Unfortunately, sleeping in also means that nobody is serving breakfast anymore. Already, this is yet another vacation that is orbiting around the orb of food. Time to shift priorities. Even though it's almost noon, we decide to head for Brewster, New York. It's only a two hour drive away. Brewster is where Elisabeth's mom was born and grew up. E's grandfather was Dr. Elisha Roberts Richie, a country doctor who had his office in a small annex of Yeomanoak, that large family home. There, he and E's grandmother Dorothy raised five children--Don and Bob (from ERR's first marriage--he was widowed when he began courting Dorothy) and Jane, Doug and Beth. So off we go to Brewster.
Before we leave Massachusetts, we have lunch at the Barrington Brewery in Great Barrington. It's the country's only solar-powered brewery so of course, Michael has heard of it. We buy a bottle of ale for later.
In hindsight, perhaps we should have cracked the bottle sooner because we are about to experience what road construction on one little bridge over the Housatonic River can do to a fairly straightforward drive through Connecticut. We dutifully follow the detour signs and Kate just about has a seizure. Between Kate's clipped British "GPS signal lost" (lots of overhanging trees) and "recalculating route" remarks, the roadway signage, Elisabeth's pretty-darn-good-but-not-infallible sense of direction and Michael's steadfast belief in, well, all of the above, we wander for well over two hours before we land on anything remotely resembling a highway that leads to the Hudson Valley. Pretty houses though.
Elisabeth is not used to coming into Brewster from this angle and the first phone call to Beth ensues. Now, Mom is getting up in years and her memory isn't always the greatest but she is a firecracker when asked to recall details of her childhood. "Have you come to the reservoir yet?" she asks. We have. "Well, turn back." OK.
Milltown Cemetary is on a peaceful road east of the village of Brewster. We have no difficulty finding the Richie family plot. ERR was an enthusiastic golfer and the plot is marked by a very large rock that was excavated from the local golf course and moved to Milltown when he passed away. The word RICHIE stands out from the rock in brass letters. It's supposed to, at any rate. The last two times Elisabeth has visited one of the letters has been missing. This time, it's the E. We'll call Uncle Doug to take care of this with the groundskeeper. ERR is buried there with his wives Anna and Dorothy on either side of him. Their son Theodore Hill Richie is there too. Dodie died of menangitis when he was three, before Beth was born. There is a picture of him on the wall in Beth's home today--large soft brown Richie eyes. We spend some time sitting at the plot, grateful for the opportunity for Michael to connect, and meet the spirit of the man whose wedding ring he now wears.
Forgive the blurriness--it was dusk and I really wanted to shoot it without a flash.
Another call to Beth as we head towards the village, not just for directions but to share with her how the town looks and feels in this nice June twilight. Brady-Stannard auto dealership still busy. Train just pulled in to the station from NYC. We start to feel a lot like the Stage Manager in Our Town. "11 o'clock in Grover's Corners...you get a good rest too."
Yeomanoak looks pretty good. It's had a checkered past. After the family left in the mid 50s for California, the house was subdivided into apartments and when E last visited, it was ramshackle to put it nicely. Tonight, it stands with signs of recent renovation. The porch over the entyway has been enclosed--an architectural highlight falling victim to the need of a landlord to add another unit. Grandmother's garden is now extra parking for the adjoining church. But the clapboard siding is new and very white. We chat with some tenants sitting on the back porch. They don't know that the oak in their front yard was there when the pilgrims landed.
Gratefully, the forecast rain has held off as we leave Brewster. Taking no chances with detours, we head for the Taconic Parkway to take us back up to the MA Thruway. Not so gratefully, that's when the skies open up. We always ruffle slightly when Easterners and Midwesterners call Californians weather wimps. But we own that title tonight. Lightning, thunder and a sheet of white rain is too much for us and we pull off to wait for the worst of it to pass. When it does, and we finally open the car windows, the air is thick with frog croaks all around us. Must be way cool to be a frog on a night like this.
We congratulate ourselves on surviving our very own Weather Channel doumentary with a stop at Price Chopper for Ben and Jerry's. Eat local, that's what we always say.
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