Tag: Adventure

Cozy Posts · Travel

October and New England Adventures

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.

Poster for the 2021 MOBA Exhibit in Quebec City, on Display at Dorchester Brewing

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!

Poetry · Travel

Long Island Adventure

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

July Postcard

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

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.

Asheville Travel Journal
Travel

Asheville Travel Journal

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

I’m working out how to start this post to the soundtrack of Charles Wright’s “Express Yourself“, one of my complimentary souvenirs brought back from our second trip to Asheville, NC this past weekend. Our first trip to this funky little city back in February 2022 marked our second longest road-trip and the beginning signs of our old car’s drawn-out decline. There’s no apprehension quite like that you get parked outside of a Subway in Hagerstown, MD, four hours into an eleven hour drive when your means of transportation decides to play games with your psyche. We made it the rest of the way and back with a whole lotta hope and a couple visits to the Meineke Car Care Center in downtown Asheville and agreed that, next time, we’d fly.

We flew back from Asheville Sunday morning and left the suitcases, still packed, crowding the entryway of our condo when we got home. If you’re still living out of a suitcase, you are still on vacation; no? As I unpacked yesterday morning, pulling hiking clothes with mud-flecked ankles that shed the glitter of North Carolina mountain dirt on the entryway rug, I realized we left a part of us behind in the mountains and the mist, in the balsam and the rhododendron, in the blueberry brambles and the water eroded summits.

I wonder if the black bears can smell my fabric softener lingering on the trails. I wonder if they’ve walked in our boot prints yet as they await the promise of spring’s looming abundance.

Day 1: Downtown Asheville & South Slope Brewing District

We arrived in Asheville on Thursday in the mid-afternoon, intent on going to a brewery for lunch. Among many things Asheville does well, beer is one of its notable strengths. We headed to Terra Nova Beer Co. in the South Slope Brewing District for a brew and some Mission Pizza. The brewery took the place of the former Bhramari Brewing Company which we visited on our previous trip. I opted for the Svêtlý Ležák 12°, a Czech Pilsner, while Mike went for the Lumos Haze Hazy IPA, of which I stole many sips 😋. To eat, we chose Mission’s Sausage Giardiniera pizza, hefty Roman squares stacked with flavor and crispy, airy crust. More please!

More than satiated with pizza and beer, we headed up the hill to check into our hotel, The Cambria Hotel Downtown Asheville. The hotel was perfectly situated for exploring downtown Asheville, was very comfortable, and had the quickest mandatory valet parking I’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. We savored the view of the mountains from our room for a very short while before deciding a nap might be necessary in order to be functioning human beings later in the evening.

Post-nap groggy and disoriented, we made ourselves get up, get out, and explore. Our next stop beckoned us back down the hill, Antidote Cocktail Lounge & Coffee Bar. The hostess seated us at a little cafe table by the window and we perused the leather bound cocktail menu while taking in the vintage apothecary setting. Red, velvet drapes were tied back from a window in the wall, revealing the distilling works of Chemist Spirits, next door.

I ordered the House of Leaves, intrigued by its holiday nostalgia inspiration, while Mike chose the Vieux Carré in memory of a past trip to Hotel Monteleone’s Carousel Bar in New Orleans. We sipped and chatted and lost track of time a little, then moved on in pursuit of dinner.

Just thinking about Chai Pani to write this post is making my mouth water and I know I am not even hungry. Indian Food is my favorite cuisine and Indian street food sounded like the right idea for dinner Thursday night (and maybe every night, but gotta try different things, ya know?).

Chai Pani was packed when we arrived. We added our name to the waitlist and saw it would be a while before we were seated and decided to pop around the corner to Burial Brewing Co., a favorite from our previous visit.

Burial’s beer is incredible and I also appreciate the place’s strong theming. From the toe tags on the tap handles to the landscaping weaponry on display, Burial leans heavily into the theme of death and eternal rest and yet the place has a bright, happy, natural vibe about it that packs down some of that creepy with the back of a shovel. I remembered the mural (or “the murial”, as one Reddit poster referred to it as and I think it should henceforth be known as such) from our previous trip. It depicts Sloth from The Goonies and Tom Selleck, all buddy-buddy, but Mike and I agreed that it is actually Sloth from The Goonies and my dad.

As we refreshed the waitlist for Chai Pani at one of the barrel tables in Burial’s outdoor tasting area, we shared a Shadowclock Pilsner and reminisced on our memories of the place from our previous trip and how cold it had been that day. With memories of a chilly, bygone, February day in our minds, we were next on the waitlist for Chai Pani and hustled back around the corner to the restaurant.

Chai Pani was bursting with warmth and the aroma of spices. The ceiling and windows were strung with marigold garlands, the walls- painted with turquoise, magenta, and goldenrod. Above the hostess stand climbed two Bengal tigers up an ombre wall. The restaurant was beautiful and I loved it already without even having seen the menu. I was determined to eat there for a different reason anyway, but the surroundings were a welcome addition.

According to an article by Kay West published on Eater.com, when Hurricane Helene hit Western North Carolina back in September 2024, amid much structural and emotional devastation, local business and residents were also left without power and potable water. World Central Kitchen arrived in the region within 48 hours after the storm and quickly partnered with local restaurants in order to establish access to clean water systems and feed the victims of the storm and the emergency responders who came to the region’s aid. Chai Pani was among many Asheville restaurants that prepared and distributed free meals for those in need in the wake of Helene’s devastation despite high costs of daily water deliveries and the storm’s heavy blow to regular restaurant operations. That, along with my preference for the cuisine, made eating there a high priority on my itinerary for this trip.

We filled our bellies with Aloo Tikki Chaat, Sloppy Jai, and Chili Chicken and washed it all down with Athletic Brewing’s Atlética Cerveza, which was decent but not my favorite Athletic brew. Afterwards, we rolled ourselves back up the hill to our hotel for a good night’s sleep.

Day 2: Montreat & Downtown Asheville

We parked our rental car in the small, upper lot of the Lookout Mountain trailhead in Montreat Friday morning and changed into our hiking boots. Mike walked over to the posted trail map and after a moment said, “Welp, I don’t love that.”

“What?”

I joined him in front of the trail map and he pointed at a paper plate someone had written on and tied to the board.

“That was yesterday,” said Mike of the reported black bear sightings at the summit, “And the day before.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I don’t love that either; I don’t love that one bit.”

We debated whether or not we should stay. The view was supposed to be one of the better ones in the area and we had been pretty lucky to get a parking spot at the trailhead, but the possibility of encountering a bear seemed too likely. We had seen a large group of women embark on a different hike from the lower parking lot, Rainbow Trail, and took an ounce of comfort in the thought of safety in numbers. Our decision was made. We left our trail snacks in the car.

Trekking through the trees and the rhododendron, turning our heads about like two large owls, we made our way along the Rainbow Trail. It was very green and we kept up a steady conversation, not wanting to seem sneaky to any potential bears in the vicinity. Thankfully, we did not cross paths with any bears, despite every dark object raising cause for speculation and our adrenaline levels. We got comfortable enough on the trail that we decided to take the spur that led up to the Lookout Mountain summit, after all. The trail to the summit was a steep, short climb, and had a decent amount of hikers on it scrambling up and down the rocks as we made our way up. The view did not disappoint, but all the same, we didn’t linger.

We reached the parking lot unscathed, relieved, and craving chicken and waffles. We got back in the car and headed back to the city to freshen up and get some brunch.

On our first trip to Asheville, we went to Tupelo Honey for brunch our first morning there and then went right back again the next day. There was no question where we would be eating brunch this time around. We asked to sit at the bar and ordered the chicken and waffles, avocado toast, and some Athletic Brewing Upside Dawn Golden Ales, still very relieved that we hadn’t encountered a bear on our hike.

After a nice little post-brunch nap, we set off to visit a brewery we’d skipped last time around, Green Man Brewery. We brought our beers up to the third floor and headed out onto the terrace. The sky was full of overlapping gray and purple clouds, but it was warm and the terrace was covered anyway. Charles Wright & the Watts 103rd Street Rhythm Band played through the speakers. Ex-pressss Yourself! – Whatever you dooo-uhn– dooo it good-uhn! walking tiptoe on top of that swaggering bass line. It’s the kind of song you can’t help but move to. On top of that, it seemed like a good mantra for the eclectic, funky, colorful, denim-patched pocket of the world that Asheville is. Have I got anyone else listening with me yet, I wonder? So, let the horns do the thing they do y’all.

After another non-creepy visit to Burial Brewing and sharing an appetizer of their intriguing broccolini, we headed back up the hill to get some real dinner at Crêperie Bouchon. I ordered a glass of red wine and the Ma Poule savory crêpe. It did not disappoint.

After dinner, we walked a few blocks over to Sovereign Remedies, a low-lit cocktail lounge that I’d wanted to try last time, but we didn’t end up getting to. I liked Mike’s drink, the No. 27, better than mine and we ended up ordering a second to share because the place was cozy and relaxing and it just seemed like the right thing to do, okay?

Day 3: Blue Ridge Parkway & Asheville Yards

The Saturday forecast was the nicest for our trip and so we chose to do the higher elevation hikes that day instead of Friday. If we were going to hike up a mountain, we wanted to see vistas at the top, not just clouds. The roads leading up the mountain are also very winding and it is safer to take them when it’s not all foggy out.

Hurricane Helene wreaked some havoc on the Blue Ridge Parkway and sections of the National Park Service-governed road are still closed to the public. Since Mike had first researched the hikes we’d take, back in February, the sections we wanted to try had opened up again and so, we drove our little blue rental car up the winding roads and along the scenic parkway, passing by vistas on the way in hopes of snagging a parking space at the trailhead.

Graveyard Fields was first. It’s not as creepy as it sounds. According to signs posted near the trailhead, the name came from a natural phenomenon caused by a heavy windstorm the felled many trees and over time left the stumps and trees to rot and become overgrown with mounded dirt, giving the appearance of tombstones. Since a forest fire blazed through the valley in 1925, these tombstone-esque stumps are no longer there. The only actually creepy thing about Graveyard Fields to me was, once again, the fact that the area is home to a high population of black bears. Mike remembered that my backpack had a built in whistle on the strap. We gave it a try and it was nice and loud which gave us some sense of security, if only a little. But hey, you take what you can get on the trail.

The Graveyard Fields loop traversed muddy trenches, spongey boardwalks, and stream crossings and offered waterfall views. We started off towards the lower falls, the more impressive of the two large falls on the 3.2 mile trail. We wound our way through the rhododendron and the sparse blueberry bushes, along the packed down dirt and the mud, and across boardwalks and bridges to get to the lower falls view point. We were owls again, looking all around at frequent intervals, wary of rocks and dark tree stumps in the distance that were bear-shaped only in our minds.

Lower Falls

After spending a few minutes taking in the lower falls, we continued back along the trail toward the upper falls following the few and far between blue blazes that marked the way. There was a little rock scrambling involved to reach the upper falls and the sound of the rushing water was soothing, the mist- cool and refreshing on our overheated faces after the climb.

Upper Falls

The parking lot was more than full when we got back and we were happy we’d done at least one of the hikes we’d planned to. We hoped to be lucky enough to get a spot at the next trailhead that led up to Black Balsam Knob. Luck was on our side as we found a space along the road by the Art Loeb Trail Access that connected to where we wanted to go.

I think the Art Loeb Trail was my favorite of the hikes, albeit, the shortest. The trail was steep and cut through tall, fragrant, spruce trees, emerging out upon a water-eroded, rocky summit that’s surface resembled waves of glitter. The ground in the forest was red with damp, shed spruce needles and smelled fresh and earthy. There were many hikers in our view at all times, but not too many to take away from the enjoyment of the trail.

We joined up with the trail leading up to the Black Balsam Knob summit, climbing those sparkling waves and meandering dirt paths to reached the 360 degree views of the round-topped, Blue Ridge Mountains.

View from the Black Balsam Knob Summit

Winding our way back down the Blue Ridge Parkway, we pulled into every vista overlook to take in the view. It looked very similar from each one and we got to see Looking Glass Rock from multiple angles which was neat. With tired legs and feet and hungry bellies, it was time to head back to the city.

View of Looking Glass Rock

We got some lunch at Twisted Laurel, downtown, which we visited last time- pesto chicken pizza and a cauliflower curry bowl with fried chickpeas. Both were decent. We were excited for a concert we were going to at the new Asheville Yards later on that night, but we were tired from our earlier excursion into the mountains. Our daily vacation nap was in order if we wanted to make it through hours of standing later on.

After our little sojourn at the Cambria Hotel, we headed back out to squeeze in a downtown brewery before the show, DSSOLVR. We enjoyed our beers in the pleasant back patio area amid a little artist market that was going on.

We headed down the hill again, to the concert, the opener already playing when we arrived. I had never heard of Mipso before, but I’d listen to them now after enjoying a few of their songs. My favorite of the songs they played was probably “Coming Down the Mountain”, but I was very excited to see who we’d come to Asheville for.

After seeing Trampled by Turtles perform in Harrisburg, PA back in October, we knew we wanted to go to another show. When Asheville popped up on their tour schedule, we thought that would be a really fun experience and would probably have a fun crowd. We were right. The set list was full of familiar favorites and a couple of songs we didn’t know, but for the most part we sang along and moved to the rhythm of the strings. This time they played one of my favorites called “Burlesque Desert Window“, which I dare you not to shake your tail feathers to, if you give it a listen. 🦉

With growly bellies after the show, we headed a few blocks away for some late night bites at Daddy Mac’s. The restaurant was full of people in Trampled by Turtles tees and hats and whoever was running the music playlist caught up to speed pretty quick and put the boys on. We finished our meal to “Wait So Long” before settling up and heading back up the hill to our hotel for our last sleep of the trip.

To end this post, I’ll suggest Trampled by Turtles cover of Iris DeMent’s “Our Town” for some easy listening. I’m listening to it now as I type these final lines, thinking of Asheville and the good memories made there this trip and last. All I can do is look forward to the next visit and the next after that. The mountains have patience like no other and the water is slow to break them down.

“Go on now and say goodbye to our town, to our town, can’t you see the sun’s setting down on our town, on our town. Good night.” -Iris DeMent

Puerto Rico Travel Journal
Travel

Puerto Rico Travel Journal

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

We were greeted by ominous clouds upon landing at Newark Airport yesterday afternoon, a drastic change from our view upon waking up in Fajardo, Puerto Rico- turquoise water stretching from Puerto Chico out to Cayo Icacos, where we had walked in the sand just the morning before. It was a treat to swap the chill of New Jersey in February for the warm sunshine and breezes of Puerto Rico, even if only for a few days.

San Juan

We landed in Carolina on Thursday and drove to Old San Juan to take in the colors and the history of the city and its fortresses. Some of the streets in Old San Juan are narrow, cobbled, and steep. We parked with relief in a lot down by the port on the south side of Old San Juan and went in search of lunch. I had done some research beforehand on a few restaurant options, but found opening hours to be varied and inconsistent with my research. We stopped in at Café El Punto for a snack of some mariquitas de platano con guacamole and café frio. Both were delicious, but I was itching to get back outside to explore. I knew heading to Puerto Rico that restaurant service runs on “island time”, a slowed down version of regular time, and so it took a little while to actually get back outside.

The sun was hot and the breeze-warm as we headed up the hill along the winding streets, in the direction of Castillo San Felipe del Morro, perhaps better known simply as El Morro. The fort is perched overlooking the ocean and the Bay of San Juan in the northwesternmost tip of the island of Old San Juan. An expansive stretch of inviting green grass and blue sky welcomed us as we neared the fort.

It felt a little surreal to see the US National Parks emblem on the sign for El Morro, being on an island in the Caribbean, 1000 miles from the mainland. Puerto Rico, though a United States Territory, retains a unique charm and culture, not to mention a long-spanning history that is very unique to the island and very distinct from the influence of US mainland culture.

Inside the fortress’ thick, stone walls, tourists snapped photos and wove in, out, and through, from chamber to chamber, taking in the history of one of the most attacked fortresses in history due to San Juan’s attractive and strategic harbor location in the Caribbean. The walls were built to resist cannon fire and the fort developed a reputation for being unconquerable after evading invasion attempts by the English, Dutch, and British from the 16th to the 18th century. The fort fell to the hands of the Americans during the Spanish American War, ultimately succumbing due to updated capabilities of naval weaponry. El Morro was also used in later years as a US military base during WWI and WWII.

Nowadays, the fort is the perfect spot to take in the view of the turquoise and cerulean Atlantic waters crashing into white froth on the rocks below. Exhibits within the fort’s stone walls provide insight into what life was like for the Spanish soldiers stationed there in the 1700s and it was interesting to read about the history and wander the sunny plaza, sentry boxes (garitas), dim passageways, arched chambers, and original structures, one of which dated back to 1539.

From El Morro, we walked east along the waterfront, on the outskirts of La Perla. We stuck to the road with Castillo San Cristobal in our sights as our entry fee to El Morro included entry to the other fort as well. Castillo San Cristobal was less crowded and felt a little smaller than El Morro. It was here where we first encountered some island wildlife- a couple of iguanas, one cooling itself in the shade between the battlements and one basking in the sunshine.

With tired legs and the beginning aches of sunburn, we decided to head somewhere for lunch and a cold drink. We opted for St. Germain Bistro & Café. The island time was real at this restaurant, let me tell you my friends, and it took a looong time to even be acknowledged by the wait staff, let alone to get our drinks and food. More than one couple got up and left between our seating and when we paid our check due to the long wait for their order to be taken. The restaurant did not seem so busy and we marveled at the staff’s lack of interest in taking people’s food and drink orders. People leaving just seemed like business as usual, so I guess we were lucky to ultimately be served?

Service aside, my cocktail and our food were both delicious. I ordered a Whiskey Business which was refreshing and tasty and Mike got the locally brewed beer, Medalla. We shared a carrot dip and a refreshing avocado salad and then dug into our main dish which was a bell pepper stuffed with stewed lentils and topped with cheese, accompanied by rice and beans. It was so good and made the long wait feel almost worth it.

With full bellies and rain starting to sprinkle, we went back to the car and settled in for the drive over to the east coast to our Airbnb in Fajardo. As we made our way across the northern side of the island, we spotted advertisements and structures for many familiar restaurant chains. Puerto Rico takes American fast food culture to the next level. If you are a fast food fan living on the mainland, you will find pretty much all of the typical fast food offerings from home if you visit Puerto Rico, along with many additional highway-side local food vendors to choose from.

As we drove across the island, we noticed many dilapidated homes, businesses, and structures and wondered if the properties were abandoned remnants from the devastation caused by Hurricane Maria back in 2017. My memory of the island will likely be equal parts paradise and devastation as it was evident how much of a permanent toll the hurricane’s destruction took on the island and its residents.

Fajardo

We arrived at our Airbnb in Fajardo, a condo on an upper floor of an apartment building that overlooked Puerto Chico. The view was breathtaking and brought us quickly back to a state of paradise.

Vieques

Fajardo proved to be an excellent location for our adventurous itinerary over the next couple of days. We started the day on Friday with a boat tour to the island of Vieques for snorkeling and some relaxing walks on the beach. We made the mistake of sitting on the second level of the boat on the way out of the marina and got walloped with salty spray for the forty-five minute rollicking journey to Vieques, a truly romantic experience to kick off our Valentine’s Day.

The boat ride put all of my fear of snorkeling out of mind until we reached the snorkeling spot, that is. I was a little afraid to get into the open water after one of the other people on our tour asked one of the guides if there would be sharks. “This is the ocean man,” he responded, “There’s anything: treasure, migrants, anything!” So that meant there might be sharks. My mom being a big fan of Jaws, I am not a big fan of swimming with sharks. I wasn’t gonna chicken out though, so I put on my mask, slipped on my flippers and descended into the water.

There’s something that happens when you are living in the moment of a thrilling experience. Fear subsides and intrigue takes over. Once my head was under water, I was fine. There is something so calming in the pressure and the isolation. There is depth and cold and Darth Vader sounds coming from the snorkel, and everything’s ok somehow. I saw a sea turtle laying in the sand and watched for a while hoping it was alive. I came up to get my bearings.

“Want to see a sting ray?” said the guide.

He could have said, Want to see a shark? and my answer would have been the same.

“Yeah!”

The rush of the moment takes over and that’s when the real living starts. It just doesn’t happen often so you have to take advantage of it when it does.

We anchored by Playa Punta Arenas on the northwestern tip of Vieques. The beach was nearly empty except for our group. The sand was gold and backed up to green jungle. The water was turquoise and clear and I could see my feet and a few fish swimming nearby. There was a lunch of sandwiches and pasta salad on the boat and an open rum cocktail bar plentiful with pina coladas. The paradise was really making its mark and the coconut was cool and sweet.

Luquillo

We returned to the main island and headed to Luquillo to peruse the food kiosk offerings there. After walking the length of the kioskos, we decided we’d try La Parilla and Nativa Latin Cuisine. At La Parilla, we each enjoyed a cold Medalla, a beer brewed in Puerto Rico, and ordered a carne frita meal to share. The pork was tender and delicious and the view wasn’t half bad.

At Nativa Latin Cuisine, we had our second island time experience that was worth the wait. We ordered mofongo, a savory delight and Puerto Rican staple made of mashed plantains. Ours came topped with criollo sauce and chicken and let’s just say we crushed the whole thing even though we weren’t hungry after La Parilla. Yum!

Icacos

The next day promised more adventure. We took another snorkeling tour and learned our lesson from the day before. We sat at the front of the boat this time, well into the covered section and stayed dry as the people in the back of the boat and up top got soaked. It shouldn’t feel good, but what can I tell you?

The second snorkeling adventure took us to a reef near the island of Icacos. We saw many more fish on this trip, but no larger creatures. It was cool to swim right up to the reef, although the reef, unfortunately, appeared to have suffered the effects of coral bleaching. After our guides called us back to the boat, we headed closer to the beach in Icacos and swam to shore to walk on the white sand.

Were it not for the crowded, party-like atmosphere at 11:00AM, I think I would have preferred this beach to the beach in Vieques from the day before. Remoteness has its own charms, though, so I’m happy we got to do both. A couple of pina coladas and coconut mojitos later, and it was time to head back to Fajardo.

El Yunque

Our next planned activity was a kayaking tour of the bioluminescent bay, Laguna Grande, later that evening so we had some time to add something else to our plans. We opted to drive out to El Yunque National Forest, the only tropical rainforest in the US. In El Yunque, we made a few brief stops including the Visitor’s Center, a kebob stand for a hasty lunch, La Coca Falls, and Torre Yokahu. If you only have time for one, I suggest Torre Yokahu as it offers impressive 360 degree views of the forest.

Laguna Grande

Ok, so remember the thing about the fear of sharks from earlier in this post and it going out the window due to the thrill of the moment? Well, I also have this thing about the dark. In the pursuit of adventure, fear must be cast aside sometimes and discomfort-embraced. This is what I told myself as we kayaked along the narrow canal through the pitch black mangrove after dark on our way to Laguna Grande, one of only five bioluminescent bays in the world.

We kayaked single file along the canal, guided only by a small red light on the back of each of the kayaks in front of us. We could hear the splash of paddles in the water and the coqui frogs singing in the tangled trees all around us and, somehow, I was not afraid anymore. It was beautiful- a line of dotted red gliding through the water on the way to the lagoon. Real life seems unreal sometimes, I thought.

We arrived at the lagoon and our guides instructed us on how to best view the bioluminescent effect in the water. The bioluminescent effect is a defense mechanism of the dinoflagellate plankton in the water and is activated when the plankton are disturbed by movement. The moon was pretty bright the night of our tour, but we still got to see a sparkling effect when moving our hands and paddles in the water. The tour also provided dark tarps that we covered ourselves with in order to better see the effect. It was magical and strange and probably looked like a weird ritualistic practice to the unknowing eye, but it was worth paddling through the dark to get a glimpse of the sparklers in the water.

After our tour, we changed quickly in the car to make our dinner reservation. Turns out we didn’t need to rush after all, though, as the host decided our reservation was too late in the day and lectured us on how we shouldn’t have made a reservation so late (even though it was available and not even the latest reservation available). They said they would still “help us” and we could stay, but we decided we didn’t need that favor on our last night after the lecture already ruffled our feathers a bit. Instead, we went to the local grocery store, Pueblo, and picked up a bottle of wine and a few things to make a delicious dinner of our own. It ended up being a fun and relaxing way to end our last night in Puerto Rico, so I’m almost happy for the little hiccup.

On our final morning, the usual wind present on our Airbnb’s balcony was still and we enjoyed some leftovers from our homemade meal the night before while sitting outside, soaking up the beautiful view one last time.

I enjoyed our trip, but was happy to head back to the airport and home to New Jersey. Even though the forecast for the evening promised cold and rain, there’s just something so inviting about home after being away. When the wheels touched down in Newark, I heard some passengers on the plane voicing their disappointment as they looked out the window, but I was looking forward to a hearty dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. Something about getting away makes home more special. It disturbs the regular routine for a while and makes it sparkle brighter, even in the dark.

Travel

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Beth DeFriesLeave a comment

Today has been written off as a travel recovery day. We got home from the airport around 2:30AM due to a delay on our flight home from the sunshine state, but we were happy to have gotten home by then at all. The flight at the neighboring gate to ours in Tampa was canceled after 3+ hours of delays which resulted in one of the disappointed LaGuardia-bound passengers going full Hulk in the terminal, such that he had to be escorted out by eight police officers. We felt lucky in comparison to only be delayed two hours and not to have to spend the night in some airport hotel by the Bay in return-limbo.

Once we deplaned in Newark, the trek from our gate to our car felt long. We were racing against an unknown grace-period beyond the length of our pre-paid parking. We rolled our carry-ons along the waxed tile floors of the shiny new-ish terminal, down an escalator, up an escalator, down an escalator again. We slugged along the acid-washed, blue passage connecting Terminal A to the Airtrain station, passing a man who had lost all care for his luggage and was scraping his bags along the passage wall. We transferred on the Airtrain and finally arrived at our unreliable little car that decided to be reliable this morning, the little angel. We were pleasantly surprised to still be within the parking grace-period when driving through the exit toll of the garage and that put a smile on our faces.

We decided that, despite being dead tired, a stop at Wawa seemed necessary on the way home. Mike expertly navigated the confusing start to our journey as I pointed out all the ways we would have taken a wrong turn and ended up somewhere in Elizabeth if I were navigating.

We enjoyed the empty highways characteristic of the early morning hours when most of New Jersey’s dwellers are nestled in their beds. The hour offered quiet, cool relief compared with the Florida heat and Wawa was a bright, quick respite. We stocked up on a few snacks and we were home soon enough.

Typically, I unpack everything as soon as we get home, but hunger and sleepiness delayed this process. We ate our “meal” in groggy, happy silence, brushed our teeth and fell asleep before we even realized it.

Today, my muscles and bones feel like they were replaced with wet sand and my hair could use a wash but that would certainly be overextending for the day. The grocery shopping is done, the bags are unpacked, and a load of laundry needs to be folded, but that can wait until tomorrow. I preferred to sit here and catch up with you, to move my fingers, and pretend the day was somewhat productive even though I may still be a little bit asleep. I will relish 2:00AM tomorrow from my dreams, tucked comfortably up in warm sheets and a quilt, unconscious to the stress and uncertainties of planes, trains, and automobiles.

Tolkien Takeaways
Books · Cozy Posts · Reviews & Reflections

Tolkien Takeaways

Beth DeFries1 Comment

I’ve been reading a lot of Tolkien this year, among other authors, and can say he offers an escape worthy of the time and brainpower it takes to digest his world-building, maps, pronunciation guides, timelines, and versatile storytelling formats. I’d never read Tolkien’s works before, but I’d seen the Peter Jackson – helmed The Lord of the Rings films and decided to attempt the feat of pouring my eyeballs over the entire epic journey of the ring bearer and his companions in written format from start to finish, and then some.

I spent many cold, winter mornings and evenings curled up on our blue couch, or in a chair by the window, my toes cozy with the warmth provided by the baseboard heater. I’d toss a throw blanket over my lap, my steaming mug of tea or coffee or glass of red wine – close at hand, getting safely lost in the pages of a very dangerous and complicated fictional world. Let’s just say if your brain’s at risk of turning into mashed potatoes, just read through a Tolkien Appendix or “The Battle of Unnumbered Tears” chapter in The Children of Hurin and you’ll be sorted for at least a little while.

I started with The Hobbit, a prequel to “the trilogy”, after seeking the advice of a friend. As the story began, I met a Tookish hobbit named Bilbo Baggins who both craved adventure and was resistant to it. I recognized such a personality immediately, sharing in these traits myself. I joined Bilbo, Gandalf, and a company of rhyme-named, treasure-minded dwarves on a romp through parts of Middle-earth from West to East, from The Shire to Erebor, a.k.a. The Lonely Mountain.

I tasted adventure and couldn’t get enough. The names became easier to differentiate and the characters came to life in my mind. I read of trolls, a victory of wits, a rank cave of treasures, and the last homely house in Rivendell. I tensed as wargs and goblins pursued Thorin and his company. I soared to eyries on eagles’ backs and trekked through the endless darkness of Mirkwood, cowering beneath Shelob’s (chatty) spider-spawn and grew intrigued yet suspicious of vanishing, feasting wood elves. I cautioned my thirst at magical streams and hid behind Bilbo as he sweet talked a cunning dragon called Smaug. It all made real life feel a little easier, not having to face those trials first-hand. It made reading “the trilogy” a little easier too.

My Preciouses

It was helpful to come to The Fellowship of the Ring with a lay of the land, to some degree (a familiarity with the films was a helpful crutch as well). Middle-earth is a vast realm and only seems to increase in size the more Tolkien stories I read. The first book of the trilogy fleshed out the maps introduced in The Hobbit. The journey started as The Hobbit had, in the familiarity and comfort of The Shire in the most eastern lands of the old West, with my old, new friend, Bilbo. What ensued was a journey of nothing less than epic proportions, a fantastic escape like a fever dream that lasted over a month and was disappointing to wake from.

I learned that Bilbo’s ring was more than just an invisibility cloak that he employed as a party trick or escape tactic. I learned that The Shire was not exempt from the dangers of the East, as it seemed in The Hobbit, those dangers held at bay by protective, mysterious rangers, men of the sunken West. I met a mischievous, ravenous tree, and was relieved, yet wary, at the rescue of Frodo’s companions by Tom Bombadil, the yellow-booted “master of the land”, who simply is and his wife, Goldberry, the river-daughter, surrounded by bowls of flowers in their cozy respite of a home. As Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin evaded a few of “The Nine” hooded riders on horseback, relief washed over me again, followed by intrigue at the introduction of the mysterious ranger, Strider, in the Prancing Pony tavern who would come to be their guide, protector, and a major power-player in Tolkien’s complicated tale.

The journey continued on, presenting harrowing scrapes with danger, a slightly altered cast of characters from the film adaption, and what seemed like a lot of songs. Tolkien is a poet who expertly plays with words and inserts poetry into prose in a way that adds meat to the story while also explaining some of the history that is helpful to understand the state of things in the “First Age” and “Second Age” of Middle-earth a little better and to bolster the current affairs in the “Third Age” in which the story takes place. His poems sing and while the music probably sounded different in my mind than in his ear, there were indeed the makings of a melody.

Tolkien creates new languages on the basis of existing language foundations and principles, some even possible to learn if you have the interest, patience, and time. I think, personally, I’ll just stick to my Duolingo French for the time being.

Tolkien establishes relationships in the first book of the trilogy as well as an overwhelming sense of obligation, empathy, trust, and apprehension among the shepherds of the ring. Every surety is tested until it is unsure. Curiosity overwhelms and havoc ensues in the form of orc attacks and Balrog-induced cliff-hangers. There is heartbreaking loss, but temporary safety is often a close-following companion.

And then there’s Lorien.

A land of the elves, concealed amid the treetops, a place almost too glorious for human understanding, that none but Tolkien could invent and convey with his magic words.

I went out to buy the next two books before I finished reading The Fellowship.

Funny thing, when you purchase a Lord of the Rings book, it seems to serve as a guaranteed conversation-starter with the bookstore cashier. When buying The Fellowship of the Ring at Labyrinth Books in Princeton, I smiled when the cashier felt compelled to share that Andy Serkis recently narrated a new audio book adaption of The Fellowship of the Ring, just assuming I knew who Andy Serkis was while providing no additional info and ignoring the fact that I was literally handing him my credit card for a paperback copy at that very moment. Luckily, I did know who Andy Serkis was and was able to offer some sort of interested response, because it is my firmly held belief that Andy Serkis was perhaps born with the main purpose of bringing Gollum/Smeagol to life in the LOTR film franchise.

When I bought The Two Towers and The Return of the King at Barnes and Noble, I was met with an, “Awwww; Lord of the Rings! My dad used to read those books to me when I was a kid.” And that’s connection right there, people. I can attest that the secret network of Tolkien fandom is alive and well.

If I read these books as a child, without seeing the movies, I wonder how much of Tolkien’s talent I would have actually appreciated as I floundered to grasp names and races and languages and maps and quarter-turned, counter-clockwise, rotated geography for over a thousand pages. I’d have sunk like the lands in the West, for sure. No, adulthood was necessary, for this reader at least.

I finished The Fellowship and immediately went on to The Two Towers, impatient for the adventure to continue.

If you’re looking for orcs, don’t you worry. They are served up in heaping portions in The Two Towers. I read on, worried as the Fellowship separated due to the divided fates of the young hobbits. I mourned a fallen ally on the banks of the Anduin. My skin itched at the sight of two glowing orbs in the darkness and ice trickled down my spine as Gollum/Smeagol led Frodo and Sam through the Dead Marshes, the description of the faces in the bog and the thought of their cold, flacid skin, vivid as touch in my mind.

I’d walk through my local woods and recognize The Shire in the hill of the Battery, Moria in the Battery bunkers, and the Anduin in the river below. Lorien gleamed in the early morning sunlight, golden on the leaves, while Mirkwood lurked in the fading dusk, ominous with each rustling that broke the static, blue silence. Fangorn was present in the strength of the trees and Isengard invaded where trunks had been felled for restoration. There is no Mordor here, however, and the map is reversed, the lands in the West – now in the East, sunken in the sea.

I dreamed of battle encampment, my imagination hyper-activated in sleep, and the sure menace of orcs and probable doom lying in wait. I didn’t feel ready for certain defeat and stressed over having never wielded a real sword. I didn’t have the courage of the ring bearer and his company. Cold sweat woke me. Disorientation overwhelmed as I fumbled for glasses on my nightstand in the dark, slowly coming to sharpened reality. I reserved my battle-cry for next time, ultimately fading back into a safer dream, shielded by a warm quilt, soft sheets, and safe shelter, a world away from the battles of the Third Age.

Shelob was absolutely horrifying and made me realize that Samwise is perhaps the truest hero in Tolkien’s epic tale for the challenges that his creator constructed for him. (Pro tip! Don’t Google Shelob if you are afraid of spiders.)

Another cliff-hanger ushered me straight into The Return of the King and I found my favorite of Tolkien’s books, so far at least. I really think it would be a tough one to beat, however. The storytelling in this book is more well done than a steak at Chili’s. The way Tolkien unfolded simultaneous events, devoting appropriate attention to each battle, escape, and rescue, all while keeping the story going and maintaining the quality of the character relationships fed a glow of admiration within me. I know I won’t ever equal storytelling like that, but I felt lucky to read storytelling like that and that’s enough for me, I think. We’ll see.

A culminative battle brewed as the fate of the bearer hung uncertain in the hearts of his scattered company. The forces of men, elves, dwarves, wizards and a couple of brave hobbits combined to fight a growing, visible darkness. Dread prickled my scalp as a small company braved the kingdom of the dead on blind trust of their leader, he – destined to rule in an age to come. My heart pattered in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, melted in the fiery waste of Mount Doom, and soared in flight with the eagles, once again. I almost wished it had ended there and to never have known The Shire touched by darkness, but then Merry and Pippin would not have felt themselves worthy of the title of hero in the end, each earning it gloriously, like their other hobbit companions.

Tolkien tugged a few remaining threads on the seams of the story and just like that, it was finished.

I craved the first page and the unknowing mind again. Instead, I sifted through timelines and appendices and that satisfied, for the time being.

Tolkien is a tutor for what language is capable of, what the creative mind is capable of, and the influence a great creative mind can have on other artists, readers, and adventure seekers. Tolkien’s epic storytelling ability is an unreachable destination, a myth, lore – surely, right? And yet, it was achieved by a man of very human proportions (with a heavy dose of talent).

“What has [Tolkien] got in [his] pocketses?” as Gollum might ask.

Endless, gleaming brilliance, Precious; that’s what.

Health & Lifestyle · Movies · Nostalgic Posts · Reviews & Reflections

Empty Venues

Beth DeFries5 Comments

When I was fifteen, I had the honor of being invited to attend my twin friends’ extravagant sixteenth birthday celebration in New York City. My friends had chosen to take a group of us out to a nice dinner and a Broadway show and afterwards, we all had a slumber party at the Waldorf Astoria. We snacked on decadent Godiva, chocolate-covered strawberries and Twizzlers from Walgreens and once we were all sugared up, we wandered the halls of the historic hotel in search of adventure, movie filming locations, and a ghost girl with a red balloon.

We never did find the ghost girl, but we rode the elevators like John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale in Serendipity (2001) and roamed the glamorous lobby in our hotel slippers and pajamas. I remember wandering into the empty Grand Ballroom, a cavernous hall with box seating all around the walls and a massive, glittering, chandelier overhead, illuminating the room in a dimmed glow.

We walked up onto the stage and looked out at the room, each with a feeling that it was exactly where we were all supposed to be at that exact moment in time. Aside from the Waldorf already having established itself for its serendipitous traits in Peter Chelsom and Marc Klein’s movie, it was something else to feel it for ourselves.

We looked out at the spotless ballroom, the banquet tables and chairs stored away in some closet or basement, the red patterned carpet – vacuumed, and the wooden dance floor – waxed and shining. We were the only things in the room to fill the space, a group of teenaged girls, our souls and energy so immense in the company of each other that the wallpapered walls and towering ceiling could hardly contain us.

I feel very alive in an empty venue. Perhaps it is the minimalist in me or perhaps the possibility that empty venues hold or once held. More likely, it is my love of Cameron Crowe’s movies and the impact they had on my adolescence, namely Almost Famous (2000) and Elizabethtown (2005).

Cameron Crowe has a talent for creating flawed, loveable, relatable characters and for developing relationships between them. He is also able to give empty venues as much life as full ones. His movies push me out to the stars and bring me safely back to the ground with each watch.

My favorite scene in Almost Famous depicts Kate Hudson’s character, Penny Lane, dancing around the floor of an empty concert venue after a Stillwater show has ended. The scene is set to Cat Stevens’ The Wind and captures the sense of clinging to something special extra hard when you don’t want it to end and the melancholy of accepting the fleeting nature of the experience once it’s over. The stage lights glow golden on the wooden floor as Penny slides around the venue alone, balancing on discarded cocktail napkins, while gracefully swinging a single rose around in her hand. It is beautiful, hopeful, and heartbreaking all at once and it reminds me that great experiences would not be so great if they were not so fleeting. Loss is a necessary evil of life. Without it, life’s experiences would hold no weight and coping with it is the first step back to joy.

Crowe’s Elizabethtown illustrates this cyclical concept well. There are two scenes in the movie that depict a hotel banquet hall. There is one in which the room is full of people for a very epic memorial service, courtesy of Susan Sarandon’s exceptional acting skills, Crowe’s incredible writing, and a rendition of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Free Bird that is literally on fire. There is another in which the banquet hall is empty aside from the main characters, Drew (Orlando Bloom), Claire (Kirsten Dunst), and a cremated Mitch, Drew’s late father, in his urn. The scene with fewer characters has just as much energy and tension as the scene with a crowd and I feel Claire’s apprehension, brevity, and excitement as she marches up to the podium and announces to Drew, “IIIII LIIIKE YOU!” through the echoing microphone, with only a cremated Mitch for an audience. There is so much life in the scene despite the obvious presence of death in the movie and the slow build of the characters falling in love without recognizing it in real time, amid a period of loss, makes my heart swell every time.

I did theater in high school and college and it was always bittersweet to end a show. On one hand, I’d have free time again and on the other, it made me sad to help break down something that I had devoted so much energy to for months, from auditions to strike.

I think I love being in a theater more than I like being onstage. On stage, there is nowhere to hide and it is hot and harrowing under the bright lights. The darkness and secretiveness of the wings and the catwalks were always my favorite parts of participating in shows – the anticipation and the adventure, the whispers, the intense listening for cues through heavy curtain legs, and the intimacy, trust and speed of a quick change or stage transition. In theater, working together makes these changes so much smoother. Theater is art imitating life but it is also so much life behind the scenes. It transforms empty venues to alternate realities and puts them back to their original state afterwards almost as though nothing ever happened.

I have spent many moments in empty venues and have come to realize that in those moments, they are not really empty at all. One person can fill a space with their voice, a dance, silence, love, or even just with their imagination. There is possibility resting in the dimmed lights and the energy of past moments seeps into the floors, hangs on the walls and curtains, and tarnishes the fixtures. Like Stevens and his music, I let these moments take me where my heart wants to go. And even when the time comes to move on, I do not waste it on regret or disappointment, and instead prefer to anticipate what lies ahead.

Health & Lifestyle · Mental Health · Travel

Baby by the Ocean

Beth DeFries1 Comment

Last summer, while visiting Portland, Maine over the Fourth of July holiday, we went with some friends to a beach in another coastal town nearby called Cape Elizabeth. It was a warm day, though not sweltering, but the shimmering water still looked inviting and we were determined to swim.

We abandoned our beach towels and coverups and approached the water with the knowledge that it would probably be cold. Reality hit with a frostbiting splash with the first steps into the waves. I thought of children by the beach in our shore town back home and of kids we’ve seen on vacation who, determined to jump into the pool first thing in the breezy mornings, would drag their less than excited parents to the poolside to participate and supervise and it made me wonder if discomfort is a learned behavior rather than an innate one.

How is it that a baby by the ocean can be so eager to continue splashing in the shallows even after that first icy touch? In that moment, I wanted a share of that sense of freedom and uninhibitedness, so I held my breath and dove into the crest of an oncoming wave. Submerged and compressed by the cold pressure under the surface, the water invigorated me, stunning my nerves, smoothing my skin, and spreading my hair out behind me.

Breaking through the surface, I gulped the July, Maine air, blood rushing back to my face, cheeks too hot despite the breeze on my chilled skin outside the water. A baby giggled and squealed in the shallows, eager to stay at the edge, daring and alive and oh so happy.

After that trip, I began to will myself to be like a baby by the ocean whenever I was faced with a difficult, but necessary situation. The words became a mantra that helped me through some challenging situations this year and I continue to find myself thinking of them.

The unknown can be frightening, but it was not always that way. The fear develops from the context of our experiences as we grow. Babies seem to approach the unknown with curiosity rather than fear and I envy that in them. I want to stand on the verge of an ocean of possibility, propelled by an insatiable curiosity for the future. I will abandon fear with my beach towel on the sand, excited to dive into foamy crests and come alive no matter how biting the water may be. I can follow the sun, break through the surface, and gulp in the air when I must.

And if you look closely from the shore, you will see me shine and the tide will change. The waves will pull, rise, and crest and I will follow. And for it all, I will be different when we meet again.