Letter #9

Dear Rowan,                                          October 6     Plattsburgh, NY

Sorry I haven't written for a while, I was trying to get into a better frame of mind, less melancholy and whiney. I have yet to end up in a ditch, although with winter ice storms coming I suppose it is a possibility. I am on this trip, this Grand Tour of mine, to find good things after all, not depressing things. And so, I struck out on a quest to find a small happy town somewhere between Detroit and Boston. After the big cities with their decay and melancholy, I was feeling the distinct need for small town comfort. With that in mind, I took a few weeks rambling up the highways along the top of the country. After I left Detroit, I wandered through Toledo, Cleveland, Buffalo, and Syracuse, but they were all too big and none of them had the feeling I was craving. So wandering up farther to the north, I found Plattsburgh. I also found out that it is cool enough during the days now that I can have chocolatey snacks in the car and not worry about them melting into a giant glob of chocolate ooze in a wrapper, or worse, in an opened wrapper so it looks like a miniature scene from The Blob, oozing out of the packaging to attack nearby upholstery, maps, bags, or anything else within its creeping reach. For the summer months my chocolate cravings were only safely transportable in the form of M&M's, which I like, but variety is nice, and somehow small candy-coated chocolate bits do not satisfy an intense milk chocolate Dove bar craving.

Plattsburgh is a small town, with nothing in particular to recommend it to a distant traveller, but it was what I had been looking for. It sits right on the edge of Lake Champlain and has a river running right through downtown, so it has a strong water-life about it. It is very relaxing and comforting to just sit at the edge of the lake and think, or write, or just be. I also had the good fortune to arrive just in time for the annual "Adirondack Coast Wine, Cider and Food Festival" which was a whole day taken up with good food, nice wine, wonderful hot ciders, and music. It was a wonderful Fall festival, full of all the warm, homemade fall comforts I could want: cider, pies, artisan breads and cheeses, small batch wines, family butcher sausages, and of course all the hand made, home made non-edibles that you could think of, from rocking chairs to to wooden kid's toys. And yes, I now have a beautiful hand crafted carved wooden sailing boat that really floats and was sold as a child's tub toy. It has a little anchor, and a mast with real sails that can be pulled up and lowered, and a wheel that really turns and works the rudder, and tiny little ropes and pins and tackle and everything a sailing ship should have. I love it as much for the fact that the gentleman selling it was adamant that it was a toy, not a decorative piece, as I do for the wonderfully loving details that he put into it. I justified getting it because it could be a Christmas present for one of my nephews, but really I got it to play with myself. And it wasn't that expensive either, the man told me he hated seeing things marked up to be so expensive folks were afraid to use them because they might break, so he keeps his own prices low enough that kids will actually get to play with the toys he makes, instead of have them sitting on a shelf collecting dust. I really liked that guy, he had a great way of looking at things.

I bought a hand made traveling candle too. It is a candle that is in a tin with a lid so you can close it up and travel with it. The top of the lid has a sort of grippy, non,slip rubbery texture, and I didn't understand why until the lady who sold it to me told me to take the lid off the top and put it on the bottom of the tin in the car if I want it in there, like an air freshener (not lit, of course). The grippy top means the candle won't slide around while I'm driving. It smells like baked apples, all warm and spiced and scrumptious. The lady said that during the winter if it gets too cold and does not put out enough scent in the car, I can put it onto the front air vent as long as I have the heater running, to warm it up. She warned me just to be careful and not to leave it up there long enough to melt if I had the heat on really high.

The ciders were exquisite, and I tried cider from every vendor that was at the festival. Did you know that a place that just does ciders is called a Ciderie? I love that word, I know it is really no different than a Winery, but somehow it just sounds fanciful rather than formal. One vendor had a giant barrel full of apples, and a press, and was pressing the apples right there to make cider and apple juice. I tried both. Just the smell of the festival was entrancing. It was indoors so that they didn't have to worry about the weather, and the smells of cider and pies and wine and all sorts of wonderful foods all mingled together in an intoxicating blend. It smelled like the most enchanting Thanksgiving dinner ever. I sampled cheeses, and butters, and breads, and sausages, and jerkies, and pastries, and wines. I had as many different apple and pumpkin pies, crisps, crumbles, and other assorted fall desserts as I could manage. When I got full I just wandered around the festival until I had room again then tried something else. I glutted myself on the food, and the wine, and the cider, and the amazing friendliness and good will of the festival and the people of this small lakeside town. Between feeling like I was at a dead-end in Arbuckle, dry and brittle Bend, the horridness that was Wichita, and the disillusionment and decay of St. Louis and Detroit, I had forgotten how wonderful people could be, especially small town people.

The festival and music started at 2pm, and there was a bike ride beforehand, but I left my bike in storage since I didn't think I would need it over the winter. Oh well, I took a nice jog along the lakeshore in the morning instead. Then back to my hotel room for a shower and a few hours of writing time before the festival. There are no hostels in Plattsburgh, but there is the ever-present HoJo, which is fine. All I really need my room to have is a bed, a bathroom (with a sink, toilet, and shower or tub that has hot water. I know it is asking a lot, but really these are ALL necessary. It is very strange to find the places that are lacking one of these and think you as a guest should be fine with that, and should still pay them for the privilege of staying in their necessity-lacking establishment), and a table and chair for writing.

I have discovered one drawback to traveling constantly and writing. I get so many ideas for stories and articles that there is no way I can write them all, but they all seem like such great ideas and leads that I hate to not use them. I know, the trials and tribulations of a happy writer overburdened with exactly what she needs to be successful. Pity poor me. I have finally finished the first draft of a story I started in undergrad and got to book length, but never actually got past the climax. I put that down so it can rest for a while and started revising the first draft of a book I did for the 2010 NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). Then of course there is the "work" side of writing, my travel writing. I am in the middle of a piece on St. Louis, but it is a bit depressing, as was the city. I think I will set it aside for a bit and write about this little town. It has such a wonderful feel to it, especially with the festival, that I think there is an abundance of feel-good things I could write about and really make people want to come and experience it for themselves.

I plan on staying in Plattsburgh for a week or so, then meandering over to the coast. I found a town called Belfast in Maine, and I think I will head there. That way I can say that I have been to Belfast (I just won't tell people which Belfast). And of course I will have to try Maine lobster, even if it is not in season. I really think I will stay in small towns until I come to New York for New Year's, except for Boston and Salem of course. I really do enjoy the feel of the holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas in a small town more than the impersonal hustle and bustle of a big city. If you want to join me on my East Coast wanderings before New Year's, just let me know. You might know a great tiny town that I have never heard of. Didn't you live in a little Virginia town for a while? I remember you told me it had a great theater that did Christmas shows. Maybe we could go there for Christmas, then back up to New York for New Year's Eve. That would be worth finding a B&B if one was running through Christmas, just for a more personal feel than a big hotel.

I will write you again from down the road. I promise it won't be near as long this time as it was between this letter and the last one.

Your friend,

Emily