On the way home we decided to pay Newport, Rhode Island a visit. It is an odd place; much bigger than I imagined. The city’s wharfs are the tourist’s haven. It is not hard to see the harbor, but it is hard to get a sense of it.
The opposite side of Newport’s peninsula is connected to the mainland by a majestic crescent beach. To the east of the beach is a walk along the edge of shear cliffs. Behind it are homes of many vintages from the 1700’s to modern.
As the city works its way up from the wharf by various terrace like streets, the robber baron’s cottages, one larger than the other, begin to reveal themselves. On the spot, I decided I did not want to spend the rest of my life inspecting dead rich people’s stuff.
Before driving out of town, we circumnavigated the coast on the appropriately named Ocean Drive. The coastline is sparsely populated. Don’t get me wrong, there are still outlandish homes but there is also space. Space to walk or bike along the shore and contemplate what it must be like in a raging storm.
Next, we headed for New York to visit with a friend. Once passed Providence, RI, the 300 mile drive to the tiny town of Fleischman, nestled in the Catskill Mountains, was completely in the trees. Fleischman’s Main Street shows some signs of revitalization, but it has a way to go.
Our friend relocates each summer from Greenwich Village to a home perched low in a picturesque verdant valley. There are 15 hillside acres behind the house, and a stream located out front down a steep slope. This summer’s drought had all but dried out the stream, but several days of wind and rain resurrected it. And even though this is a profoundly quiet place, the stream gurgles and the wind rustles the thick forest.
This area contains one of New York City’s three reservoirs. In the early 1900’s small towns were displaced, rivers were dammed, and tunnels were built to provide the city with fresh water. Many hundreds of souls were lost in the process . . . all for the greater good.
Chicago, IL
