us a little anxious for views of civilization.

Dublin

Inching along the narrow, Dublin city streets that evening was enough driving in Dublin for us, at least until we needed to head to the airport a couple days later, and once we parked our car in the garage around the corner from our hotel, we decided we’d try out the DART service if we planned to go outside the city the next day. Our check-in at the Drury Court Hotel was warm and welcoming. The people working at the front desk were friendly and efficient. They asked had we been to Dublin previously and what our plans were for our time in the city.

“Yes!” we said with the smiles that accompany the memories of previous vacations to Ireland, “I think we’ll try The Winding Stair for dinner and maybe head to Dalkey tomorrow.”

“That’s lovely,” said the front desk agent with a smile.

The agent reminded us that European hotels do not customarily have top sheets or washcloths, but that there was a shelf stocked with washcloths in the lobby, if needed. Our experience with the Drury Court Hotel was very pleasant and helpful and the location was central to lots of sights, pubs, and attractions. I would recommend this hotel to friends or family looking to visit Dublin.

For dinner, we bundled up and headed out into the cold, damp night, weaving our way through The Temple Bar District towards the River Liffey. We climbed the winding steps for which The Winding Stair restaurant is named (along with inspiration from a poem by W.B. Yeats) and hoped there would be space for us as we did not have a reservation. Lucky for us, there were a few tables available and we were seated immediately. The atmosphere of the restaurant was cozy with tall ceilings and low lighting and the warm scents of spices and sauces coming from the open kitchen were mouthwatering. I ordered a pan-seared trout with parsnip puree, leeks, and capers and savored every bite, choosing to accompany my meal with a glass of red wine to wash it all down with.

After dinner, we walked to The Long Hall, one of Dublin’s oldest pubs which happened to also be conveniently situated around the corner from our hotel. The pub had a cozy, Victorian charm to it with red carpeting, red ceilings, red furnishings, dark wood architectural accents, and elegant light fixtures. I also read somewhere that The Long Hall is Bruce Springsteen’s favorite pub in Dublin and Mike and I enjoyed following in a fellow New Jerseyan’s footsteps by visiting. We sat at the end of the long bar and sipped our pints of Guinness slowly while reminiscing on the day’s activities and drives.

Dun Laoghaire & Dalkey

The next morning, we walked to the Tara Street DART station to catch a train to Dun Laoghaire (pronounced Dun Leary) and then on to Dalkey from there. The trains were frequent and affordable at €2.60 for a one way for each of us. If you are going to be staying in the area for longer, you may want to invest in a LEAP card to save further on the train fare.

Dun Laoghaire is a bustling harbor town about twenty minutes outside of Dublin by train. We walked the length of the East Pier, taking in views of the Irish Sea and the peninsula of Howth in the distance, remembering our visit there a few days prior. The walk was pleasant and we were happy to hear all the Irish accents around us as locals walked the pier for recreation and leisure.

One thing about Dublin city that you might not expect as a tourist is that you might hear a lot more foreign languages than English or English spoken with the pleasant Irish accents as it is such a multicultural place with visitors and locals from all over the world. This will be particularly so, if you are staying in the touristy areas in the center of the city. If you’d like to experience more local dialects and accents or even the Irish language, take the train outside of Dublin to some of the other coastal towns or drive to some of the other counties in this beautiful country. If you head to any of the country’s Gaeltacht areas, such as counties Donegal, Mayo, Galway, Kerry, Cork, Waterford, or Meath, you will probably also catch some locals speaking in Irish.

We hopped back on the DART for just a few stops and got off in Dalkey. This town was on my must-see list of places for this trip as it was home to one of my favorite authors and role models, Maeve Binchy. Going to the town where Maeve lived might not be everyone’s idea of a good time, but it was important to me. I would not be the reader or the writer that I am today without Maeve Binchy and her talent for story-telling and conveying her understanding of people as flawed, dynamic beings in need of community and purpose. When I read Maeve Binchy, I never fail to find a character with whom I can relate and I am grateful to her for that sense of representation, alone. She has helped me to feel ok at times when I didn’t feel so ok and she has put a smile on my face with her words more times than I can count. It felt good to be standing where she might have stood once, or perhaps even many times, before.

We headed into Finnegan’s in search of lunch, but the place was full and we were told it might be a while so we crossed the street to have a look around The Gutter Bookshop. I perused the Maeve Binchy titles on the shelves and picked out one I hadn’t read before, A Week in Winter, and purchased it as a souvenir. (I am most of the way through it and can recommend.) I was also interested to see that The Gutter Bookshop had a couple of shelves in their children’s section designated to Irish translations of children’s books to facilitate children’s learning the language from a young age.

Back to Finnegan’s it was for us after our little shopping excursion and it was only a little while before two seats opened up at the bar and we were seated. Mike ordered fish and chips and a Wicklow Wolf pale ale and I ordered cottage pie and a Guinness. Everything was delicious and it was pleasant to listen to the pretty Irish accents chatting all around us, the breathy, soft T punctuating the ends of sentences in that questioning Irish way, “Is it?”

Dublin (cont’d)

From our previous trip to Dublin, ten years ago, I remembered one of my favorite activities had been walking around the Trinity College campus. We headed into Trinity’s campus and were surprised to see that a winter convocation ceremony must have just let out as many graduates were dressed in robes and mortarboard caps, taking photos with friends and family. We did a quick loop around the central square of the campus to take in the architecture and headed on towards our next stop, Ireland’s oldest pub.

The Brazen Head, est. 1198, was a bit of a walk from Trinity, but once we got inside, it was pleasant, cozy, and very festively decorated. We snagged two seats at the bar and Mike ordered a Guinness and turned to me.

“Can I do a Half & Half?” I said to the bartender.

“No,” he said.

“A Guinness with Harp?” I said. Maybe I should really just stop trying to order this anywhere.

“No,” he said again, “I’ll tell you why. Our Guinness is too good here. It doesn’t settle. Here, I’ll show you.”

He poured a little Harp in a glass and topped it with Guinness and the whole thing was just a tan, foamy mess. No, indeed then, I thought.

“Weird,” I said, “Just a Guinness, then.”

As we enjoyed our pints, a couple came in and ordered at the bar.

“We’re in Dublin for one hour,” said the man, “We asked our driver where to go if we only have one hour in Dublin and he said here.”

In my memory, they asked the bartender for “the most Irish beer”.

The bartender said, “My selection?”

With a nod from the customer, he poured, to my surprise, not from the Guinness tap, but from the Brazen Head Red Ale tap. The man seemed happy enough.

After some time spent at our hotel to rest and warm up a bit, we bundled back up and walked south along Camden Street into the Portobello neighborhood. I read that Portobello has a great food scene and looked up an Indian restaurant there called Pickle that we were eager to try. We didn’t have a reservation for Pickle, but were seated immediately. I have read that reservations are recommended for this restaurant and it did fill out a bit while we were there, so just plan ahead if you ever decide to visit, yourself.

This dining experience was the culinary highlight of our trip. Granted, we love Indian food, but still, the flavors were out of this world and the ingredients were fresh and locally sourced. The portions were big and the food was hearty and delicious. If you’re ever in Dublin and you like spicy food, just do your tastebuds a favor and go.

To finish up our trip, we decided to visit a couple more pubs. Our first pub stop of the night was The Landmark where there was a very talented musician performing live music. We had only intended to get one pint there, but stayed a little longer since the performer was so good and the place was so comfortable and cozy.

For the last stop of the night, we walked to The Swan Bar. I could tell from outside that the place would be nice and toasty within as the windows were clouded over with steam. We shrugged out of our jackets and nestled ourselves onto two bar stools. We ordered our pints from a friendly, bearded man who could have passed for Santa Claus if he wanted to (though he actually mentioned to one of the other bartenders later on that he’d had an audition for a Santa job earlier that day and didn’t get it.) We sat and we sipped and Mike looked up pronunciation guides for words in Irish that made my head spin a little. The world outside was cold in a way that cut to the bone, but inside The Swan, the steam clouded the windows and we were sheltered and warm.

We wondered when we’d next be back to Ireland again.

If there is one thing we have learned from our trips to Ireland, it is that there is a magic to the place that continues to draw our hearts and tug upon our memories, pulling us back again and again. One visit is not enough, nor two, nor three, or four in Mike’s case. Perhaps this post will inspire some of you to read up on an Emerald Isle adventure of your own or to pick up a Maeve Binchy book and escape into the inviting pages, or to order a pint of Guinness next time you are out. If so, I hope you enjoy every minute, every page, every sip. Thanks for reading, all. Be well.

October and New England Adventures

October 31, 2025October 31, 2025 Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

October is one of my favorite months. It is never long enough, in my opinion, despite having thirty-one days. Happy Halloween, by the way 🎃! My birthday is in October and I officially turned the corner onto 34th Street this year. Maybe this will be a year for miracles. If so, I wonder what.

I have always loved the color and the crispiness we get here in the northeast during October, the briskness that’s not quite cold, the crunchy leaves underfoot, the spooky decorations haunting lawns and peering out of windows, and the general sense of festivity in the air. The holidays are upon us once more and soon it will be cold for real. October is for adjusting to the change in temperature, for settling in, for balancing the remaining sunny, warm afternoons with the early, chilly nights. October is nesting season. Usually, at least.

This October, we spent many of our weekends traveling up to New England. From Massachusetts to Rhode Island to Maine to New Hampshire, we earned new landmarks on the Merritt Parkway, 84, and 495. We learned what routes we preferred and which we didn’t between the options accessible by the GW Bridge and the new Tappan Zee and bypassed towns we planned to visit, but have still never really seen (cough– Hartford), in the spirit of making a greater dent in our journey onwards or home.

MOBA

Back in the summer of 2022, while on a trip in Quebec City, we saw promotional banners for a visiting exhibition of something called “MOBA”. MOBA, we learned, is an acronym that stands for The Museum of Bad Art. I remember sitting in the lobby of L’Observatoire de la Capitale scrolling MOBA’s Facebook page and trying to contain my snickering as we waited out a rainstorm. We looked up where the museum was and learned it was housed inside Dorchester Brewing Company in Dorchester, MA. We did not make it to the traveling exhibition in Quebec on that trip, but regretted it and planned to pay a visit to Massachusetts in the future to peruse the collection.

Fast forward to earlier this October when we pulled into the parking lot of Dorchester Brewing Co. It looked like your standard brewery tasting room from the outside, with the added bonus of upstairs, outdoor seating where patrons were enjoying some sunshine and brews. I still did not know exactly what to expect once we got inside. How prominently would the bad art be displayed? Had this pilgrimage to the industrial outskirts of Boston been worth the journey and the years spent building the place and the concept of its hilarity up in our minds?

In a word? Yes.

We ordered a beer flight from the bar once we got inside. As we waited for our beers, I could already see some masterpieces peeking out from the walls and the stairwell beyond. I was excited to read the little descriptions beside each piece, detailing how they were acquired by the museum.

Before perusing the collection, we enjoyed our drinks en plein air in the brewery’s outdoor tasting area, with a view of Boston. The bartenders came around and let us know that the area would soon be closing for a private event, so we made our way inside and got to spectating. We started in the stairwell and studied pieces such as Playing With Mommy’s Shoes, Fat Cat, and George and Jackie.

Downstairs, we delved deeper into the hallowed halls of Dorchester Brewing Co.’s priceless collection. Sure, you may have studied Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. You may have even marveled at Michelangelo’s famed Sistine Chapel ceiling in person; I certainly have. But I ask you, have you really lived if you have not come face to face with the frazzled muse forever captured in the mesmerizing Night in Crestwood? I think not, my friends. I think not.

We savored the weird and the over-valued on display, exactly the right clientele for this sort of establishment. We laughed at captions such as that for Baby Aladdin which stated that the piece was donated to the collection by someone who had found it in her apartment closet and for A Bird in the Hand which was purchased at a thrift store for $3, though the price on the back of the piece said $700 . In many ways, I enjoyed this museum a lot more than other museums I have visited. There’s a place and an audience for everything, I suppose. We were the audience for this place.

Casco Bay

If someone had told me last Saturday morning that I would eat my first oysters raw, fresh from an oyster farm in the Casco Bay and drive a boat for the first time on the same day– that day, in fact, I would not have believed them. While I usually like new things that I try, I err on the side of hesitancy in trying them. Still, I have some caged brevity that gets me to say a questioning “Yes?” to things that the rest of my brain is like, I don’t know; are you sure? In the words of Mike Birbiglia, “Why would I slide down the slide when I can walk down the steps?”

Our good friend, Stephen, is an avid boater who pursues adventure and fun better than many people we know. When he invited us to come out on his boat for a day exploring out on the water in the Casco Bay while we were all in town for a friend’s wedding last weekend, Mike and I were an enthusiastic we’re in! Stephen and his fiancée, Erika, picked up some lunch for us on the way and we all set out on a journey that would lead me to experience some new first-evers.

We clamped onto Stephen’s oyster farm in the Casco Bay and ate our lunch surrounded by the sparkling water and the multi-colored trees on the shores all around. The sky was a little overcast and the breeze carried on it a chill that nipped at our cheeks and noses. After lunch, Stephen proposed an unconventional dessert option.

“Anybody want to try an oyster?”

“No; that’s ok,” I said.

I don’t know about anybody else, but when I hear myself saying no to trying something new, it sparks an internal conflict spurred by something like disappointment. Live, says the little voice in my head.

“Actually,” I said, “I changed my mind!”

Stephen hauled an oyster basket from the bay into the back of the boat. As a rule, I don’t eat raw seafood, but this seemed like a right place, right time sort of situation and Stephen has the kind of enthusiasm for his hobbies and business endeavors that is a bit contagious. Stephen selected oysters from the basket for each of us to try and shucked them with a knife on the boat, right there in front of us. Mike explained how to eat oysters to me as I waited for everyone to have a shucked oyster in hand. We toasted with our shells and tossed back the muscles. Chewing on an oyster muscle was a completely new sensation for me. It was different than I expected it would be, never having tried one before, not slimy or gristly like I expected, but rather salty and smooth.

“What did you think?” said the others.

“It’s not what I thought it would be like,” I said, “I think I like it.”

“Want another one?” said Stephen.

“Ok!”

A while later, after exploring the bay with our enthusiastic, local guides, Stephen asked if I wanted to drive us home.

“Captain Beth?” he said.

“That’s ok,” I said.

“It’s really hard to crash the boat,” said Erika.

Oh c’mon, said the voice, Live.

“Ok. I’ll try it.”

I got behind the wheel and played Erika’s words over in my head as Stephen showed me how to bring the boat to a plane. Eep! Too fast! It took a little while to feel more comfortable with the throttle and soon I was steering somewhat comfortably as Stephen navigated the depth-finder, pointing out the reds and the greens to look out for in the distance.

Migis Lodge

I never went to sleepaway camp as a kid, but I had the pleasure of “going away to camp” this past weekend while we were up in Maine for our friends’ wedding. My own experience of camp up until last weekend was day camp. I went to day camps as a kid. I worked at a day camp right out of high school. I even met Mike while we were both summer camp counselors. In this particular way, in my own experience, camp and romance go together. So, really, what better venue for a wedding?

Migis Lodge is a beautiful camp-style event venue and hotel situated on the northeast shore of Sebago Lake in South Casco, ME. Our friends designated a few of the guests to be camp counselors and had them styled à la Michael Ian Black in Wet Hot American Summer to greet and announce the arrival of the “campers” to the property as we all waited for our cabins to be ready. We noshed on some lunch of sandwiches and cold salads while our hilariously dressed friend, Kay, abused the power of her little megaphone just the right amount.

Though Migis Lodge is definitely more of a camp for adults, it still tickled my sense of nostalgia spurred by movies I grew up with like The Parent Trap, Heavyweights, and Troop Beverley Hills. I was finally at sleepaway camp with my friends and our friends were getting married! Yay! The weather was only residually damp and a little chilly, but altogether pretty nice and we were in a really beautiful place. What more could you want out of a weekend? The seven plus hour drive from New Jersey was beyond worth it for this destination, wedding aside.

We’re back home in New Jersey for this beautiful Halloween, the calm after a surprisingly impactful storm yesterday that brought flooding, downed trees, power outages, and all-around traffic mayhem to our area. Today, there’s peace, a turquoise Atlantic, and a cerulean river. The sun is shining and there are clouds in the sky that would be worthy of adorning Andy’s bedroom walls in Toy Story. A speedboat planes on the waves, parallel to the shore, trailing a white tail in its wake and I am typing the last few words of this post with a fresh cup of tea in my very near future.

This October’s been one for the books and I’m looking forward to our next far-reaching adventure in November. In the meantime, I wish you all a happy Halloween! Have fun, be safe, and live well. Thanks for reading!

Cozy Posts

Stormy October Morning

October 13, 2025 Beth DeFries1 Comment

Hello, dear readers, dear friends. It’s been a little while since I’ve written here and I thought I’d draft a snippet of a picture for you all of a cozy, little morning on this stormy, October day. I invite you to bundle up in a big, comfy sweatshirt or a warm sweater and imagine yourselves drinking something rising with swirls of steam that warm your cheeks, the ceramic of your mug pleasantly hot against your palms and fingers as you join me on the big, blue couch. Help yourself to a squashy pillow for your back or a warm throw for your lap. Kick off those shoes, put your feet up, and get yourselves nice and comfy.

The wind howls outside and the waves of the Atlantic are churned, abundant with choppy white. The branches of the trees dance, the fragile leaves rustle, and the seagrass bows with the occasional strong gust. The bones of our home creak with each brace against the elements, sheltering us well from the storm as we look on from our perch, set high in the hill.

Inside, the lamps are glowing, casting little pools of gold in the corners of the room. The curtains are open to take in the view of the gray, blustery day outside- a Nor’Easter, in fact, a storm not bad enough to have a name, but a storm no less.

I taste the faint hint of orange peel in my tea and savor the lingering warmth from a hearty breakfast of steel cut oats with peanut butter and maple syrup. Soon it’ll be time to reheat the kettle. Would you care for a cup? Tea, hot cocoa, coffee perhaps? How do you take it? Milk? Sugar? Cinnamon?

Today calls for reading, don’t you think, something inviting and adventurous. I’ll pick a book or maybe two from the wooden shelf stocked with favorite reads, family photos, handmade pumpkins, and the little, wooden chess board that my dad made. Where shall we venture today, friends? I’m favoring a visit to the Burrow, myself, I think. I slide Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets off the shelf and flip to page 32 for a healthy little dose of cozy.

I’m a skip ahead-er when it comes to my favorites, finding the scenes that evoke a sense of comfort for me. Any other skip ahead-ers here with me on the big blue couch this morning? What are you reading today? Where are you off to in the imaginary world? Who are you off to see? To meet?

The rain drip, drip, drips from the door overhang outside and the neighbor’s coffee pot bubbles next door. I still miss the sound in my own kitchen some days.

I imagine the deer, who often visit, sheltered from the wind this morning, huddled and warm somewhere beneath a colorful arbor of branches, enjoying a breakfast feast of lingering greenery and late blooming flowers, undisturbed by people.

I’m headed to the Shire next to savor some peaceful nature, myself. It feels like a good time to pay another visit to a merry band of sweet, brave hobbits I’m acquainted with as they embark on an adventure that I’m absolutely certain will be bigger than four little hobbits could ever possibly anticipate, while somehow being just the right size, all the same.

You are welcome to linger as long as you like. Don’t mind me. I’ll just be nestled over here in the crook of the long, cozy seat of the big, blue couch with some squashy pillows for company, wandering another world for little whiles at a time.

Health & Lifestyle · Healthy Habits · Mental Health

The Photo that Sparked my 50lb Weight Loss Journey

September 17, 2025September 17, 2025 Beth DeFries3 Comments

While looking through the photos stored on my phone the other day, I came across the picture that sparked my weight loss journey back in June of 2024. I spent a few minutes looking at the person on my screen, the girl frozen in time in front of Buckingham Fountain in Chicago’s Grant Park on a sunny day in June. She didn’t know it then, but her life was about to change.

In the days after we got home from Chicago, that picture in front of Buckingham Fountain was like a magnet for my attention. After a youth and much of my adulthood spent comparing my own size to that of others, I had at least learned the toxicity in that practice, but what about comparing myself to myself? The girl in the picture was a size I had never before associated with me. Still, I took the image at its face value. That’s what I look like now, I thought, that’s me.

Oddly enough, as someone who struggled constantly with weight and body image, I didn’t dislike the picture. The fountain was beautiful and I was happy to have documented my being there and to reflect on my memories of our trip to Chicago. Now, was I over the moon about how I looked in the picture? I was not, my friends, but what’s the use in worrying too much over something you can’t change, right? Hmm…

I don’t know at what point after that the mysterious magic began to sparkle in my brain, but begin it did.

How do skinny people do it?

Why am I always hungry?

Am I actually always hungry?

These were the new questions in my head that day in June that sparked the experiment that has led to my fifty pound weight loss and many successful, comfortable months of maintenance.

I was convinced before starting this journey that there was something different about my brain that prevented me from being able to lose weight and to maintain weight loss. I had tried Weight Watchers multiple times in the past with success while on the program, only to have no idea what I was doing when it came to understanding healthy eating, portion sizes, hydration, and proper nutrition balance as soon as I stopped paying for the subscription. That’s how they getcha, I guess. I even wondered if I had a food addiction that resulted in me eating too much at every meal, causing me to experience discomfort and even physical pain for a majority of the days of each week. I was afraid I couldn’t change. I was afraid any changes I made wouldn’t last long. I was afraid. Period.

From where I am now, reflecting on my start in all this, I recognize the damage that inflating your fears can have on starting out on a weight loss journey or any monumental task, for that matter. If you’re too afraid to start, you won’t start. If you’re dismissive of your own ability to learn, you won’t learn. I pretended my fears were facts at the time. I blamed my brain for always “making me feel hungry”, not taking the time to figure out why that was. I decided that day, looking at that picture, that I didn’t care if it would be hard or uncomfortable. In fact, I knew it would be. I just wanted to understand the answers to my questions and I wanted to be able to get to the bottom of them myself.

Getting started was uncomfortable and confusing; I won’t sugar coat it. It was anything but easy. Still, the discomfort and the sensation of being out of my depth when it came to understanding my hunger cues and adjusting my eating habits was well worth the learning process. If understanding your own body’s nutritional needs is something you strive for and have struggled with, I urge you not to let your fear of failure and discomfort stop you from starting on your own journey, even if you have started it many times before.

In the first few days, as I was just getting started, I really focused on trying to listen to my body, whatever that means, I told myself. I ate meals without distraction of my phone or the television. I searched the internet to learn more about how hunger pangs can manifest. I learned that thirst can present similarly to hunger pangs and found that to be a revelation in and of itself. I learned that my hunger pangs don’t usually present with a growling stomach as some people’s do, but rather with irritability, a headache, fatigue, or some combination of those.

Those first few days of the process, I worried that in order to keep up my new healthy habits long term, I would have to feel uncomfortable and hungry for forever. As the week wore on, however, the discomfort subsided gradually and the constant food noise quieted down to the point where I could ignore it by finding my dopamine hits in writing, watching a YouTube Video, reading a book, or having a glass of water, seltzer, or some tea.

After a couple of weeks, I was surprised at how little food my body actually needed to function comfortably versus the enormous amounts I had been consuming prior to getting started. I wondered if I was eating too little even, at one point, but reminded myself that I would be able to tell that by listening to my body and my brain- by paying attention to my food as I ate- the texture of it, the taste, the smell, the colors, by recognizing when I had satisfied my hunger pangs to the point where I could get through the next three to four hours comfortably. Through trial and error, I learned the magic of portion control, Goldilocksing my way to the sweet spot for my own satiety.

I took comfort in the fact that I didn’t have to count calories or track what I was consuming. I just used smaller plates and bowls that I already had that made it easier to eyeball portions that were the right size for me. I weighed myself on Thursday mornings every other week. It felt different from dieting I had done in the past, in that I was still eating pretty much all the foods that I regularly enjoyed. In the first month, I did my best to pay attention to which of those foods did a good job of satiating my hunger and which ones did not, which ones induced cravings that weren’t real hunger, and which ones actually made me hungrier, surprisingly enough. Cereal and chicken nuggets had to go for a while there, though I can eat them mindfully now.

After the first few days, my new eating habits started to feel more normal and natural. After a few weeks, I was noticing the first of many “non-scale victories”. I relished the fact that some of my common ailments such as heartburn, bloating, and stomachaches hadn’t plagued me since before starting my experiment. I opened my handbag and removed the little bottle of Tums that lived there because all it had been doing for weeks at that point was taking up space.

Was it really this simple this whole time, I thought? If so, why was it so hard to wrap my head around before?

It’s funny how simple some of the hardest things can be, how the littlest changes, when made consistently, can lead to huge differences. Now, don’t get me wrong. When I say “simple”, I don’t mean easy. For many, I have come to learn, learning proper nutrition habits, learning how to identify your true hunger cues, and understanding when you are what people call “full” can be like reading an instruction manual in a language you only understand a few words of.

Let’s talk about that word full for a minute. It is my strong opinion that this word is dangerously ambiguous. For example, my personal interpretation and understanding of the word full before beginning my weight loss journey was identical to the sensation of feeling overstuffed. I have since reframed this thinking to interpret that what, let’s call “naturally thin” people really mean when they say they feel full is that they simply recognize they are no longer hungry; their body has consumed the nutrients and energy it needs to get through the next three to four to however-many hours until their next meal. This was a monumental “light bulb” realization for me and has been really helpful in checking in with myself during both my weight loss and my maintenance stages, to the point where I have only reached that uncomfortable “overstuffed” sensation a handful of times in the past year.

For many months during my weight loss journey, I sought out motivation via a Reddit thread called “r/loseit”. A lot of posters in the thread were working on their goals to reach a healthy weight, to improve their mobility, and / or to reverse the negative health effects that can often accompany obesity. Some posters in the thread had goals of losing 100+ pounds. Some posters had already lost impressive amounts of weight and were successful long term in their maintenance. I found their posts so inspiring that I would pop into the thread and read the new posts daily and it would give me that little extra umph when I needed it from time to time.

In some of my daily visits to the r/loseit thread, I read stories of people who were raised to have a “clean plate mentality”, some posters even having been made to remain at the dinner table for hours as children, until they consumed every scrap of food on their plate, even if they were overstuffed, “Because there are starving children in Africa.” Does this sound familiar to anyone? Are you walking to the fridge right now? Are you opening your snack drawer? Was that a bag of chips I heard? Maybe just stop for a second and have a drink of water instead and know you have a friend in your corner on the other end of this post who wants you to know that you are a miracle. You are good enough. You are loved. Food is meant to nourish your body. It is not meant to be an emotional coping mechanism.

Stories such as the one mentioned above made me realize how much of an influence your learned eating habits from childhood can affect your relationship with food as an adult, not to mention your relationship between your eating habits and your emotions. If “cleaning your plate” prevented punishment as a child, I imagine it can be really hard to reshape your eating habits as an adult. I, thankfully, was not raised with negativity around food like that. Reading through the loseit thread, however, I learned that some people are fighting these really negative emotions and memories as they try to navigate nutrition and reduced portions. Sometimes feelings of sadness, boredom, loneliness, and inadequacy can signal as hunger which can be really confusing if you don’t have a handle on your true physical hunger cues. Despite this, those weight loss champions of Reddit are still losing. They can do it. They are doing it and that’s badass as hell. 🏆

While physical conditions, illness, medication and age can all play roles in how difficult approaching weight loss can be, I am convinced that a lot of what leads to obesity is not these limitations, but rather the lack of understanding when it comes to the basics of nutrition and understanding your physical hunger cues versus your emotional hunger cues. For instance, in my Reddit visits, I learned that it is news to many finding out that drinks such as soda have calories. This always seemed like common sense to me, but I have learned that very few things actually fall under the realm of common sense. So much of our habits are learned. Parents have the job of passing on their habits to the next generation. It’s helpful when those habits are healthy, but unfortunately, that’s not always the case. Sometimes you have to ask yourself the tough questions. You have to pay attention. You have to learn, yourself, and guess what? You can do it.

*If this post resonates with just one person, it will be worth me sharing a picture that I was very hesitant to share here. So much has changed since Chicago, but that really is where this all began and I am so grateful for the whole learning experience for which this picture was the catalyst. Thank you for reading this post and for reading all of my posts that served as little dopamine hits throughout this life-changing ride. You are so appreciated.

Poetry · Travel

Long Island Adventure

September 8, 2025September 9, 2025 Beth DeFries2 Comments

As I made my way up the Cross Island Parkway to 495, I truly wondered if mine were the only Jersey plates on the road. Long Island, so close and yet so far from New Jersey, is somewhere few New Jerseyans I know will venture due to its very accurate reputation for traffic. Armed with a plan to reunite with my high school friends at our friend’s home in Hauppauge later in the day, I made sure to leave nice and early to avoid said reputation.

I have been to Long Island a handful of times before, but rarely make the journey to that part of New York. For this trip, I felt determined to find someplace new-to-me to discover in the time before I was set to meet my friends. In the days leading up to my trip, I explored the Island with the help of my most trusty trip-planning tool, Google Maps, and narrowed down my sights to two places I’d never previously heard of, Cold Spring Harbor and Huntington.

Cold Spring Harbor, NY

First on the agenda for my Long Island adventure was a hike. As I neared the parking area for Cold Spring Harbor State Park, I worried that I might not get a space. I’d seen signs for a Fishing Derby for that same day and wondered how popular such an event was out on the island. Luckily, my Fishing Derby worries did not materialize and I pulled into a space, the only one I could see amongst the throngs of cars in the lot (Phew! That was close!), and changed into my hiking boots.

Looking at the trail map and having the idea in my head that Long Island has pretty flat terrain, I made the mistake of assuming that this out and back trail might be a leisurely trek through the trees. When I eyed the first set of stairs at the very start of the trail, however, I readjusted my preconceived notions and prepared to sweat a bit.

The trail was well marked and clearly popular on a beautiful Saturday morning. Early into the trek, I passed a sign directing hikers toward restroom facilities located at the back of the Cold Spring Harbor Library, just a short offshoot from the main trail. The facilities are only open during regular library hours, so be sure to look that up before setting out on a hike, if that’s something you have concerns about.

With happy boots in the dirt, I climbed the stairways through the trees- up, down, and up again. I passed many hikers carrying trekking poles on their way back towards the parking lot and understood how poles could come in handy on this moderately challenging trail, due to the varying elevation.

After my hike, which took me just over an hour, I drove into town and headed to the next stop on my itinerary for the day- Sweetie Pie’s on Main. This cozy little bakery and coffee shop did not disappoint except for the fact that it made me want coffee pretty badly, which I don’t drink anymore. I got myself an iced chai with almond milk instead and forgot about my coffee craving pretty quickly though.

Sweetie Pie’s had a pleasant, quiet outdoor seating area around the back of the building. I enjoyed my chai for a bit in the serenity of the garden area before hitting the sidewalk again, to catch a better view of the harbor.

I enjoyed the little historical nods throughout the town. The buildings alone were quaint, characterful, and colorful. I passed by a restaurant that had enticing seafood aromas escaping from its kitchen that had me glancing at the sign to check the name, Sandbar, and continued on my way.

Leading up to the harbor was a pretty, grassy park with a moving tribute to the victims of the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center. Just behind the tribute sculpture were three Callery pear trees, seedlings from the original “Survivor Tree” found in the rubble at Ground Zero.

The view of the harbor from the park was peaceful and picturesque. So far, I was pleased with my Long Island adventure and I was excited to see what my next stop had to offer.

Huntington, NY

An adventure of mine rarely feels complete without a visit to a bookstore. I parked right out front of The Next Chapter in Huntington and smiled up at the classic fairytale font of the letters on the shop’s sign. Looking in the window, I knew this place would make my heart happy.

Inside, The Next Chapter was densely packed with fully stocked bookshelves, organized well with signs hanging from the ceiling that identified each section of the store. I made my way to the Staff Picks shelf and read the descriptions of a few books on display there before winding my way towards the Poetry section. I was searching for Whitman because of his ties to the area; he was born about five miles from Huntington, I learned in my research. Whitman eluded me, however, and Frost called to me instead, Frost being the first poet whose work really inspired me to practice the artform way back when.

I scoped out the children’s section next, in search of a few fun selections for a book-obsessed kiddo I know with an upcoming birthday and the offerings on the shelves did me just fine in my search.

The Next Chapter offers live music on certain Friday and Saturday nights and is also available to rent for events, by inquiry. I was intrigued by the shop’s local and independent author program and was happy to see titles by these authors featured in a designated section of the store. Very cool.

My daytrip plan led me back up New York Avenue to Six Harbors Brewing Company next. I perused the colorful menu of brews on offer and opted for a lighter option, the Founder’s Day Pilsner since I was going to be hitting the road again soon. I enjoyed my pilsner seated at a barrel inside the spacious tasting room. The brewery had a comfortable, rustic atmosphere to it that felt very cozy and welcoming, even as a solo visitor.

After the brewery, I took a walk up to Main Street in pursuit of a good slice of pizza. Main Street Huntington had such a fun, walkable, downtown USA feel to it that had me storing it in the archives of my brain to remember and return to someday. The street was a mix of independent shops and restaurants and some more well-known chains, and was packed with a plethora of dining and shopping options and convenience businesses to satisfy locals and travelers, alike. The downtown area also had a pretty park, a performance venue called The Paramount, and an AMC movie theater, all within walking distance. I’ll be back with Mike one day, for sure.

Walt Whitman’s Birthplace

Though already late to meet my friends, I just had to fit this stop in on my Long Island adventure. I drove about fifteen minutes south of Huntington to South Huntington to set my eyes on the humble home where the “Father of Free Verse” first opened his eyes on the world that would one day become his inspiration, his poem.

This was not a popular activity, apparently, and I was one of only two cars in the lot when I pulled in. The house was concealed behind a high, wooden fence, separated from public access by a pleasant looking visitor’s center. Entering the visitor’s center, I was greeted by two guides who told me that in order to explore the grounds, I would need to take a tour. I paid the entrance fee of $10.00, and explained with regret that I didn’t have time for the full tour. One of the guides led me outside to the grounds and provided a brief overview of the house’s history. Whitman only lived there until he was four years old. Still, I had chills knowing that this humble building, these pretty surroundings must be where the artist stored his first memories of the America that inspired him so well.

A short distance from the house were a statue of Whitman and a circle of benches called The Poet’s Circle, dedicated to the museum’s poets in residence. I could see how this place would be inspirational to poets and, if I’d had more time, I would have liked to sit there in quiet reflection and draft a few new verses of my own.

I explored the little museum in the visitor’s center and was interested to learn that the first edition of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, published in 1855, did not feature the poet’s name on the cover or the spine. Instead, the green, leather cover showed only the title in gilded lettering with golden leaves sprouting from the letters. The cover page also did not indicate the author’s name and instead offered the reader only a rendering of the poet, a young, bearded man in workman’s clothes, his hat tilted, his pose relaxed. According to the information on display in the museum, Whitman set the type himself for the first edition and less than 800 copies of the book were printed.

I purchased my own copy of Leaves of Grass containing the original twelve poems in their original form from the gift shop onsite. With my souvenir in hand, I headed back to the car to continue on the final leg of my journey, late as I was.

An Overdue Reunion

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’m not the best at keeping in touch. Sometimes, years go by where I don’t exchange a word with some friends from high school. Despite this, it always amazes me how when that reunion finally comes, amid those hours spent in the company of people around whom I can be my true, quirky, silly self, the time lost is erased, filled with the updates and the news, the laughter and the inside jokes, the long dormant personalities of friends who came together at sixteen and before. The bond is strengthened once more, prepared to withstand the next pause, however long and we are left with our pride in each other, our mutual sense of inadequacy, our truths, and our hope that it won’t be so long till the next time.

Long Island, you impressed me. Thank you for the fulfilling hours and adventures for this solo traveler. And thank you for the light traffic early in the morning and late at night, despite my white-knuckle driving on the Belt Parkway in the rain.

Until next time.

Travel

Montreal Travel Journal

August 28, 2025September 14, 2025 Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Bonjour / hello, friends! We returned from a long weekend trip to Montreal on Monday and I’ve really got to hand it to Canada again; the country’s just been a wonderful place to visit every time we’ve gone. We have enjoyed every trip up to our neighbor to the north and will definitely be heading back sometime soon for another little adventure that we’ve got planned.

Our drive from New Jersey to Montreal took just under seven hours, not counting a stop to refill on gas and eat some dinner that we brought along from home (Anybody else find PB&J sandwiches to be a great road trip treat?).

As we approached Samuel De Champlain bridge, the blue glow from the bridge’s up-lighting guided us across the St. Lawrence River and into the sparkling city. We navigated some road work to reach our Airbnb which was situated in a duplex on the edge of downtown, nestled in between Chinatown and Old Montreal. Our travel companions for this trip, Mike’s brother and sister, had arrived a few hours before us and so we called them and asked them to open the front door as we unloaded our stuff from the car. Somehow, though we know how to travel light for flights, car travel is a different story. We (I) have a tendency to look like we’re (I’m) moving. I know I’m not alone in this practice, so I feel no shame in it.

After moving in, we went off in search of parking as our Airbnb only came with one included parking space, which I told Mike’s sister to take. While researching for our trip, I did a Reddit deep dive on parking safety in Montreal and was surprised to find that car theft seems to be a significant cause for concern in certain sections of the city. Per the Reddit angels’ advice, we opted to park in an Indigo underground parking garage a few blocks away from our Airbnb, where we wouldn’t have to move or worry about our car. It came at a steeper price tag than I had hoped, $38 CAD/day, but peace of mind is worth a lot to me, especially while travelling. Besides, that price is actually much cheaper than what you’d pay for surveilled parking in New York.

We climbed the widely-spaced wooden steps up to the front door of the apartment and I imagined what doing so would be like in the snow and ice, thinking it could only be treacherous. Inside, the Airbnb was bright, clean, and inviting. We got settled in and went to sleep, tired from the long drive and eager to be ready for an early start the next morning.

Day 1: Mile End & Mount Royal Park

My plan for our first full day in Montreal was to sample Montreal’s staple culinary offerings: bagels, smoked meat sandwiches, and poutine. The rest of the group got on board with this plan and we headed off toward the Mile End neighborhood to get started.

The walk to Mile End from the Chinatown area was long, but it was fun to get a better feel for the city by taking it slow. There’s no better way to do that in my opinion than by walking. Our walk to Mile End took us past Chinatown and through Le Plateau-Mont-Royal. We strolled St. Laurent Boulevard, taking in what I thought of as “urban cozy”. St. Laurent Boulevard was reminiscent of South 2nd Street in Philly and Ventura Boulevard in Los Angeles for me. I am always fascinated to find a sense of familiarity in a place that is entirely new to me.

Montreal’s artistic identity shone through in large, colorful murals that adorned the sides of buildings along our route. The art had life to it, a funk and swagger that would have fit right in in Asheville, NC. I’m smiling thinking about it. Montreal had an undeniable personality, like any city worth its salt does.

According to this Youtube video that I watched in my research for this trip, “When it comes to bagels in Montreal, there’s actually two institutions. There’s not three. There’s not one. There’s two… There’s Fairmount Street with Fairmount Bagel and there’s St. Viateur Street with St. Viateur Bagel. Which one is better? That’s a pretty heated debate.”

Having lived in Brooklyn, I am no stranger to good bagels. New York bagels are boiled and baked, similar to Montreal-style bagels, but New York bagels are larger-than-life bread monstrosities, whereas Montreal bagels are not. In my opinion, a good New York bagel is approximately the size of your face with a bad bee sting reaction and has a slightly crispy outer crust with a fluffy, doughy inside that has a little stretch to it when eaten fresh out of the oven. New York bagels lean neither sweet nor savory. Montreal bagels are different. I will not partake in the debate of whether New York or Montreal bagels are better, because for me, they are too different to compare in that regard and both hold their own ground, so to speak, in their own ways.

Montreal bagels are smaller, more manageable sized bread rings than the New York variety. They are boiled and baked, not in just any old oven, but in a wood oven. The traditional style comes coated with sesame seeds, which adds both texture and flavor to the finished product. To my palate, Montreal bagels are slightly sweeter than New York bagels. They still have that crispy outer crust which acts as a great partner to the doughy inside without being overwhelmed by it.

We tried Fairmount Bagel and then St. Viateur bagel. I had read that Fairmount Bagel’s bagels were on the more dense side and I was expecting to prefer St. Viateur’s bagels. I was surprised to find that I actually preferred the Fairmount bagel, noting a slightly more pronounced sweetness in them than in the St. Viateur bagel. Don’t get me wrong, both were delicious and worth trying. If you find yourself in Montreal, get both and be sure to bring some cash along with you for these two cash-only establishments.

In want of somewhere to sit down after our long walk to Mile-End, we strolled through a residential neighborhood that reminded me of a mixture of South Williamsburg in Brooklyn and Savannah, GA, towards Parc Outremont. The park was a pretty oasis tucked into the sprawl of the city and had public restrooms and a plethora of benches overlooking a serene pond. We spent a good little chunk of time there, resting our legs and feet to prepare ourselves for even more walking for the next step in our day’s adventure.

We picked up some light picnic fare on our way over to Mount Royal Park and began the climb up to the Mount Royal Chalet and Kondiaronk Belvedere, which promised excellent views of the city. We wound through the pretty woods of the Olmsted Trail on our way to the “Grand Staircase”. In French, “grand” means big and trust me, this staircase was “grand” indeed. We climbed and climbed and climbed and reached the top of the stairs and climbed some more until Olmsted Trail led us out onto the terrace of the Chalet.

We enjoyed our little picnic in the shelter of the Chalet. Inside, the Chalet had a rustic, lodge feel to it, with many heaters bordering the walls and a large fireplace in the center of the back wall. I imagine it would be a very cozy respite from the cold for outdoor enthusiasts and visitors in winter. The Chalet also has convenience amenities like a café and public restrooms and water fountains, located downstairs. After our little picnic, we headed out onto the terrace to check out the view.

Whenever we visit somewhere, I like to look up places to take in the view of the city. For Montreal, the Chalet at Mount Royal was said to be one of the best viewing opportunities and I can see why now. Obstructed only by a few high-reaching branches and other spectators, the view of the city is excellent and expansive.

View acquired and tired as hell, we made our way back down the grand staircase and through Le Plateau-Mont-Royal and downtown, deciding to delay the next two stops on our barely-begun food tour until dinner. We passed by Schwartz’s Deli along the way and even got in line, thinking we might order a smoked meat sandwich to go, but we abandoned that idea pretty quickly after assessing the length of the line, ready to be off our feet.

Later in the evening, we ordered a Schwartz’s smoked meat combo that came with rye bread, pickles, and slaw to make our own smoked meat sandwiches and had it delivered to our Airbnb, along with some poutine from Frite Alors! The smoked meat from Schwartz’s reminded me of the “mile-high” pastrami sandwiches from Katz’s Delicatessen in New York. The meat had a salty tang and peppery crust and just melted in your mouth with each bite. So good! From Frite Alors! we ordered a regular poutine as well as “La Tunisienne” which had lamb merguez and onions in addition to the regular fries, cheese curds, and gravy. Both were excellent. With full bellies, our self-guided Montreal food tour for the day was complete.

Day 2: Old Montreal

Okay; I’m ready to go back to Old Montreal already! Old Montreal was like a smaller version of Old Quebec, in my opinion. The charming stone facades of the old buildings, some dating as far back as the 17th century, were dotted with storefronts, shop windows, and restaurants that curated a very inviting atmosphere for tourists like us. While it’s probably not the place to go to get the most local experience, we were not locals, and we shamelessly enjoyed the experience of strolling Rue Saint-Paul.

After perusing the cozy street’s offerings and visiting the plaza outside Notre-Dame Basilica, we were ready for some brunch. We opted to go to Maggie Oakes and sat outside, taking in the lively ambiance and live music of Place Jacques Cartier. I ordered a traditional breakfast platter of scrambled eggs, ham, potatoes, and toast and a Boréale Blonde to go with it. The food was delicious and the beer took me back to memories of sitting at the bar at Q-de-Sac Resto de quartier in Old Quebec.

We headed back to our Airbnb, stopping to admire the impressive City Hall building on our way. After a nice, generous break to play some boardgames and take advantage of some much needed down-time after the previous day’s walking extravaganza, we headed back out for dinner at Jacopo, off of Place Jacques Cartier.

Inside, the restaurant was cozy and dark with exposed stonework and low lighting. The Italian menu had something to please everyone in our group and even made for some tough decisions when it came to deciding what to order. I opted for the Ragù a l’Agnello which was a dish with fresh pappardelle, braised lamb, and a flavorful tomato based butter sauce. Anybody else hungry?

After dinner, we brought our leftovers to the Airbnb and headed right back out to see Rue Saint Paul at night and seek out some dessert. A street performer danced to Volare in Place Jacques Cartier as we made our way down the gentle incline, beckoned by the glow of the lanterns affixed to the stone walls of the buildings flanking the street.

We walked past the shops and around the corner to Café Olimpico where we bought a Nutella horn, pistachio chocolat, and some pistachio gelato to share and devoured them immediately in the street, to our tastebuds’ content. We strolled a little more along the glowing Rue Saint Paul and past a statue of three gossipers tucked away in a corner, before heading back to our Airbnb to call it a night.

While we didn’t get to wandering around McGill University’s picturesque campus or the Olympic Stadium on this trip, I think we did just enough to get a taste of the city without trying to pack too much in to our short visit there. I imagine we’ll be back someday and can work around those unseen things then, but in the meantime, the travel bug in me is satisfied.

On our way home, I pumped gas for the very first time (New Jersey is currently the only US state where it is illegal for drivers to pump their own gas) and we stopped in Saratoga Springs, NY for some lunch and a brew at Druthers Brewing before perusing my favorite bookstore, Northshire Books, to stock up on some cards for upcoming birthdays and weddings. With our little Saratoga excursion and my new skill acquired, our trip felt complete, and we continued on home with fresh memories of Montreal in our heads and future travel plans and new experiences on the horizon, awaiting us.

Books · Cozy Posts · Travel

Monday Observations

August 18, 2025August 18, 2025 Beth DeFries4 Comments

I’ve been waiting for a cool, gray day where the seagrass sways and the rose of Sharon bows in the damp and the breeze. The curtains billow at the open windows, faithful spectrals awaiting loves long lost at sea. Come back to me, they whisper, unanswered. I don’t have the heart to tell them.

The ocean’s an unraveled bolt of fabric, pre-hemmed with white and ready to cut, too unwieldy for the machine, too expansive for the hand, destined to sit on the shelf, admired and fading, to inspire projects too elaborate for fruition, aspirations never addressed, dreams destined to remain unrealized.

A freighter snails its way along the horizon line, containers catching the view from the highest stack. “Bon voyage, mes amis!” je dis, “Et merci pour votre service!” I’ve been practicing my French again. Montreal’s this week et je suis un peu rouillée, j’ai peur.

I write at the window, sipping Earl Grey without caffeine, feeling the lack of coffee today, but that’s ok. We cut our demons for a reason, right? We feel the lack of them sometimes, but we must carry on. The golden glow of the table lamps helps to fill the void left behind by coffee’s lack. I savor over-steeped bergamot instead, robust and resonant in flavor. I warm my cheeks, my hands in swirls of steam.

I’m feeling the doubt of sharing a long-form fiction project with a handful of friends a couple of weeks ago now, doubt being my greatest talent, or at least sometimes that’s how it feels. I bolster myself. Have courage; it’s there somewhere inside your head, in your heart, in your gut. Be proud of your words, that collage of letters, chapters, characters built in your mind. You love them and they deserve the chance to be read.

It’s Monday and I’m getting excited for the new adventures this week will bring, the sights and smells and tastes and sounds of a place I’ve never set foot in before. This week, I also anticipate finishing reading a series that I’ve been reading for over a year now.

I went to forty-sixth and second in New York. They sell roses at the market on the corner across from Dag Hammarskjöld Plaza. There is no turtle in the fountain, but the fountain is there and I wondered if anyone has reached the tower sitting there in that little urban oasis, tucked away from the fray, somehow in another world. In. Mid. End. Keystone. There’s just one thing left to do. Read. And then I’ll know what it was all for, this journey, this year. And when I’m done, I’ll buy a rose from the market and I’ll leave it on a bench for another adventurer to wonder at. For what is life without wonder? What is life without intrigue and imagination?

Poetry

Unseen

August 6, 2025 Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Today, as I walked, you were with me,

but you weren’t really there,

faces from the past,

old friends,

bonds lessened with time,

with silence.

I wondered what you’d say,

what you’d look like today

in the green, gold light shining through the leaves,

beneath the eaves of the forest.

I like to think I’d recognize you,

but I just couldn’t say.

My thoughts roam free when I walk.

They soar up to the up-most branches,

rooting out roosts where the owls hoot,

nestling in crooks of lightning-darkened bark,

looking down on the path below,

out of body,

out of mind,

close behind

the wandering girl

in her world of green,

unseen.

Travel

July Postcard

July 15, 2025 Beth DeFries2 Comments

Hello friends! 🙂

My most exciting news is that my sister had a baby last week, a cutie little squish nugget that we got to meet a few days ago. Eep! Mom and Dad and baby are all home and doing well, settling in to their new adventure quite nicely. When my mom texted me that my niece was born, all I had done in the same time that my sister brought a tiny, new human into the world was wake up and eat a banana. In that moment I was pretty sure I’d always be the less impressive daughter. And, you know what? I can roll with that. I can roll with that till the cows come home.

The rest of this post is less exciting to me, but maybe you guys prefer to read about our travels, so, here you go!

Earlier this month, we took a trip to the Poconos and stayed in a beautiful hotel called The Swiftwater, situated off rural 611. We were looking for a hotel that was geared more towards adults rather than families, without being one of those Poconos hotels, if you know what I mean. We got what we were going for and the place was really lovely.

At check-in time, we were greeted in the lobby with little cups of complimentary prosecco that we enjoyed as we unpacked and waited for the family hours to finish at the pool at 5:30pm and for the adult only hours to begin. The adult only pool hours was a big bonus point for The Swiftwater and I was pleasantly surprised to see that the end of family hours was actually promptly enforced by the hotel staff.

By the time we got out to the pool area, the pool, pool deck, and firepit seating area were occupied by adults, the only children in sight, peeking wistfully out from their families’ rooms above in the stone and wooden hotel facade and from the outdoor seating area at the white tablecloth onsite restaurant, The Olivet. If you want to give your kids an incredible sense of FOMO and a menu lacking in kid-friendly options, please, by all means, bring them to the Swiftwater.

Not being a child, the only negative that I noticed by the pool was that there were very few fresh towels left stocked in the cubbies for guests when we arrived, so if you plan to visit, it may be wise to bring a towel down from your room.

Our visit to the Poconos was geared by our love of outdoor adventure. We had some kayaking and hiking plans ready to go for the next couple of days as well as some breakfast ideas from our last trip to the area. We paid another visit to The Cure Cafe in Stroudsburg, PA the next morning for a hearty breakfast. I opted for a chai tea latte and avocado toast with scrambled eggs.

After breakfast, we headed off to Chamberlain Canoes in East Stroudsburg to set out on a Delaware River Kayaking trip. The trip down the river was picturesque, relaxing, and a lot of fun. The water in the river was so clear that you could see the green grasses in the riverbed being pulled with the current. I am really looking forward to going back sometime soon.

While our experience with Chamberlain Canoes was not one that left us immediately ready to leave a five-star rating, let’s just say, we decided to chalk it up to the craziness of the July 4th holiday weekend and would give the adventure outlet another try in future.

After our 6-mile kayaking adventure down the Delaware, we stopped in at Shawnee Craft Brewing Co. for some pizza and brews. We shared the meat-lovers pizza and I opted for the Pear Necessities Blonde Ale. The pizza was out of this world and the beer was delicious too. Both were enough to leave us in a pleasant enough mood to not stew about our less than stellar experience with our return shuttle process from the river to the kayaking rental site.

We enjoyed some more time by the pool that evening before heading off to a treat-ourselves dinner at a beautiful restaurant called The Water’s Edge in Mt. Pocono. I had some red wine and Mike got the Smoked Bourbon Old Fashioned which he kindly let me try. It was fragrant, smooth, and very enjoyable. I ordered one for myself later in the evening. As we waited for our meal to arrive, we stole frequent glances at the pretty little pond outside the big windows that lined the back of the restaurant. For dinner, I opted for the Braised Veal Ragout, a white herb butter-based sauce with vegetables, orecchiette pasta, and tender morsels of veal folded in. Mike opted for the Pork Chop which he said did not disappoint.

The next day of our Poconos adventure led us back to Shawnee Craft Brewing Co. for lunch and then to the Mount Tammany Red Dot trailhead. We had hiked Mount Tammany before, in the spring a few years ago, and remembered it being a very strenuous hike with lots of straight up rock scrambling spots, despite the trail’s deceptively short length. We reasoned with ourselves that this time would be easier since we are in better shape now. We were wrong, my friends.

The red dot trail was just as hard as I remembered it being. In hindsight, I probably would not choose to do this hike in the heat of the summer. I would also not recommend filling up on pizza and beer before hitting the trail. Eat something healthy instead and drink lots of water to best prepare yourself. We downed two bottles of water and a big, blue Gatorade on the hike and were wanting for more well before we reached the end of the trail.

Still, the views of the bend in the Delaware and of Mt. Minsi across the gap were pretty incredible from the rocky summit. We descended via the blue dot trail, a rocky stretch that I strongly recommend proper hiking footwear for and possibly trekking poles if you get a little jelly-legged using those leg stabilizer muscles on the way down.

The blue trail ends along the banks of a pretty creek that is dotted with little waterfalls. Lots of people were cooling off in and near the creek, probably a much better idea than hiking up the mountain on such a hot day. Walking alongside the creek in the ample shade, the sound of trickling water for company the rest of the way, was a very pleasant experience. It got me thinking that it would be a nice to do an out and back hike sometime in the future, just to the biggest waterfall on the blue dot trail and back to the parking lot, especially if it were another hot, summer day.

Those are all my updates for now. Hope you are all doing well, staying cool, and enjoying any little chance at rest and adventure this summer so far. As always, thanks for reading. 🙂

Nostalgic Posts · Poetry

The Adventurers

June 30, 2025 Beth DeFries1 Comment

We live for adventure, you and I.

We live for it here,

for each step, each breath, each song

sung along to in the kitchen, the shower, the hallway,

doing laundry and dishes that have to be done.

Life is a beautiful mess with you.

The mess just means we’re living.

We wear out our shoes and our jeans,

our socks and our old tee shirts.

There’s sand in the bath, hair on the sinks, and trash in the waste baskets.

We live and it shows.

It sounds and it looks and it smells like us here,

as it should,

as we’d live it.

We crave the smiles and expressions,

the weekend mornings spent lounging,

reading books and articles,

watching shows and “content” and DVDs,

playing games about planes,

even booking tickets on real ones, every so often.

We capture little moments throughout the day

and keep the ones that stick to make us smile later on.

We savor quiet nights, cooking aromas, and sampled tastes,

the smell of sunscreen and oatmeal in the mornings,

cold cream, soap, and toothpaste at the end of the day.

We capture visions from hilltops, from mountains,

climbing up the little bumps on the world

to soothe our hunger to explore.

We store them in our heads and in pictures,

file them away for use in our dreams, our memories.

We make shadows in the sun,

heat at our backs, giants on pavement,

their footsteps synchronized with our own,

tagging along on our meandering journey.

We set our sights on now and tomorrow and the next day,

only looking far ahead when it’s practical to

which, let’s face it,

you do for the both of us, oftentimes.

We are an amateur cover band with no audience,

singing bluegrass, indie, rock, and pop

to the tiles, the walls, the car windows.

We are background noise you only get on the hundredth listen,

wandering a broad and varying soundscape.

The music is often on, it seems,

but sometimes there’s silence and we like that too.

There’s sleep

and days full of nothing

but sitting with you on the big blue couch

in this place where we live for the adventure that’s living,

in this place where we live,

you and I.