Charleston: Magnolia Plantation + Gardens

Our first stop on our mini Charleston road trip (before we visited the Angel Oak) was to Magnolia Plantation and Gardens, which is located about 30 min north of the historic downtown. Nearby Drayton Hall was closed for maintenance, which they do only one week of the year (lucky us!), but Magnolia definitely satisfied my historic home requirement for the day.

Magnolia claims to be "Charleston's most visited plantation," and it's the oldest public tourist site in the Lowcountry, as well as the oldest public gardens in America. The grounds were open to the public in 1870, but the plantation was founded in 1676 by the Drayton family and is still owned by descendants today. Magnolia has America's oldest and largest collection of camellias and azaleas, and even in February there were already beautiful blooms.

There have been three main houses on the property throughout its history, the first two of which burned down. The house that you can currently tour was built prior to the Revolutionary War near Summerville, South Carolina and floated down the Ashley River to Magnolia. It was built onto the first floor of the second house, which was all that remained after General Sherman burned his was through the South during the Civil War.

The property borders the Ashley River, and includes a swamp, ponds, several bridges and a petting zoo. The deer were super aggressive, the ducks were jerks and apparently the peacocks startle easily, but the goats were super chill and I fell in love with the very chubby PigPig, despite having eaten many of his relatives during our trip.

Bonus! On the road to Magnolia, we passed Timbo's Hot Boiled Peanuts trailer, which unfortunately appears to have gone out of business despite having an "OPEN" sign in the window. I'm bummed that I wasn't able to try a boiled peanut, which, when it comes out of an Airstream on bricks from a man named Timbo, is surely as authentically Southern as it can get. 

Fieldston, Bronx

Sometimes I think I may have already exhausted all of my adventure possibilities in New York City, or at least that I'm aware of all of the interesting things this city has to offer. But then I come across an article or hear about a place like the Fieldston neighborhood and I realize that I could live here forever and still not discover everything.

Fieldston is a privately-owned neighborhood just east of Riverdale in the Bronx. The majority of the neighborhood is a historical district and it's filled with enormous, single-family homes, huge trees and winding streets. The houses were built beginning in 1910 by a list of approved architects who designed homes in a few "strongly encouraged" styles. Many of the houses are built in the Tudor revival style and the neighborhood was painfully charming on the day we went—brilliantly sunny with light snow from the day before still dusting the sidewalks and roofs.

Fieldston is near the end of the 1 line (I recommend stopping for breakfast first at the Short Stop Coffee Shop first) but it feels like another world. New York can feel so small and squeezed for space, but there are a seemingly endless number of places that I've found where you can go to breathe a little easier, enjoy the quiet and fall in love with New York all over again.

Second Avenue Subway

I definitely self-identify as a transit nerd, and the subway system is one of my very favorite things about living in New York. For some reason, I wasn't highly anticipating the long-awaited opening of the first phase of the Second Avenue subway line like a lot of people. Maybe, after a hundred years of broken promises and false starts, I subconsciously wasn't allowing myself to get my hopes up. But then on Tuesday night, I took the Q from 96th Street (I work at 92nd and Lex Ave) all the way to my apartment in Brooklyn (steps from the 7th Ave stop) and I was immediately sold.

While obviously not such a game-changer for everyone, the Second Avenue Q extension is expected to relieve some of the crowding on the 4/5/6 line—three lines that carry more riders every single day than the entire DC Metro. Phase 1 includes three new stations at 96th, 86th and 72nd streets, and connects the Q to its existing route via the 63rd Street/Lexington Ave station (where you can transfer to the F). There was doubt that the stations would be ready for the January 1st deadline, and although they're indeed open they are still teeming with MTA workers making last-minute adjustments.

Because I'm endlessly fascinated by the New York City subway system, I visited the new Hudson Yards 7 train station earlier this year. The new Second Avenue stations feel similar in design to Hudson Yards, mixed with the newish stations along Lex Ave and on Roosevelt Island. The stations feel modern—everything is sleek, shiny and clean!—but in my opinion nothing can come close to the mosaic-tiled beauty of the original early-1900s stations.

But the stations do feature some pretty incredible new artwork by Chuck Close, Sarah Sze, Vik Muniz and Jean Shin. Sze's "Blueprint for a Landscape" blankets the entrance and the upstairs of the 96th Street Station with papers that look like they've been blown around by incoming trains. Huge portraits of Lou Reed, Philip Glass, Chuck Close, Kara Walker, Cecily Brown and Alex Katz (all by Close) adorn the 86th Street Station and are done in varying styles, including glass mosaic and painted tiles.

It's Vik Muniz's "Perfect Strangers" mosaics, however, that are the real standout. The mosaic-work is outstanding and the subjects are whimsical but ultimately perfectly ordinary, at least by New York standards. The mosaics feature people of every culture, size, age and class without any political context or agenda—just people being. They reach for balloons, take off their costume head, look at their cellphone, dash for their papers, stare blankly ahead or tenderly hold hands. If we have to sacrifice the tiled station names of yesteryear for art that so perfectly captures the spirit and humanity of New York City, then I think the MTA made the right choice.

New Yorker Hotel

Recently we took an Untapped Cities "behind the scenes" tour of the New Yorker Hotel. The New Yorker Hotel was built in 1929 on 34th Street and 8th Avenue. It's 43-stories tall, 1-million square feet and has 1,083 rooms. The hotel is an Art Deco gem, with an enormous and iconic marquee sign that can be seen from miles away. I actually stayed at the New Yorker once when I visited the city with my friends years ago, but on this tour we got to see parts of the hotel usually off-limits to visitors.

One of the first places that we visited was the sky lounge and the rooftop. I'm not really afraid of heights but being 43-stories above the city on a windy, cold night was as scary as it was thrilling. The sign is crazy big when you're right next to it, and the different perspective was really fascinating. I think I could live here my entire life and still be wowed by the skyline—even Madison Square Garden manages to look charming from above.

We also got to explore the lower levels of the hotel, including remnants of the original DC power plant. When it was built, the hotel was powered by coal-fired steam boilers and generators in what was then the largest private power plant in the US—it was later modernized to AC power in the 60s, and now sits abandoned.

The best part of the tour, however, was seeing the entrance to a tunnel that once connected the hotel to the subway and Penn Station. The tunnel is blocked off now—and the New Yorker is now rebranded as a Wyndham hotel—but in my dreams I would be able to traverse the tunnel and magically emerge on the other side into the original Pennsylvania Station.

Marine Air Terminal

As part of the Open House New York weekend back in October (before I visited the Treasures in the Trash collection), I finally got to see inside of the Marine Air Terminal at LaGuardia Airport. Originally built for seaplanes, the Marine Air Terminal is the only remaining active airport terminal in the US from the Golden Age of Flight. LaGuardia (a WPA project) opened in 1939, and the Marine Air Terminal opened the next year. It has been on the National Register of Historic Places since 1982, and since 1985 it has been used for shuttle flights between New York and Boston and Washington DC (currently through Delta).

The terminal is very small—especially compared with the current-day airport experience—but it's dripping with flight-themed Art Deco details. While certainly not as grand or unique as Eero Saarinen's TWA Flight Center masterpiece at JFK, the Marine Air Terminal still feels fancy in a way modern airports will never be able to replicate. Illusions to the miracle of flight are everywhere—in the outside tile work, on the entry doors and on nearly every surface of the lobby.

The lobby contains the largest mural curated under the Works Progress Administration—a 12-feet-tall, 237-feet-long painting depicting flight in various forms. It was painted over in the '50s by the Port Authority, but was thankfully restored in the '80s. The Art Deco lettering over the doorways indicating Departures, Restaurant and Telephones proves that lettering doesn't have to be overly complicated to be striking and that utilitarian signage can be beautiful as well as functional. I'm so grateful for Open House New York weekend, and the chance to be able to peek inside such a gem—if only I could go back to 1940 and hitch a ride on the Pan American Clipper.

Historic Richmond Town

Historic Richmond Town was founded in 1856 and is alternatively known as the Staten Island Historical Society. The town of Richmond, located in central Staten Island, has been around since the 17th century. The historical society has preserved a number of buildings on the 100-acre site as a living history and museum complex. You can walk through the town for free, or pay to take a guided tour. We went on a recent Sunday and only saw a few people wandering about, but I imagine it's a popular school field trip destination during the weekdays.

I really didn't know what to expect from the town, but Staten Island is full of strange and wonderful things (including Snug Harbor, cemeteries and my first abandoned hospital) and I'm always excited to explore more of the oft-forgotten borough. Richmond Town is full of adorable, historical structures including homes of varying styles, a print shop, wood-working shop (complete with wood-worker), tin shop, service station and a Sanitary Luncheon dining car with the most wonderful hand-painted lettering. Unfortunately the diner was not operational, but I did suffer a minor heart attack when I peeked inside the windows and found a terrifying (even to me) mannequin staring back at me with huge, drawn-on eyes.

 We saw some cats roaming the property—including a black cat, which I have a knack for seeing in spooky places—and a few trees felled by beavers. The town feels a bit like Colonial Williamsburg, but without all of the annoying tourists and bizarre re-enactors. It's rustic and overgrown, but well-maintained, and was the perfect lazy Sunday anecdote to crowded, hectic city life. This is the farthest I've been into Staten Island (without a car), and it's definitely a trek—we took the S74 bus from the St. George ferry terminal, a journey that Google informed me could include up to 52 stops.

Historic Richmond Town even has a cemetery, a rare 18th-century private graveyard used by the Rezeau, Van Pelt and Wheatley families. The earliest grave in the cemetery dates from 1789, and the wrought iron fence was added in 1850. The winged hourglass is one of my favorite cemetery symbols, and I've seen it on tombstones and mausoleums but the detail on the fence really is extraordinary.

It was The Parsonage, however that really stole my heart—a gothic-revival style house, built in 1855 for the pastor of the Dutch Reformed Church. It was sold to the city in 1953 to become part of the town, and has alternatively served as a residence, administrative offices and even a restaurant. I can't stop thinking about its perfect color-palette, wonderful porch and bat-like gingerbread—I'd even consider moving to Staten Island if I could somehow take up residence in this definitely-haunted house of my dreams.

Longaberger Basket

The last stop on our recent #ALLCAPSEPICROADTRIPOFDELIGHTS was the (now former) Longaberger Basket headquarters in Newark, Ohio. I have always appreciated novelty architecture, but I've become more and more obsessed with seeking out examples of it. The Longaberger Basket is just about perfect in the "buildlings shaped like what they contain" department, right up there with Twistee Treats, donut shops like Randy's Donuts and the Big Duck (the latter two are top of my wish list).

I've said it before, but the whimsy of novelty architecture is something that is sorely missing in most people's every day lives. Unless of course, you drive down Ohio's Route 16 frequently, which has a near-perfect view of the big basket. If you never find yourself in rural Ohio, know that you can creep on the basket from Google Earth, where—just like Willy the Whale—the basket and its adorable shadow can be viewed at any time.

The basket was completed in 1997 at the insistence of founder Dave Longaberger, and at what would turn out to be the peak of the company's success. Two years after the building's completion, Longaberger died. Due in part to changing decor tastes, sales of the expensive baskets began to decline, and the company stopped paying taxes on the basket in 2014. Longaberger currently owes $577,660 in property taxes, and in mid-July they relocated their remaining employees to a space at their nearby manufacturing plant. 

We arrived at the basket late in the day, and there were two cars in the parking lot but by all accounts the building already looked abandoned. The large side parking lots are overgrown, the flags out front are in shreds and from up close you can see that the exterior paint has begun to peel. Because the company is so behind on the taxes, the possibility exists that the basket will be seized and put up for auction, with the minimum bid set at around $570k. This might be a steal if the basket wasn't located in Newark, Ohio, or if it wasn't so costly to maintain—I read somewhere that the handles need to be heated in the winter to prevent ice from forming and crashing through the massive skylight. 

I knew the basket was big—seven stories with handles and brass tags 160 times the size of a standard Longaberger basket —but it's definitely something that needs to be seen and experienced in person. 

Although it was a bit out of our way, finally making it to the big basket was a total dream-come-true for me and the perfect way to end our already-perfect roadtrip. I'm interested to see how this next phase of the basket's life turns out, and I do hope that it lives on in some way. However, if it does happen to stay abandoned and fall further into disrepair, a return trip to Newark is a must—the only thing better than a seven-story, basket-shaped office building is an abandoned, seven-story, basket-shaped office building.

Bonus Basket! I couldn't resist making one last, last stop at the nearby Longaberger Homestead, home of the "World's Largest Apple Basket," which was hand-woven out of hardwood maple and stands more than 29 feet tall.

The Ohio State Reformatory

The second stop on our recent ALL CAPS EPIC ROAD TRIP OF DELIGHTS was the Ohio State Reformatory, in Mansfield, Ohio. The Reformatory opened in 1896 and housed more than 155,000 inmates until it closed in 1990. The building was designed by Cleveland architect Levi T. Scofield, combining three architectural styles; Victorian Gothic, Richardsonian Romanesque and Queen Anne. The hope was that the architecture of the complex would encourage inmates to turn away from their sinful lifestyle, embrace their spiritual lives and repent.

The Reformatory may be most famous as a filming location for the Shawshank Redemption, which has always been one of my favorite movies. Shots of the cell block were filmed at the Reformatory, and you can visit the warden's office, the space where Red has his parole reviews and the apartment where Brooks (SPOILER ALERT for a 22-year-old movie) meets his end. The movie also filmed scenes around Ohio in Ashland County, Upper Sandusky and at Malabar Farm.

The six-tiered, east cell block is the largest free-standing steel cell block in the world. The OSR reminds me a lot of Eastern State Penitentiary, although the overall layout and visitor experience is a bit different. It's mind-boggling to stand inside one of the teeny tiny cells, trying to imagine being locked inside of such a cramped space—not to mention also having to share it with another person.

In addition to two cell blocks, the Reformatory also has an entire administration wing with offices and residences. There's an old library, shower room, solitary confinement, a chapel, and a whole maze of different rooms and spooky corridors to explore. The Reformatory is often associated with paranormal activity (but what old place—especially old prison—isn't?), and they offer "Ghost Hunts," which include a tour and "independent investigating" from 8pm-5am.

This was my second visit to the Reformatory, and while I appreciate the info to be gained from a guided tour, being able to roam the place at our own pace was ideal. Mansfield is a little out of the way if you don't find yourself in Ohio often but if creeping around old abandoned places is your jam, the Reformatory is a great place to spend the afternoon —or night if you're really brave.

The Four Seasons

The Four Seasons restaurant, located in the iconic Seagram Building on East 52nd Street opened in 1959, and it will close on Saturday, July 16th. For the past 57 years, the Four Seasons has been the place for the Power Lunch, hosting regulars over the years such as Martha Stewart, the Kennedys, Brooke Astor, Henry Kissinger, Anna Wintour and other titans of publishing, entertainment and politics.

The interior of the restaurant was designed by Philip Johnson and Mies van der Rohe, and was designated as an interior landmark in 1989. The restaurant's lease, however, is not being renewed and they will vacate the space on Saturday and auction off its entire contents ten days later—including Mies van der Rohe and Hans Wegner chairs, Eero Saarinen Tulip tables, Philip Johnson sofas, tableware and cookware by L. Garth and Ada Louise Huxtable.

Luckily, we had an opportunity back in October to visit the Four Seasons during Open House New York weekend, and I realized recently that I had never shared my photos. At the time, the restaurants fate was uncertain, but now that everything—not protected by its interior landmark designation—will be scattered to various collections, our visit has taken on a new significance.

When you walk into the Four Seasons you feel like you've traveled back in time, to an era of three-martini lunches, where people dressed up because they cared, where air travel was a luxury—and luxurious—where business deals were made in person and not through email.

The bubbling Pool Room has four trees that change with the seasons; the more serious, wood-paneled Grill Room has corner banquets that make you want to talk about something important and expensive; the large windows are draped with aluminum chain curtains that undulate and shimmer like nothing else you've ever seen. The restaurant owners insist that the Four Season will be reborn somewhere else, and while I don't doubt their good intentions, I can't help but feel as if something really special, and  really New York, will be lost forever when they move out.

Buffalo: Frank Lloyd Wright

I was surprised on our recent trip to Buffalo to learn that the city has the highest concentration of Frank Lloyd Wright buildings outside of Oak Park in Chicago. A few of them have sadly been demolished over the years—including one of his first commercial commissions, the Larkin Administration Building. Darwin Martin was an executive at the Larkin Soap company, and in addition to the administration building, he commissioned Wright to build two houses in Buffalo—a primary residence, and a vacation home on Lake Erie.

The Martin House complex comprises multiple structures, including a main house connected via pergola to a conservatory, carriage house with chauffeur's quarters and stables, gardener's cottage and the Barton House, which was built for Martin's sister. All of these are done in Wright's Prairie style of architecture and are considered to be some of his best examples of this style.

Before the house was designated as a landmark in 1986, it was in a sorry state of disrepair, and three of the original buildings were demolished (they have since been expertly rebuilt). There is still ongoing restoration work, especially in some of the interiors, but it's a beautiful, sprawling complex that seems just as visionary and modern today as it must have felt when it was built in the early 1900s.

The Greycliff Estate was the Martins' summer home, and is in an earlier state of the restoration process than the Martin House. Most of the interior is gutted, and after the Martins died their family sold the house to the Piarist Fathers, an order of Roman Catholic Priests from Hungary. The lakefront backyard has fallen victim to a receding shoreline, but it's not hard to see why the Martins were smitten with the view.

Greycliff reminded me somewhat of Falling Water and Kentuck Knob in its connection and consideration of the surrounding landscape. You can see that even in the 1920s Wright had begun to experiment with his corners of glass that he would perfect for Falling Water.

Of course everyone knows FLW for his houses and commercial structures, but I had no idea until our trip that he also designed a mausoleum. The Blue Sky Mausoleum was the last of four Martin commissions. It was conceived between 1925-1928, but wasn't built when Darwin Martin died in 1935. In 2004, Forest Lawn Cemetery finally realized Wright's vision with help from his notes, drawings and a Wright-trained architect.

Like most things Wright designed, the mausoleum is not a traditional "box" structure, but instead is integrated into the sloping landscape. It appears as if only two people are currently housed in the mausoleum, which includes twenty-four, double-tier crypts. After having a transformative experience at Falling Water, I wasn't sure it was possible to respect FLW's portfolio any more, but finding out that he dipped his toe into the world of cemetery architecture definitely makes me even more of a fan.*

EDIT* I had no idea when I posted this that today is FLW's 149th birthday - HBD FLW!

Twist o' the Mist

As part of our recent Buffalo trip, we decided to spend a day exploring Niagara Falls. Niagara, NY is very close to Buffalo—I'd been to the Canadian side many times as a kid, but never saw much of the American side. There were a few kitschy things on the American side that I wanted to check out so I was content to not cross the border this time (we'll be back!). 

Top of my list was the Twist o' the Mist, an ice-cream-shaped ice cream stand. I've been obsessed with novelty architecture as long as I can remember. Buildings that are shaped like what they contain/sell make me so very happy. I used to live within a few minutes of three of these ice cream-shaped buildings, officially called Twistee Treats. I visited two of them on a return trip to Ohio last year, and I've been eager to find more since.

I love puns and clever names almost as much as novelty architecture, so of course I love the Twist o' the Mist play on the "Maid of the Mist." We weren't quite at the dessert portion of our day yet, so we sadly didn't patronize the Twist, but the proclamation that they have 56 Flavors really intrigues me. It seems excessive, but so does an entire building shaped like an ice cream cone, so I guess it's just perfect.

The High Bridge

Sunday was definitely a day to spend outside, so Jim and I planned to go to the High Bridge in northern Manhattan. The High Bridge is the oldest bridge in the city, and originally opened in 1848 as an aqueduct. It was closed for more than 40 years before it reopened as a pedestrian bridge in June of 2015.

I wouldn't really describe the High Bridge as a destination, but if you're history or bridge nerds like Jim and me, then it's definitely worth a visit. It's a pretty short span over the Harlem River, and there's not much to do on either side of the bridge, however High Bridge park on the Manhattan side is a beautiful walk. Even if this winter was pretty mild, it was just nice to be outside and feel genuinely warm for the first time in a while.

The original part of the bridge is a series of stone arches, the Harlem River span of which was replaced in 1928 with a steel arch to allow for the passage of large ships. It really does look like two halves of completely different bridges were just pasted together—even the brick of the walkway changes from one half to the other.

The High Bridge water tower lords over the High Bridge, next to a public pool in the spot that once held the city's reservoir. One of the High Bridge's architects was James Renwick, Jr., who also designed St. Patrick's Cathedral, the Roosevelt Island Lighthouse and the Smallpox Hospital (now my favorite ruin), and you can definitely see the similarities, especially with the lighthouse.

The bridge completionist in me is grateful to have added another bridge to my "walked" list, the history buff in me loves anything that can claim an "-est" distinction and the old lady in me is just grateful when anything old survives in this "replace all history with a luxury condo" city.

Van Cortlandt Park

Jim and I finally made it up to Van Cortlandt Park recently and it was a pretty perfect Sunday adventure. Van Cortlandt Park is in the Bronx, and is the third largest park in the city. In 1888 the Van Cortlandt family sold their land and house to the city, with the speculation that the land become a park and the house a museum.

The first thing we did upon arrival was take a tour of the Van Cortlandt house, the oldest building in the Bronx. The Georgian-style house was built in 1748 and was kept in the family until it was turned over to the city. According to our (very thorough) tour guide, George Washington visited on at least four occasions and the house was used by high-ranking officials on both sides during the Revolutionary War.

If you're at all interested in history or antiques (the "museum" part of the house is a collection of very valuable pieces donated from various sources), I highly recommend a visit to the house. We lucked out on catching a guide, who basically gave us a private tour of the property from top to bottom, but there is always a self-guided option.

After the house tour, we ventured onto a park trail that follows a former rail line. There were a few things I was hoping to check out along the path, and to my delight they were all very close to one another. In fact, only a few steps into the trail, we came across these stone pillars. I actually squealed with delight ("That may be the most excited I've ever seen you," said Jim) which was definitely over dramatic, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

These 13 stones were placed here in the 1910s to test out possible stones with which to build Grand Central Terminal. The idea was to test the durability of different types of stone, although in the end the New York Central Railroad chose Indiana Limestone, which would be the cheapest to transport via their own rail lines.

The trail that we were following is the Putnam Trail which runs along tracks formerly for the Putnam Division of the Central Railroad. There are still some remnants of the trail's previous life, including iron bridges and a really wonderful, rusty skeleton of an old train platform. I love when historical structures are restored and lovingly maintained, but I equally love a good ruin—and any day that includes excellent examples of both is a perfect day.

Woodlawn Cemetery

On Sunday Jim and I made the trek up to Woodlawn Cemetery in the Bronx. Woodlawn is the very last stop on the 4 train, which is now significantly farther for me living in Brooklyn than it was when I lived in Harlem. We had tried to go once this past winter, only to be told the cemetery wasn't allowing walk-ins "due to hazardous conditions," (it was snowing, but come on).

A few weeks after we were rebuffed, I tried again on my own—there was snow on the ground but it was sunny and in the 40s—only to be denied entry for the same reason as before. I had successfully been to Woodlawn once (in the fall), but after two failed attempts I was slightly hesitant to go back. It's hard for me, however, to resist the allure of a cemetery—especially on a beautiful, sunny fall day.

One of the first mausoleums you see as you walk along the central drive belongs to the Woolworth family. I remembered it from my first trip because I've never met an Egyptian-style tomb that I haven't loved, and theirs is spectacular. Woodlawn opened in 1863 and is one of the largest cemeteries in the city. Like Green-Wood, it's a designated National Historic Landmark and is the final resting place of many famous people. We grabbed a map from the office and visited the graves of Miles Davis, Fiorello La Guardia, Duke Ellington, Irving Berlin, Herman Melville, Robert Moses (by the highway, of course), Montana "Copper King" W. A. Clark and Archibald Gracie, a survivor of the Titanic.

I've complained about the lackluster leaves this fall, but the trees in Woodlawn were really beautiful. The sunny, cloudless sky and midday sun combined with the bright oranges, yellows and reds to make the most wonderful backdrop for viewing headstones and monuments.

Woodlawn feels a little newer and a bit more grand than Green-Wood and there are certainly more mausoleums (up to $1.5 million to build one today). There were still some wonderfully spooky sights to be found in between the grandeur—an ornate, rusty chair, mourning girls and cherubs with their faces chiseled away by acid rain. My favorite though is Hattie, forever separated from her legs but still standing guard. We even found a mausoleum that was topped with a clock, which is not something that seems very necessary when most of your neighbors are no longer very concerned about keeping the time.

And speaking of those Egyptian monuments I love so much, Woodlawn is lousy with them. It seemed as if everywhere we looked we saw this wonderful style—slightly triangular, flanked by sphinxes, adorned with winged suns—probably a case of people "keeping up with the Joneses," or perhaps just the Woolworths.

Standalone Diners

I've been seeing a lot of articles lately about the fate of the classic New York diner, no doubt set in motion by the (very depressing) recent closure of the Market Diner. It's a topic that has been on my mind pretty much from the moment I moved to the city, and back in August I was asked to write about disappearing diners for the Need Supply blog. I had unwittingly been doing research nearly every weekend for years, but I amped up my diner visits to gather new information for the post.

In the beginning of last year, I made it a goal to visit the last five remaining stand-alone diners in Manhattan. This list included the now-shuttered Market Diner, Empire Diner, Star on 18, Square Diner and Pearl Street Diner. A stand-alone diner is freestanding on at least three sides, making them quite rare in a city where air rights can be sold for millions.

It turns out that there's one more in Manhattan that I missed on my first go-around—Hector's, an oversight that I quickly remedied. I didn't have time to eat at all the diners I scouted, but I did have breakfast at Hector's. It is wedged somewhat improbably under the Highline park, making it even more of an anomaly in an area of the city filled with designer shops and boutique hotels. I sat at the counter—my favorite seat at any diner—and had a very delicious breakfast wrap and coffee that was refilled numerous times.

I only walked by the New Thompson's Diner in Long Island City, but underneath its new (and horrible) awning is a beautiful classic stainless steel diner. I love the red stripe details, but it's killing me not knowing what's under that awning. I have seen many new-ish awnings come down only to reveal beautifully-preserved old signage underneath, and I can only hope the New Thompson's is harboring a similar secret.

Also in Long Island City is a beautiful stand-alone diner that is currently sitting empty. It was most recently home to M. Wells steakhouse, but the inside still has classic diner décor—long counter, vinyl booths, stainless accents and swivel stools. It looks as though it's being renovated or at least doesn't look totally abandoned, which gives me hope that it won't suffer the same fate as the Market Diner (or 5 Pointz) and end up leveled to make way for even more luxury condos.

Kentuck Knob + Falling Water

While the main reason for our recent Ohio-bound roadtrip was our friend Katie's wedding, Jim and I were both really looking forward to our tours of neighboring Frank Lloyd Wright houses, Kentuck Knob and Falling Water. Falling Water had been on my radar since college, and it's only a 3-hour drive from my hometown in Ohio. I'm not sure why I'd never made the trip, but I'm so glad that I finally did.

I hadn't heard of the lesser-known Kentuck Knob, but it's only 15 minutes from Falling Water and touring both made traveling a bit out of our way to the middle of nowhere totally worth it. Kentuck Knob was finished in 1956, designed by Wright after the Hagan family fell in love with their friends' house, Falling Water, and wanted a Wright creation of their own. The houses are very different in some ways, but similar in others. Both are built organically, honoring and integrating into their surroundings in interesting ways.

Kentuck Knob has only been sold once, from the Hagans to the current owner, Lord Palumbo in 1986. The house is currently filled with his various collections, including a few pieces of Wright-designed furniture from some of his other famous projects like the Imperial Hotel and Coonley Playhouse. The house sits on 80 acres above Uniontown in Western Pennsylvania, and Palumbo's sculpture collection is scattered about the grounds, which includes The Red Army installation and a piece of the Berlin Wall.

After Kentuck Knob, we headed to the star of the day: Falling Water. There were no photos allowed on our tour, but believe me when I say that it's breathtaking in ways I never thought a house could be. I had a basic knowledge of what to expect, but I was blown away by how emotional the house made me feel. It is just so incredibly beautiful and unlike anything I've ever seen. Our tour guide was really knowledgeable, and the tour is really thorough. Unlike Kentuck Knob, Falling Water is no longer privately owned—it was donated to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy in 1963 by Edgar Kauffman Jr., the owners' son.

Although the forecast called for rain, the weather cooperated for most of the afternoon. It did, however start to pour down rain just as our Falling Water tour was ending, affording us the opportunity to see falling water on Falling Water. We didn't witness any of the leaks that the house is notorious for, although I suppose having to set out a few buckets would be a small price to pay to live somewhere so life-changing.

Twistee Treat

When my friend Katie told me that she would be getting married about five minutes from where I used to live in Massillon, Ohio, Jim and I started planning a roadtrip. He'd never really been to Ohio before, and I was eager to revisit a few spots that I took for granted when they were part of my every day commute. I was particularly excited to see the two Twistee Treats that are a few minutes apart and just down the road from the last place I lived in Ohio.

According to Roadside Architecture, Twistee Treats are "28 feet tall and 20 feet wide fiberglass ice cream cones topped with cherries. The design was created by Robert G. "Skip" Skinner who built the first location in North Fort Myers in 1982. The buildings were produced in Cape Coral, FL. They were made from 19 pieces of fiberglass and assembled on-site. By 1986, there were 30 locations, all of them in Florida. It is believed that about 90 of these buildings were produced over the years. About half of them have been demolished."

Chubby's is definitely my favorite, and as far as I can tell one of the nicest ones that still exist. The cherry, fudge, raised lettering and hand-painted signage really bring it to the next level. While we were creeping on it, the owner actually pulled up to collect her planters. We thought she was going to question why we were creeping on her obviously closed business, but instead she apologized that they had just recently closed for the season. She also remarked "there's no doubt what we sell," which is what I love about novelty architecture. Is there anything more charming than getting ice cream from a building shaped like an ice cream cone? Nope.

The other location is more sparse than Chubby's, but any building shaped like what it sells is perfect in my book. I do love the matching umbrellas, and this Twistee Treat gets the distinction of being the only one that I've actually patronized. We went through the drive-thru once and I got a chocolate-dipped cone that was a very delicious but hazardous choice.

There is another Twistee Treat quite close to these two, but it's nearly identical to the pink one and was slightly out of our way so we didn't get to it. After browsing the #twisteetreat hashtag on Instagram and seeing one for sale, Jim and I promptly developed a fantasy of buying one, plopping it in a New York park à la Shake Shake and retiring as millionaires—with a lifetime supply of ice cream that looks exactly like the building in which it was made.

Savannah, Georgia

I mentioned in my post about Bonaventure Cemetery that Francesca and I recently went on a weekend trip to Savannah. I'm not at all embarrassed to admit that it was 100% inspired by Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, and considering that book spent nearly ten years on the New York Times Bestseller list, I'm willing to bet we're not the only ones similarly moved.

We both agreed that we probably never need to go to Savannah again after this trip—which isn't to say that it's not worth a return visit, but rather a comment on how much we crammed into three days. We stayed at a very lovely (and cheap!) AirBnB right off of Forsyth Park in the historic downtown area, which is quite small and very walkable.

One of our first stops was the Pirate's House, where we ate a very delicious and very Southern buffet lunch (mac n' cheese, collard greens, fried chicken, fried okra, cornbread, peach cobbler, etc.). We then asked for a tour, which we were told was free and we were directed to "ask the pirate." The pirate turned out to be a former New Yorker and SVA grad named Chris, who told us tales of underground tunnels, drunken sailors and haint blue paint. We both thought the Pirate's House was going to be cheesier than it was, but it turned out to be really historic, kind of creepy, incredibly tasty and one of our favorite stops.

In keeping with our main theme, we took a tour of the Mercer-Williams house, which was very short but still worth it. Breakfast at Clary's was excellent for the ambience (and that sign!), as well as the food, and fulfilled my need to eat at a classic diner at least once a week.

We walked the River Walk, popped in some shops, sampled multiple pralines, got pooped on by a bird and walked up (and down) various sets of "historic steps." Savannah is dripping with Southern charm and there is enough to see just walking the streets and through beautiful squares to keep you occupied for several days.

Of course I took notice of some excellent signage, hand-painted, neon and otherwise. The Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) is a top-notch art school and their influence is felt all over the city. Although a large portion of Savannah has been restored—thanks in a large part to Jim Williams—the city is still a wonderful mix of pre-Civil War opulence and urban decay.

We took a ghost tour, creeped on a lot of real-life haunted houses and got yelled at for getting too close to the not-at-all-secured entrance to an underground tunnel once used to transport victims of yellow fever. We took two house tours (and explored one antique store/house), browsed for books, toured two cemeteries, pressed three pennies, saw every one of the squares, accidentally touched some Spanish moss and had our fortunes told by a pirate (not Chris). We didn't see any ghosts, but we did see two lizards, a tiny frog and one ghost cat.

On our last night we ate at the Olde Pink House, which was fancy and delicious. I did, however have a weird moment while we were looking around, where I missed a step on the stairs and felt as if I fell several feet. When my heart returned to my chest cavity, I joked that I must have been pushed by a ghost. I also awoke a few hours later to find that I was violently ill from my burger, so maybe the Pink House presence really wasn't a fan of me. However, despite being pooped on, pushed and poisoned, I still think our trip was nothing but a total success.